# The Rider of the Black Horse/Chapter 30
### CHAPTER XXX MARTHA

Within the room, which was dimly lighted by a candle, Robert could see the three men who had pursued him. They were seated about a table, and the words of their conversation could be distinctly heard by him as he stood by the open window. Not one of the men had he ever seen before that day, he was convinced, but their words for the moment speedily banished even the thought of his own suffering and peril from his mind.
"Russell was right," one of them was saying.
"Yes, he was right enough; but what 'll he have to say for us now, I'd like to know?" responded another.
"We did our best. I can't see for the life of me what became of the fellow."
"What's become of the dog?" said one who had been silent.
"That's so!" replied the first speaker, "I'd forgotten the dog."
Stepping to the door, the man flung it ​open and whistled shrilly. Robert crouched close to the side of the house, fearful lest his presence should be discovered, and watched the man whom he could plainly see waiting for a call to be answered.
In a brief time the man returned to his seat by the table, and the young express breathed more freely. His escape had been a narrow one, but his eagerness to hear what was said prevented him even then from fleeing.
"Strange," said the man. "The dog never did that before."
"We ought to have kept him close to us and followed him," said one.
"We did n't, and we 've lost our game," retorted the first speaker. "The question for us to decide now is what we shall do."
"We'd better go down the river and report," suggested the one who had taken but a little part in the conversation.
"Fine report we 'll have to make," said one bitterly.
"It 'll have to be made."
"Yes, Jack's right. We'd better go, and the sooner the better."
His suggestion was approved, and the three men at once arose. For a moment Robert was ​tempted to run, so great was his fear of discovery. His own weakness and his eagerness to learn what they were about to do, however, caused him to delay, and in a moment he perceived that the men were departing by another door in the rear of the little house. He heard the door close behind them, but he still remained in his position, his eyes fixed upon the woman, evidently the wife of one of the men, who remained in the room, and her attitude betrayed the fear or dejection that seemed to possess her.
Suddenly the door was opened again, and one of the men entered. "Martha," he said, "we may not be back till morning, and it may be that we shall be gone several days. Don't look for me till I come."
"Oh, Tom!" she said hastily, "what makes you go? It's nothing to you, anyway!"
"I must, Martha. I don't like to leave you alone, but I hope the dog 'll show up pretty soon. If anything happens, you 'll know what to do."
"Yes, Tom."
In a moment the door was again closed, and the man was gone. Robert waited where he was, feeling himself almost unable to ​move, and in a brief time he heard the sound of the men approaching. Once more he drew closer to the side of the house and threw himself at full length upon the ground, pressing against the wall in his eagerness to conceal his presence. The men, however, passed without perceiving him, doubtless so engrossed with their own purposes that they had no mind to be on the watch for other things at the moment. They advanced into the road, and soon could no longer be heard.
For a time Robert did not move from the position he had taken. There was a sense of relief in the fact that he had not been discovered, but even this was soon lost in the raging thirst that once more became his. He realized that it was useless for him to attempt to flee, and the peril of capture was gone, at least for the moment. He gazed up into the heavens, and the sight of the myriads of twinkling stars seemed only to increase his agony, for they were far away. The pain in his shoulder, too, was intense, and, combined as it was with his thirst, made him almost frantic. It was more than could be endured, and at last Robert arose from the ground and in sheer desperation approached the door. There was no one but the woman ​within the house, and he had decided to ask her help even if he should be compelled to declare who and what he was.
His first low rap was unheeded, but when he had repeated his summons the door was suddenly opened and he beheld the woman before him, holding a candle in her hand. Even the expression of alarm visible upon her face was unheeded by the desperate young express, and he said hurriedly, "Will you please give me a drink of water?"
"Who are you?" demanded the woman as she held her candle higher until its light fell full upon his face. "Are you ill?" she inquired in a lower tone.
"Yes, I think I am. I am wounded."
"Come in," she said quickly.
Robert could not have explained even to himself why it was that he obeyed, but he at once entered the room and sank heavily into one of the chairs. His appearance seemed to touch the heart of his hostess, for she instantly took a dipper, and, filling it with water from a bucket that was in the room, handed it to him without a word. It was not returned until Robert had drunk all it contained, and as he looked up he perceived that the woman was gazing intently into his face.
​"Are you the man my husband and the others are trying to get?" she inquired. Her voice was not unkind, and suddenly Robert resolved to trust himself to her.
"Yes, madam," he said quietly.
For a moment she did not speak, nor did Robert look up from the floor upon which he had fixed his gaze. He was trembling, for he was fully aware what her reply would mean to him.
"Poor boy!" said the woman at last, sympathetically. "Tom would never forgive me if he knew, but I cannot turn you away. It is n't safe for you to be here, though I don't think the men will come back before morning. You have been shot, you say. Let me help you. Where was it?"
Robert pointed to his shoulder, but could not trust himself to speak. The woman's kindness had touched him deeply, and in his wretchedness he felt that his chin was quivering.
"Come over here," she said gently; and assisting him to stand she led him to a couch in the room, upon which the young soldier was soon lying. Then with deft and gentle fingers she bared his shoulder and examined his wound.
​"You have lost a good deal of blood, but I think you will soon be all right again," she said; "the bullet went straight through."
Robert did not reply, but as she bathed his aching shoulder, applied some of the humble lotions to the wound and then bound it up once more, he felt that her skill was almost as great as her kindness had been.
"There," she said, when her task at last had been completed, "I may not have visited my enemy, but my enemy has visited me, and I have done my best for him."
"Shall I go now?" inquired Robert feebly.
For a moment the good woman seemed to hesitate, and then she said in her determined manner, "No, you stay right where you are, for the night, anyway."
"But I don't want them to get me," said Robert simply.
"I don't want them to, either; and what's more, they shan't if I can prevent it. I don't know what Tom would think of me if he knew, but he does n't know; and if he does n't come back pretty soon, he won't know. You lie right where you are and go to sleep, and I 'll keep watch."
"You are very good to me," murmured Robert. There was a nameless comfort in her ​manner, and soon the nearly exhausted young soldier was asleep.
It was daylight before he awoke, and when he opened his eyes he beheld the woman seated in a chair by the window and looking toward the road. For a brief time he did not stir, but lay quietly watching her. He was refreshed by his sleep, but as he tried to move, the pain in his shoulder returned, and he became aware how weak he was.
The woman turned and glanced at him, and perceiving that his eyes were open she came quickly to his side.
"Better?" she inquired simply.
"I think so."
"What do you intend to do now?"
"I must try to go on."
"Where?"
"I—I don't know."
"I 've been thinking about you."
"That's good of you." In the clearer light Robert could see that she was a woman in middle life, and as he saw the kindly and motherly expression in her face he was reminded of his own mother back among the hills of Jersey.
"You can't stay here," she said.
"No-o. I don't believe I can."
​"And you can't go on."
"No. I can't go on," said Robert simply.
"Then what are you going to do?" she inquired.
"I—I—don't know," he responded hopelessly. Then rousing himself for the moment, he sat up and said, endeavoring to speak bravely, "I must try to go. I 'll not give up. Besides, I 'll be a trouble to you if I don't go, and if your husband should"—
"Never you mind Tom. I 'll look after him," she said lightly, as she arose and came to him.
Once more she bathed and dressed his aching shoulder, and then, working with great haste as Robert thought, she prepared him some breakfast, of which he was able to eat sparingly. Refreshed by what had been done for him, Robert said hastily, "I 'll go now."
"You can't go. You 're not strong enough."
"But I can't stay," he protested miserably.
"No, you can't stay; that is, you can't stay here. Listen, and I 'll tell you what you 're to do. Two years ago Tom thought he would make some maple sugar." She stopped for a moment, and Robert gazed at ​her, wondering what the making of maple sugar had to do with him in his present state of misery.
"I told him it would n't be any earthly good," she resumed, "and now he knows I was right. Of course I 've never referred to it, for, of all things, a man does n't like to hear 'I told you so,' least of all from his wife. He built a little sugar-house back in the woods, but he does n't go near it. I'm going to take you there."
"Will it be safe?"
"Safer than as if you were in Fort Montgomery, according to my way of thinking. No one will be likely to come near this place, and I 'll put you there, and look after you, too. Come! We must n't delay, for Tom may come back at any moment now, and what he would say if he should find you here or me taking care of you, I think I can guess. But I don't want to hear it. Come! I 'll help you."
Feebly Robert arose from the couch, but he himself was startled as he discovered how weak he was. It seemed to him shameful to be compelled to lean upon the arm of the woman as he did, but nevertheless he did so. Slowly they made their way out of the house ​and into the woods, and at last arrived at the little sugar-house of which she had told him.
Leaving him within, she returned to the house and soon came back, her arms laden with blankets, which she spread upon the floor, and made up a rude but not uncomfortable bed, upon which he at once placed himself.
"There!" she said, as she prepared to depart. "Don't you try to leave till I bring you word, and don't you be frightened if I don't come as often as you expect me. I shan't forget you or neglect you, either. I 'll see that you have enough to eat, and when you 're stronger and the right time has come for you to go, then I 'll let you know, but don't try to do anything yourself till then. What you 've got to do is to keep quiet and not give any suspicion that there's some one in this sugar-house. I don't know what Tom 'll think of me."
She was gone before Robert could reply.
The recovery of the young express was much slower than he had hoped. The days dragged on till a week had elapsed, and still the good woman forbade him to try to depart, declaring that he was not strong enough. Daily she visited him and dressed his wound, ​and brought him food, but of reports she had heard as to what was being done by redcoats or continentals not a word would she give him. She might be disloyal to "Tom" to the extent of feeding his enemy, but beyond that not a step would she go.
On the eighth day Robert declared that he was fully recovered. His pale face and evident weakness belied his statement, but the good woman nodded her head and said, "To-morrow you shall go if you desire."
Up to this time no one had come to the shelter except the woman, and, mindful of his promise to her, Robert had not ventured from the little building. After her departure on the day when her consent to his leaving on the morrow had been given, he had left the door partly open to let in the air and shut out a part of the feeling of loneliness. His meditations were sharply interrupted as he heard the low voices of two people approaching, and in his excitement he instantly recognized one as that of Russell.