Read Online Guns of Liberty by Kerry Newcomb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kerry Newcomb
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wrong—your fault, my fault, anybody’s fault—your father hangs. You understand, Danny boy?”
Daniel nodded.
“I don’t hear you,” Meeks repeated ominously.
“I understand,” Daniel said coldly.
The major seemed satisfied. “You had better leave before Tolbert comes around. He’ll want to kill you for this, of course.”
Daniel glanced from the unconscious man sprawled on the ground back to Josiah Meeks. “He’ll try.”
The horseman turned his mount and rode out of the clearing, down from the knoll and into the woods, pointing the mare west.
A few minutes later, with Black Tolbert revived but groggy, Major Josiah Meeks led the way downhill and off at a canter across the fields in the direction of the Trenton Road. Only when they were out of sight did a shadowy figure detach itself from a hillside overlooking the campsite. This audience of one looked after Meeks and Tolbert for a moment as if undecided which trail to follow. Then, like a hunter after his prey, the horseman swung his mount about and galloped after Daniel McQueen.
Chapter Eight
G IDEON STOOD DEFIANTLY AT the foot of the steps leading up to the front porch that ran the length of the farmhouse. The mastiff, aroused from its afternoon nap in the warm sunlight by the approaching horseman, moved quickly to defend its territory from the encroachment of a stranger. The animal growled, then loosed such a savage series of harks that Daniel was loath to dismount.
A gray-clad woman cradling a bowl of cornmeal batter appeared on the porch. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. An austere, unattractive woman, she retreated in. Then, gripping her wooden spoon like a war club, she crossed to the edge of the porch and glared out at the intruder. It was plain to see she felt no fear. Gideon could more than handle this stranger.
“What business have you here, sir?” she asked.
To her surprise, Daniel dismounted, squatted in the dirt, and called the mastiff by name. Gideon quieted, then took a hesitant step forward, his blunt nose testing the air for the man’s scent. The voice was certainly familiar. Daniel called out again, and this time the huge dog trotted forward and allowed the man to scratch its neck and rub behind its ears.
The woman with the bowl stared in utter disbelief.
“I am Sister Ruth.” Gathering her resolve, she moved to block him should he attempt to enter the house. She brandished her wooden stirring spoon like a club. Batter dripped from its “warhead.”
“Be well, Sister Ruth. I’m a peaceable man.” He held out his arms in a gesture of innocence. However, the flaps of his coat parted to reveal the matched pistols tucked in his belt.
He saw her eyes dart to the weapons and, to set the woman’s mind at ease, drew the guns.
She gasped.
He tucked the “Quakers” into his coat pockets, removed the coat, and draped it over his saddle. Wearing only his linsey-woolsey shirt, trousers, and calf-high black boots, he tethered the mare to a porch post. Sister Ruth continued to keep him from the porch and the open doorway.
“Daniel McQueen!” another voice interjected from inside the house. Sister Hope appeared in the doorway. She looked out of breath as she trundled onto the porch. Her round cheeks reddened as she gasped for air, and her homely face brightened, for McQueen’s arrival provided her with an excuse to escape her chores. She had ten skeins of woolen yarn waiting to be woven on the loom. It could wait.
“You know him?” Sister Ruth exclaimed.
“I do,” Sister Hope replied. “And can you not see Gideon does as well?”
The mastiff had followed McQueen but no longer attempted to intimidate the man. Instead, the animal sat on its haunches and never took its eyes off Sister Hope.
“One can’t be too careful,” Sister Ruth sniffed, “in these troubled times. See you do not tarry.” Like a general abandoning the field of battle to the opposing camp, she retreated from the porch and vanished into the
Daniel nodded.
“I don’t hear you,” Meeks repeated ominously.
“I understand,” Daniel said coldly.
The major seemed satisfied. “You had better leave before Tolbert comes around. He’ll want to kill you for this, of course.”
Daniel glanced from the unconscious man sprawled on the ground back to Josiah Meeks. “He’ll try.”
The horseman turned his mount and rode out of the clearing, down from the knoll and into the woods, pointing the mare west.
A few minutes later, with Black Tolbert revived but groggy, Major Josiah Meeks led the way downhill and off at a canter across the fields in the direction of the Trenton Road. Only when they were out of sight did a shadowy figure detach itself from a hillside overlooking the campsite. This audience of one looked after Meeks and Tolbert for a moment as if undecided which trail to follow. Then, like a hunter after his prey, the horseman swung his mount about and galloped after Daniel McQueen.
Chapter Eight
G IDEON STOOD DEFIANTLY AT the foot of the steps leading up to the front porch that ran the length of the farmhouse. The mastiff, aroused from its afternoon nap in the warm sunlight by the approaching horseman, moved quickly to defend its territory from the encroachment of a stranger. The animal growled, then loosed such a savage series of harks that Daniel was loath to dismount.
A gray-clad woman cradling a bowl of cornmeal batter appeared on the porch. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. An austere, unattractive woman, she retreated in. Then, gripping her wooden spoon like a war club, she crossed to the edge of the porch and glared out at the intruder. It was plain to see she felt no fear. Gideon could more than handle this stranger.
“What business have you here, sir?” she asked.
To her surprise, Daniel dismounted, squatted in the dirt, and called the mastiff by name. Gideon quieted, then took a hesitant step forward, his blunt nose testing the air for the man’s scent. The voice was certainly familiar. Daniel called out again, and this time the huge dog trotted forward and allowed the man to scratch its neck and rub behind its ears.
The woman with the bowl stared in utter disbelief.
“I am Sister Ruth.” Gathering her resolve, she moved to block him should he attempt to enter the house. She brandished her wooden stirring spoon like a club. Batter dripped from its “warhead.”
“Be well, Sister Ruth. I’m a peaceable man.” He held out his arms in a gesture of innocence. However, the flaps of his coat parted to reveal the matched pistols tucked in his belt.
He saw her eyes dart to the weapons and, to set the woman’s mind at ease, drew the guns.
She gasped.
He tucked the “Quakers” into his coat pockets, removed the coat, and draped it over his saddle. Wearing only his linsey-woolsey shirt, trousers, and calf-high black boots, he tethered the mare to a porch post. Sister Ruth continued to keep him from the porch and the open doorway.
“Daniel McQueen!” another voice interjected from inside the house. Sister Hope appeared in the doorway. She looked out of breath as she trundled onto the porch. Her round cheeks reddened as she gasped for air, and her homely face brightened, for McQueen’s arrival provided her with an excuse to escape her chores. She had ten skeins of woolen yarn waiting to be woven on the loom. It could wait.
“You know him?” Sister Ruth exclaimed.
“I do,” Sister Hope replied. “And can you not see Gideon does as well?”
The mastiff had followed McQueen but no longer attempted to intimidate the man. Instead, the animal sat on its haunches and never took its eyes off Sister Hope.
“One can’t be too careful,” Sister Ruth sniffed, “in these troubled times. See you do not tarry.” Like a general abandoning the field of battle to the opposing camp, she retreated from the porch and vanished into the
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