# The Rider of the Black Horse/Chapter 29
### CHAPTER XXIX BENEATH THE BRUSH HEAP

The days passed slowly, and still no word was given the young express concerning his return to the army near Philadelphia. Aware as he was of the troubles and jealousies in the northern army, and knowing also, as he did, what must be the anxiety in the heart of the great commander, his own uneasiness increased with the passing days, and was not allayed by the suggestions he received from some of the men, who were specially warm in their feelings toward General Philip Schuyler, that General Gates himself was not too strongly inclined to keep in close touch with Washington. Still Robert knew that messengers had been sent from the northern army to the southward, and several times he endeavored to secure at least the permission he desired to return, even if he was not to be the bearer of a message from General Gates.
At last came the day when as the bearer of a letter from the north he was prepared to set forth on his return. The increasing excite​ment among the men, the knowledge that sharp and doubtless decisive engagements were soon to occur, and his own eagerness to learn how it fared with the patriots who were doing their utmost to hold General Howe in or near Philadelphia, combined to make Robert Dorlon earnest and alert when at last he rode from the camp.
When, two days later, he arrived at Fort Montgomery, he discovered that the same feeling of excitement that he had been aware of in the army was now prevalent in the fort, but as he watched the defenders, his hopes somehow were not strong that they would be able to make a very decided defense of the place if Clinton's men should attack it, as it was daily rumored they were about to do. Already the British had moved up the Hudson, but their actions appeared to be somewhat uncertain, and it was not difficult to conjecture the cause.
On the day following that in which he had entered Fort Montgomery, Robert departed, intrusted with an additional letter for General Washington, and warned repeatedly that in view of the increased and increasing activities in the region below there was need of additional precautions on his own part as well as ​the exercise of his utmost discretion in this journey which it was hoped would be the last that it would be necessary for him to make before the results of the campaign would be known. It was a source of some disappointment to him that he had been unable to see Joseph Nott or any of his brothers, and so learn how it had fared with Hannah and various other persons, whose fate and deeds had become of great interest to him.
However, the spirits of the young express were high when he was started on his way, for the early morning air was crisp and cool, and the very excitement under which he was laboring was itself a strong appeal to him. He rode swiftly past some of the places that had become familiar to him in his previous journeys, but he dared not stop, for the command for him to make haste had been imperative, and his fears for his own safety were not lightly to be ignored.
Early in the afternoon the weather changed, a drizzling rain set in, and soon he was wet and miserable; though not for a moment did he abandon the even, steady gait at which he was riding. He had been passing through a long stretch of woods, where the falling leaves and the dreary appearance of the trees ​had increased the sense of desolateness that somehow had crept into his heart. It was therefore with a feeling of relief that he perceived before him a clearing, with a little house that was situated on a knoll somewhat back from the roadside. Between the woods and the house the land had been cleared, but stumps and piles of brush disfigured it, and though he peered eagerly before him he was unable to discover any person within sight. He resolved to stop for a moment at the house, and with this thought in his mind he spoke quickly to Nero and prepared to quicken the speed of his faithful beast.
Suddenly, directly in front of him and at a distance of not more than twenty yards, three men stepped into the road, and with their rifles in their hands waited for him to approach. A large dog was with them, and Robert could hear its low growls as it advanced toward him. Instantly he drew rein on his horse, and though he did not stop, he advanced slowly, watching the men keenly and striving to discover if he had ever seen any of them before. They were all three strangers to him, he speedily perceived, but his fears were not allayed by the fact, and their attitude and bearing increased his alarm. Almost ​instinctively he concluded that they must have been aware of his coming and had been lying in wait for him, concealed among the trees that were thick and high on the right of the spot where the forest ceased and the new open roadway appeared.
When he had arrived within twenty feet of the men, he stopped, and, striving to appear indifferent, saluted the strangers. The dog was sniffing about his horse's heels, but though its appearance was threatening Robert gave it but slight heed, for he was waiting anxiously for the strangers to declare themselves or explain why they had taken their stand in the wood with the evident intention of blocking his further advance.
"What's the news from up the river?" demanded one of the men.
Almost unconsciously Robert's hand was placed upon his pistol, but he had not drawn the weapon when he replied. "Good news," he said quietly.
"What's going on?"
"They seem to be waiting."
"For what?"
"For each other."
"Young man, we know who you are. There isn't any use in mincing matters. We 've had ​word of your coming, and we 're here for your letters."
Robert Dorlon felt a shiver sweep over his body as the man spoke, but his attitude for an instant did not change. His hand was still upon his pistol, but he knew that the rifles in the hands of these men, who evidently were his enemies, would be heard before he himself could fire.
There was a gleam in his eyes, however, that did not imply fear or despair as quickly he drew forth the weapon and fired directly at the men; then he shouted to Nero, pulled savagely upon the rein, turned his horse back into the wood, and prepared to attempt, at least, to escape.
With great leaps Nero responded, and for a moment a slight hope rose in Robert's heart that he might succeed. He had not waited to discover what the effect of his own shot had been, and as his horse bounded forward he leaned low upon the neck of the faithful animal and did not once look behind him. His eyes, too, were closed; and the seconds seemed to him to be like hours as he waited for the reports of their guns. Nor had he gone far before the loud reports were heard. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder and he was aware that he had been struck by a bullet, but he still clung ​desperately to Nero's neck and his heart leaped as he realized that his horse was unhurt, and upon him now depended every hope of escape. Apparently Nero shared in the desire, for he was bounding forward with great leaps, and if his speed could be maintained only for a brief time Robert knew he could have nothing to fear from his foes. Only a few yards remained between him and the seclusion of the forest. Already he was within its borders and his hopes rose high, but they were instantly dashed to the ground when again the loud report of a rifle was heard behind him, and suddenly Nero stumbled and fell forward. The bullet had entered the faithful animal's skull, Robert could perceive even as he fell.
Still desperate and determined in spite of his own suffering, Robert, when he discovered that he himself was unharmed by the fall, started quickly into the woods by the roadside, and summoning all his strength ran swiftly forward. But a fresh source of alarm appeared as he heard the dog approaching from amongst the trees. It was not barking, and so could not reveal its presence by sound; and stopping for the moment and seizing a club from the ground Robert braced himself against a tree and waited for the dog to approach; for it was near now, ​and the young express instantly decided that his own safety would more likely be secured if he could rid himself of the savage brute. In a moment the huge dog bounded forward, and as it perceived Robert it growled savagely, but did not stop. The brute leaped forward, and Robert, exerting all his strength, brought his club down upon the animal's head. Without a sound the dog dropped to the ground and lay motionless. Again in his desperation Robert struck the animal, and then, flinging the club far from him, resumed his flight. Not a sound had been heard from the pursuing men, but that they were in swift pursuit he had no question.
Suddenly and to his consternation he perceived that he was once more upon the border of the clearing. Before him were the heaps of brush, the charred stumps, and the little house in the distance upon the knoll. His first impulse had been to turn back, and then it occurred to him that greater safety might be found in the clearing than within the borders of the forest. Glancing quickly about him, he ran swiftly forward past the first pile of brush, and then on to the second. With frantic haste he tore apart the branches heaped together there, crawled beneath the pile, and pulled back the branches over him and lay still.
​For a brief time his excitement was so intense, and his fear of discovery was so great, that even the sense of his own exhaustion was not realized. As the minutes passed, however, and the silence about him was unbroken, he became conscious of his own weakness and of the pain in his shoulder. The loss of blood evidently had been great, he discovered, and he was powerless to aid himself now; but, aware that any exertion on his part might increase his danger as well as add to his suffering, he did his utmost to lie still.
The pain was becoming more intense, and soon a thirst was upon him that was well-nigh unbearable. Still he dared not move from his hiding-place, though all his strength of will was required to compel him to remain where he was.
Suddenly he heard a sound near him that caused him to forget his misery for a moment. A dog was sniffing about the brush heap, and as Robert peered out he could see that it was the same dog which he had felled a little while before in the woods. The blows he had given had not been fatal, he concluded with a sinking of his heart, and his present peril was greatly increased by the presence of the dog near his hiding-place. Even then he could see ​that the dog had discovered him, for it stood with bristling hair growling and gazing straight at him. The crisis must be met, Robert instantly decided, and, drawing his knife from his pocket, he grasped it in his hand, thrust aside the brushes, and, exposing himself, prepared for the attack.
With a snarl the savage beast rushed upon him, but Robert, who had not risen from the ground, with all the strength he could muster drove the blade into the animal's side. The dog had already seized upon the sleeve of Robert's coat, but instantly relaxed its grasp, a low whine escaped it, and, trembling for a moment, it fell forward upon the ground and did not rise. With a sigh of relief Robert realized that one peril had been removed, but still without rising, and to make assurance doubly sure, he drew the dead body of the dog under the brush, once more covered himself with the protecting branches and resumed his former place.
As soon as he was convinced that his pursuers had not been closely following the dog, and that they apparently were not near, the sense of his former suffering returned with redoubled force. The pain in his shoulder was becoming almost more than he felt he could ​endure, and his thirst was now tormenting him. Resolutely he strove to hold himself where he was, though the effort cost him much. He lost all conception of time. The sun sank lower and lower in the western sky, but he was hardly aware that the day was passing. He might have been lying under the brush heap for hours, so far as his own comprehension was concerned.
He roused himself slightly when he heard the sound of voices near him, and peering forth he beheld the three men who had been pursuing him. They were approaching his place of concealment, but somehow even the fear of discovery had become a matter of supreme indifference to Robert. He wondered what they would say when they found him. And would they be angry over the death of the dog? The question amused him, but even while it occurred, the men passed on without stopping, and Robert was dimly aware that his hiding-place had not been discovered after all. The men were gone and he was safe for the present.
As the moments dragged on, his thirst became overpowering. Even life, he persuaded himself, was no longer to be desired if it must be had at the price of such suffering. His lips were parched, his throat burning. At last when ​the dusk had deepened, he crept from beneath the pile of brush, and in the distance saw the light from the window of the little house on the knoll. He would seek that, he resolved, and then, with unsteady steps, falling at times and then creeping for a distance, he went slowly forward. Miles must have been covered and days consumed in that tiresome journey, he assured himself; but at last when he stood by the window and peered into the lighted room, all his fears returned, though he found himself unable to turn and flee from the spot.