Free The Gentle Rebel by Gilbert Morris Page A

the man’s a criminal, andsooner or later the Sons of Liberty are all going to dangle from ropes.” Major Pitcairn stopped fifty yards away from the red brick house. “I’d hate for your brother to be one to hang with them, Nathan, and that’s why I’ve told you this.”
    Nathan thrust his hand out impulsively, and grasping the officer’s hand, he burst out, “Thank you, Major!”
    “Well, well, now you know—but what will you do about it, my boy?”
    The question struck Nathan hard, for his mind was a total blank as to what could be done. He set his jaw, and there was a fire in his light blue eyes as he said, “I’ll do something, Major—and you can bet on that!”
    Major Pitcairn gave him a clap on the shoulder, but added a final word: “Our informer tells me they’ll have a meeting tonight. I should try to keep the boy away if possible—but be a little careful, Nathan. These men are revolutionaries—they’d think nothing of snuffing you out! Well, let me know if I can do anything.”
    Pitcairn wheeled and marched down the street, a trim, erect military figure, and Nathan moved to the shelter of a tiny inn across from the brick house. He took a seat and ordered a meal as an excuse for his presence. The food was slow in coming, and was badly cooked, but he never noticed. His brain was racing as he tried to think of some way to get Caleb free from trouble. He thought of sending him home, but knew at once that Caleb would never go. Maybe if I write father—? But he’d probably be proud of Caleb, feeling as he does.
    He finished his meal, then realizing he couldn’t stay in the inn until the group met, paid his bill and returned to the street. Snow lay in white stripes everywhere, and the flakes were getting larger. He looked up into the sky, then turned and walked slowly in the direction of the harbor. I’ll go to the warehouse and stay warm until later—then I’ll do something.
    By the time he had covered the distance from the center of town to the waterfront, the snow was coming down as thickly as if some unseen giant were dumping it out of hugebaskets. The flakes were huge, almost the size of a tuppence, and lay in drifts several inches deep along the shopfronts. The temperature had plummeted; by the time he turned off High Street and began walking along the docks, his cheeks were numb and his feet had no sensation as they struck the carpet of white that covered the wharfs.
    Nathan moved closer to a long tobacco warehouse to avoid the icy blasts that stung his face. He glanced out at the harbor where the ships seemed to be frozen carcasses—their sharp outlines of masts and spars rounded into smooth curves by the blanket of snow.
    But as he glanced out at the fleet, his half-frozen feet struck something. He tried to jerk his hands out of his pockets to catch himself, but he failed and his long body fell headlong into the snow!
    “What the devil—!”
    He yanked his hands out of his pockets and swept the snow from his face with a forearm. He rolled over and saw what appeared to be a bundle of rags under a white mound, and he lifted his heel to give it a savage kick, for the fall had knocked out his breath and one cheek was bleeding, scraped raw against the rough wood of the wharf.
    “What—?” he gave a startled look, then lowered his boot, for he thought he saw a tiny movement beneath the mound. Scrambling to his knees he reached out and brushed the snow away and saw at once that the bundle was alive!
    Fear struck him in the belly, and with hands that shook more from nervousness than cold, he tugged at the figure, which seemed to be swathed in some sort of ragged blanket. Pulling it to one side, he could barely make out in the gathering darkness a pale white face, eyes shut tight. “Hey! Wake up!” He shook the small figure, but there was no response.
    “Got to find help!” he muttered. He got to his feet and looked wildly around, but he knew there was no doctor in the area. Got to get him