The Iron Chain by Jim DeFelice Read Free Book Online

and his four-barreled Segallas pocket pistol to make sure both were at the ready. The latter weapon was a rarity in America, with four barrels placed in pairs before two separate locks; once charged, the top set could be fired and then the barrel works flipped so the second pair could be used. It was an ingenious arrangement, and if its small bullets were useful only for close work, the miniature pistol was nonetheless a prized possession.
    Besides the guns, Jake carried a long, elk-handled knife that had been given to him by a special friend, a French half-breed trapper who had helped him escape from Canada a week before. His greatest weapons, however, were his resourcefulness and gilded tongue, both of which he expected to put to the test before the sun broke over the hills.
    When the large clock in the great room downstairs struck 2 a.m., Jake put his jacket over his waistcoat and snuck from his room, creeping down the stairs. The rest of the house was slumbering peacefully; the only noise came from the echoes of the Dutchman's loud snores against the rafters.
    The rendezvous was quickly met; Jake was but three steps from the door when he heard a hissing from the side of the house. Busch stepped forward, and together they gathered their horses and rode off up the road.
    They had gone but a short way, completely in silence, when Jake heard the low nicker of a horse in the woods nearby. He was just turning to Busch when two mounted men appeared from the shadows, guns drawn, and demanded to know their allegiance.
    "Why?" demanded Busch.
    "Because we asked, simpleton. You — what side are you on?"
    "What's it to you?" answered Jake, his voice harsher than Busch's.
    The patriot spy assumed that the ambush had been staged to test his loyalty, and so determined to play his role more freely than he might have otherwise. When one of the men — who fairly reeked of rum but was otherwise difficult to discern in the darkness — held out a pistol in his face and demanded again which side he was on, Jake drew himself straight in the saddle and declared for King George.
    The response was the soft but definite sound of a pistol being cocked.
    "Say your prayers, Tory."
    "Which prayers would you like to hear?" Jake asked his tormentor, who edged his horse so close to Jake's that their necks touched. His companion remained silent, sitting on his horse opposite Busch, near the side of the darkened road.
    Even as Jake asked his question, he realized he had mistaken the situation. This was not a stage play — the men holding weapons on them were aligned with the American side, though the hour and the rum indicated they were not regulars.
    "You are interested in our money, not our politics," said Busch evenly. "Don't add murder to your crimes."
    "It's not a crime to kill a Tory," said the man holding the gun at Jake's head. He nonetheless interpreted Busch's words to mean that they would comply, and his tone lightened ever so slightly. "Hand over what you've got, slowly. And we'll see if your lives are worth saving."
    The man started to lower his pistol so he could accept the travelers' gold. Jake's officer's gun was in the front holster of his saddle, near the horseman; it was impossible to get it without being seen — and shot. But at the first sign of trouble he had slipped his right hand into his shirt, and managed to conceal his pocket pistol in his fingers, away from the man covering him.
    He was unlikely to have as large an advantage as this again. While Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs did not like harming anyone connected to the American Cause, these two men had already declared themselves criminals, and the patriots would be well rid of them.
    He dove down across his horse, flinging his left boot upwards into the flank of the thief s animal with such a sharp kick that the horse leaped sideways, stumbling backwards and losing its balance. The man's gun went off as he fell to the ground; by that time, Jake had fired two of the Segallas'