Guns of Liberty by Kerry Newcomb

Author:Kerry Newcomb
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781480478770
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
Published: 2014-02-21T17:50:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

TWO RIDERS IN THE gloom guided their mounts by instinct along the mud-slick road toward Springtown. It was hard going, no easy feat to stay in the saddle and keep the horses from losing their footing on the treacherous, wheel-rutted surface. The rain had come and gone. A cool downpour had renewed the creeks and washed the surrounding woods and left them glistening. The moon strove to reveal itself from behind the ominous drifting clouds and cast ghostly shadows upon the road while serpentine silhouettes writhed and played among the brooding oaks. The ghostly aspects of such a summer’s night only seemed to spur the men onward.

Al Dees and Mose Wiley rode with reckless abandon. They were young, with delusions of immortality. They were eager to prove themselves to Major Josiah Meeks. They had succeeded in discovering the rebels’ hiding place where other Tory agents had failed. The hours in the rain, the rigors of a midnight ride, the discomfort and loss of sleep had all been worth it.

I want nothing more now than to see the look on the faces of O’Flynn and Chaney and Black Tolbert when I tell the major what I’ve discovered, Dees thought to himself. He was bone tired from the ride and would have searched out a hideaway in which to sleep out the night were it not for his companion. Wiley had the constitution of an ox. He never seemed to need sleep. Dees knew that Wiley would be only too happy to continue on, present their information to the British officer, and gather all the laurels for himself. Dees was not about to let that happen. If it weren’t for me, Wiley would have blundered into the farm and alerted the damn rebels. So Dees had no recourse but to press on and match his indefatigable companion stride for stride.

Not long now, Wiley encouraged himself, making a mental picture of the road ahead and the village waiting less than an hour’s ride along the road. The next landmark along this desolate stretch of road was the wooden bridge across Roemer’s Creek. Just on the other side of this rise, if my memory serves me well. I’ll tell Meeks what I’ve discovered, then find me a jack of rum and a willing wench if there be one in all that cursed village.

The horsemen cleared the forest, topped the gentle sweep of rolling landscape, rounded a barren knoll, and then followed the Springtown road as it wound down through grassland to a stand of trees half a mile ahead. These woods stretched to either side of the road like silent sentinels guarding the creek in their midst. The tired horses smelled the creek and, anticipating a chance for a drink of the rain-fed waters and perhaps a brief respite, quickened their pace.

“The bridge,” Dees shouted. He’d been as eager for the landmark as his companion. Their journey was nearing its end; Springtown seemed within reach. Another hour at the most, Dees decided. Nothing would stop them now.

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