Free The Silver Bullet by Jim DeFelice Page B

you get, Rebels,” said Peters, emerging from a nearby bush and standing over the ditch.
    “ We’ll run you out,” promised one of the few men who had not fallen into the water-filled hole. “And you, Smith – we’d hoped for better from you.”
    Smith’s response was cut short by a tremendous explosion from inside the house.
    “ My wife and children!” yelled the Tory, running for the building.
    He was no doubt surprised to find his neighbors running right behind him, echoing his concerns. Jake certainly was, as watching from the shadows he saw the men help Smith put out the flames and call for his family in the shattered ruins. Suddenly politics had ceased to matter, and the Liberty boys even held off citing this catastrophe as an example of what came from associating with the British until Smith was tearfully reunited with his family.
    The reader knows that most encounters between would-be Loyalist and ardent patriots have not ended with optimistic promises to help rebuild the former’s damaged house as this one did, but Jake could not help but smile as he slipped toward the road, realizing that the British recruiter – now helping douse the flames – would find no further succor here, and would indeed end the night by being placed under arrest.
    Jake could also not help but smile at the cries of the one man left in the muddy pit, Claus van Clynne.
    “ Help!” called van Clynne, who could not get a good enough footing in the slippery mud to pull himself out of the waist-high water. “I can’t swim. This water is deeper than the Atlantic. A rope or a hand before I drown would be greatly appreciated.”
    Not wanting to blow his cover unless absolutely necessary, Jake crept silently to the edge of the moat and made sure the Dutchman was in no immediate danger. He then trotted back toward Blom’s house, so pleased by the events of the night that he found himself wishing Johanna were just a few years older.
     

 
     
     
     
    -Chapter Seven-
     
    Wherein, van Clynne’s prowess as a lover is extolled, and the travelers reach British territory.
     
     
    “ S o?”
    Van Clynne shot Jake a puzzled glance from the back of his horse. “So what?”
    “ How’d it go?”
    “ How’d what go?”
    “ You left your bed in the middle of the night. I assume you had a midnight rendezvous in town.”
    “ I told you, I spent the entire night sleeping outside the door to our room. Why did you bar it against me?”
    “ Oh, here now, Claus.” Jake gave him a wink. “I’ve heard stories about you Dutchmen. It’s not for nothing you wear your breeches loose, is it?”
    “ I wear my breeches in very proper fashion,” protested van Clynne, stroking his beard for emphasis.
    “ When you wear them. What, do you expect me to believe you spent the night swimming in the ocean?”
    “ Well,” said van Clynne, stifling a sniffle, “I did have things to attend to.”
    “ You’re a good man of business, squire,” chuckled Jake.
    As difficult as it is to imagine van Clynne’s already rotund body puffing, it did seem to inflate under the stimulus of Jake’s flattery. Of course, that did not stop him from continuing his complaint that he had not had much sleep.
    The detour around Ticonderoga had taken them too far to the west, and they were now traveling back toward Lake Champlain. Jake did not have a firm idea of where they were, surmising only that Crown Point – in British control – lay well to the southeast. Van Clynne evidently intended on bypassing the British frontier garrisons, much as he had tiptoed around the American stronghold at the foot of the lake. Not a horribly bad idea, all things considered.
    As a precaution before leaving the Blom house this morning, Jake had burnt papers from Schuyler allowing him to travel unmolested through patriot lines; if stopped by a British patrol, they would raise many embarrassing questions. His only documents now were a list of Indian goods he had supposedly been sent by