# The Rider of the Black Horse/Chapter 32
### CHAPTER XXXII CONCLUSION

"He deserved it," said Robert thoughtfully, his spirits being deeply depressed by the horrible sight he had seen.
"Yes, he did, and more," responded Joseph promptly. "If he's the only one with a word for Burgoyne, we may still be able to win. But things are in bad shape up north, I hear. It's now or never with us."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing, except that the reports are that the redcoats up there are in a trap; and if Clinton does n't get through pretty soon, it 'll be all up with them."
"Somebody else may have carried word to him of what Sir Henry is doing and planning to do," suggested Robert somewhat gloomily. His own physical condition was not such as to warrant him in taking a very bright outlook.
"Never give up till you have to!" retorted Joseph. "That's my motto. At all events, the world is rid of Russell and a few other villains like him."
​"Who?"
"Claud Brown, Josh, and another man whose name I do not know."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say."
"Has Claud Brown been caught?"
"Yes, sir. Caught and hanged, and Josh and the other man, too!"
"Hanged?"
"Yes, sir. That 's just what I mean."
"Tell me about it."
"There is n't much to tell besides that. There were a good many up here who had had their barns burned, and had suffered so much that at last they decided to run the rascals down. You know how Josh was taken, but they kept up the chase till they got Claud Brown, too. They had to go clear down to Long Island to get him, though."
"I should n't think they'd have dared to go as far as that."
"Dared? They dared do anything to lay hands on the rascals. Jake Gunning was the leader, and they say he was almost crazy, he was so mad."
"Yes, I know," responded Robert quietly. He recalled the time when he had last seen Jacob, and it was not difficult for him to ​understand now how the landlord had been among the most active of the outraged men of the region who had at last risen in their wrath and pursued the leaders of the cowboys until they had run them to earth.
"They brought them back to Orange County, and kept them chained in the old jail," explained Joseph. "Chained them to the floor, too, for they did n't intend to let them get away this time. And they did n't," he added significantly.
"Where was it—that it took place?" inquired Robert.
"In the courtyard of the jail. It was just filled with people, who wanted to make sure that they'd seen the last of Claud Brown. They had; but I'm thinking, from what I hear, that there are some others who 'll do their best to take up the work he quit then forever."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, I'm told Claud Brown's son Dick is on the war-path, and is furious over his father's death. He 'll give us plenty to think of, and to do, too."
"Josh was n't such a bad fellow," suggested Robert.
"He did n't know enough to be very bad. ​But he ought to have known enough to keep away from Claud Brown. He was known by the company he kept," retorted Joseph, with a laugh.
It was difficult for Robert to understand how his friend could look upon these events lightly. For himself, the horror of them was so great that it seemed to him the effect would never depart. The very fact that he had had experiences of his own with these outlaws made the fate that had overtaken them the more impressive. It might all be, as Joseph suggested, a part of the expected events of war-time, but the horror of it was none the less real.
"Joe," he said, "do you know what became of Dirck?"
"Dirck Rykman? Oh, he's back in his old home as chipper as ever."
"He is?"
"Yes. That was a mistake about his being taken. Oh, he was taken all right enough, but they found out that he was being used by the Tories and that he did n't understand what it was he was doing. This fellow Russell," he added, "when we took him back there in the woods must have thought at first we were taking him to Sir Henry, for he asked us if we ​knew where Clinton was; and when we told him we did, he seemed to be mighty glad. He wasn't looking for the Clinton we were thinking of, though. His face showed that."
"Yes," assented Robert, whose thoughts were of Dirck. "You say Dirck went back to his home? Did he take his family with him? I should think he'd have been afraid for them. It is n't safe."
"No, it is n't, and that's a fact. But you can't move Dirck by any such little things as that, you know. He's a regular Dutchman and does n't know how to change."
"That's not so bad."
"No. There seem to be plenty, though, who do know how in these days," laughed Joseph. "They 're first on one side and then on the other."
"Joe, did they ever do anything with that old man who was doing so much with counterfeit money?"
"No, they did n't do anything, but it was n't because they did n't want to or try to. He was a slippery old fellow, and got away when he found out what was going on. Probably went down to New York."
"He 'll be safe there."
"For a while, yes. We 're going to have ​New York in our own grip before you know it."
"Does n't look very much like it now."
Robert was low spirited. The loss of the forts by the Americans, the burning of Esopus, the confidence of the redcoats, were all to him disheartening. Then, too, his own outlook was not promising. He realized that he was still suffering from the effect of his recent adventure, and the loss of Nero was something not easily repaired. How he was to return to the great commander was a problem yet to be solved. For the present he decided to remain where he then was, and as soon as General Clinton, who had bidden him do this very thing, should learn how it fared with Gates in the north and could find time for other matters, he promised to give his personal attention to the needs of the young express.
Already it was known that a battle had occurred at Bemis Heights (September 19, 1777). But the results had not been decisive. Then had occurred the fight at Stillwater (October 7, 1777); and although victory rested with the sturdy Americans, John Burgoyne's surrender had not as yet been made. Doubtless he was waiting for the arrival of his allies ​from New York; and though his plight was desperate, like the sturdy Briton that he was he was not willing to give up until the last hope was gone.
Down near Philadelphia had occurred the battle of Brandywine, where the Americans had been defeated with a heavy loss, and already some were comparing the defeats which Washington suffered with the success which apparently was following the efforts of General Gates in the north, few realizing how the great-hearted Washington was simply striving to hold Howe's army where it then was to prevent aid being sent to Burgoyne, ignoring any possible reflection that might be made upon his own seeming failure. On October 4th (1777) had occurred the battle of Germantown, where the carefully made plans of Washington and the success that almost crowned his efforts were thwarted by the action of one of his generals on the field, who had gone into the fight intoxicated.
Still, in spite of defeats, Washington had succeeded in holding Howe near Philadelphia and preventing him from sending or going himself to the aid of his comrade-in-arms in the north, whose plight with every passing day became more desperate. Even a retreat ​into Canada was impossible for Burgoyne now, for his enemies were in his rear as well as before his face. His sole hope rested upon Clinton, and if he had received the message which had been hidden within the tiny silver bullet that his messenger had vainly endeavored to conceal when he had been made a prisoner, doubtless he would have held out a little longer, and the history of the United States would have been far different from that which it has since become.
In his desperation, with no knowledge of Clinton's approach, and with no word received of his coming, John Burgoyne at last, on the 17th day of October, 1777, surrendered with his entire army, and all fears of his invasion were at an end.
It would be impossible to describe the enthusiasm of the people when news of this great event was received, and nowhere was the excitement greater than in the little force that still remained with General Clinton in Orange County. Even Robert Dorlon apparently forgot his own sufferings, and joined enthusiastically in the celebrations that followed.
"This means that we can go home now," said Joseph joyfully to Robert.
​"It means that you can."
"Yes, and you 're to go home with me, too."
"No, I must go back just as soon as I can get a horse."
"You are n't fit to," said Joseph eagerly. "Besides, I thought you might be glad to stay a few days with us. Hannah will be there, you know," he added demurely.
"Where?"
"At my uncle's. It is n't more than ten miles from here. And there won't be anything to do but to have a good time—no cowboys, no counterfeiters, no redcoats; just the family, for we 'll all be home. Our time is up now."
"I'd like to." Robert hesitated, for the invitation of his friend was appealing to him strongly, and for many reasons.
"You must, and that's all there is to it! Come on. We 'll go to see General Clinton this minute!"
Robert followed his friend, and in a brief time they were standing before the general. Joseph was the spokesman, and in his boyish enthusiasm he begged for permission for Robert to accompany him home. He told of his friend's recent adventures and the illness ​which had followed, and then repeated his request for the desired permission.
General Clinton smiled, for he was as happy as his men over the surrender of Burgoyne and the return of Sir Henry and his troops to the city. "I think I can give you the permission you desire," he said kindly. "Truly, you do not look as if you were fit to ride to Philadelphia."
"Thank you, General," said Robert quietly. "Have you a horse for me?"
"Yes." General Clinton glanced keenly but not unkindly at the young man as he spoke.
"Then I will start now."
For a moment Joseph stared at his friend as if he were angry, and then without a word both young men passed out.
"I don't understand," said Joseph sharply, when they were outside.
"Yes, you do, Joe. You'd do the same thing if you were in my place. My time is up, but I must report. Then I 'll come back and stay till you are tired of seeing me about the house."
Impulsively Joseph turned and grasped his friend's hand, but he did not speak.
It was six weeks later when Robert Dorlon returned to the region. There was a color in ​his bronzed face that indicated that he was once more strong and well. Snow was on the ground, but the appearance of his horse showed that he had in nowise suffered from the cold. Robert halted in front of a little clearing which he recognized as the one where he had received aid from the good woman whose husband called her "Martha." Suddenly he decided to go up to the house and thank her for all she had done for him; but when he rapped loudly upon the door, he discovered that the house was deserted. It was long after the war was ended that he was enabled to thank the good woman for her help, but when and where he met her are outside the limits of this present tale.
Swiftly Robert resumed his journey, and not long afterwards arrived at the house he was seeking. There Joseph and Hannah met him at the door, and after Joseph had warmly greeted his friend, his sister said sharply, "Why did n't you stop here last October, when Joe invited you? Did n't you want to?"
"You know I did, Hannah," replied Robert, with a laugh.
"Why did n't you, then?"
"Because I had to do what I ought to do first. I wanted to stop, but I knew I ought to ​go back and report. So I did," said Robert simply.
"Are you glad to come now?"
"I should n't be here if I was n't," laughed Robert.
"Robert Dorlon, if you had stopped then, I should not have been glad to see you at all. You had no business to stop then."
"Are you glad to see me now?" he inquired.
The warm-hearted girl impulsively held forth her hand, and Robert had no question as to his welcome.