And the little mare seemed to understand what he said, for she strained every effort for speed. She fairly skimmed over the ground, and for the first mile or more the hoof-beats gained not at all upon them. Then, to Hadley’s straining ears, it seemed as though the pursuit grew closer. It was not a mob of hoof-beats which he heard, but the steady, unbroken gallop of one horse. And it took little intuition for the boy to know which this leading pursuer was. The great black charger, the colonel’s mount, had left the dragoons behind, and its stride was now shortening the distance rapidly between its master and himself.
“Oh, Molly, run--run!” gasped the boy, digging his heels into the mare’s sides.
Molly was doing her best, but the sound of the black horse’s hoofs grew louder. The road was not straight or Hadley might have looked back and seen the colonel bearing down upon him. But the officer could doubtless follow his prey by the sound of Molly’s feet, quite as accurately as Hadley could estimate his speed. At this thought, and hoping to put his pursuer at a disadvantage for the moment, the boy pulled the mare out upon the level sward beside the road. There Black Molly pattered along silently: but the boy could hear the thunder of pursuit growing louder and louder.
Now that the clatter of his own mount’s hoofs were not in his ears, Hadley was suddenly aware of a new sound cutting the night air. And it was not from the rear, but from ahead--the loud complaint of ungreased axles: a low, heavy wagon was coming slowly along the road.
“If it should be Holdness!” gasped the boy. “It sounds like his wagon.”
Around another turn in the crooked road they flashed and then the creaking of the wheels was quite near. A great covered wagon loomed up in the dusk, and Hadley uttered a cry of joy.
“Lafe! Lafe Holdness!” he shouted, while yet the wagon was some rods away.
But the driver of the squeaking vehicle heard him, and there was a flash of light as he rose up on the footboard and held the lantern above his head.
“Hi, there! slow down or ye’ll run over me!” drawled a nasal voice.
“The British are after me--I’ve got dispatches!” shouted the boy, reining in the mare beside the wagon.
“Had Morris, as I’m a livin’ sinner! What ye doin’ here?” Then the driver cocked his head and listened to the thud of hoofs behind the flying boy. “They’re arter ye close, lad--an’ Molly’s winded. Quick! there’s naught but straw in here. It’s your best chance.”