small but deadly bullets into the bulky shadow before Busch. He aimed for what he took to be the man's shoulder, hoping to wound but not kill him. The man fell back in a tumble, his own pistol firing errantly.
Busch drew his gun from a front holster but Jake pounded his stallion's side and got the animal in motion, reaching over and pushing Busch's along with him. The Tory's aim was disrupted and he missed the thief, who by now was rolling on the ground in pain but not mortal danger.
The threat diffused, Busch and Jake thundered down the road. It was soon clear they had not been followed, but they galloped another half mile just to be sure.
Busch's two-cornered hat had slipped from his head but landed in his hand during the brief battle; when they stopped, he examined it carefully before turning his attention to Jake.
"Are you all right, Smith?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You saved us both, I daresay." Busch's voice was grateful, and yet not panicked; he could have been talking about having preserved a few quarts of milk from spoiling. "The villain's bullet grazed my jacket." He showed Jake the damage, a light singe in the otherwise strong cotton that crossed directly beneath the left shoulder, perhaps four or five inches removed from his heart. "I thought they'd gotten my hat as well. I would have preferred that; I'd much like an excuse to buy a new one."
"You're lucky to be alive."
"I can't recall a closer scrape," admitted Busch. "Did you fire two shots from a pocket pistol?"
"It is a gun I bought in London some time ago," said Jake, holding it up so Busch could see. There was a new moon and the tree-covered road was particularly dark. "Made by Segallas. I do not believe there is another on our whole continent."
"It is an admirable weapon," said Busch.
"Who were our friends?"
"The rebel criminals call themselves Skinners, though they are after more than mere animal skins, that you may believe."
"Are they soldiers?"
"The law does not draw a distinction between rebels and plain criminals," said Busch, patting his horse's side gently before spurring it onward. "But no, not in the sense you or the rebel congress mean. These men use the war as an excuse for their depravity — as, unfortunately, do some who fancy themselves Royalists. Come, we have much to do tonight."
Busch's pace precluded further talk. Jake realized that he could not have staged a better incident to gain the Tory's trust. He also saw that his initial assessment of Busch had, if anything, underestimated him. A lesser man might have well been flustered by his brush with death, nor would it have taken too much ego to insist on returning to finish the thieves off. But Busch had both overcome the shock of the close call and realized the men held little real threat to his ultimate mission, whatever that might be.
He was also man enough to admit the truth of the roving bandit gangs and their allegiances, which many a hot patriot would not.
Three miles north, the Tory pulled up his horse's reins. They had arrived at a crossroads undistinguished from hundreds of others in the surrounding countryside. Jake had only a vague idea of where they were ― a mile or so from North Castle and not far from the Kisco River.
"We'll rest here a bit," said Busch.
"So what are we all about, then?" Jake asked.
"Come now, surely you've guessed after our encounter."
"I'm not in the habit of making guesses."
"Well, Mr. Smith, what are you in the habit of?"
"I have only good and sober habits," said Jake. "I am God fearing and looking for work, if the truth be told. I have no money."
"I wouldn't worry about that," said Busch. He pulled his horse around to look down the road. The stars shone as brightly as they could, but the neighboring vicinity was still dark and shadowy. "I know from your actions as well as your comments that you are loyal to the king, and a brave man besides."
"As are you," said Jake.
" Indeed, Iam a bit more ," said Busch, his voice instantly
Busch drew his gun from a front holster but Jake pounded his stallion's side and got the animal in motion, reaching over and pushing Busch's along with him. The Tory's aim was disrupted and he missed the thief, who by now was rolling on the ground in pain but not mortal danger.
The threat diffused, Busch and Jake thundered down the road. It was soon clear they had not been followed, but they galloped another half mile just to be sure.
Busch's two-cornered hat had slipped from his head but landed in his hand during the brief battle; when they stopped, he examined it carefully before turning his attention to Jake.
"Are you all right, Smith?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You saved us both, I daresay." Busch's voice was grateful, and yet not panicked; he could have been talking about having preserved a few quarts of milk from spoiling. "The villain's bullet grazed my jacket." He showed Jake the damage, a light singe in the otherwise strong cotton that crossed directly beneath the left shoulder, perhaps four or five inches removed from his heart. "I thought they'd gotten my hat as well. I would have preferred that; I'd much like an excuse to buy a new one."
"You're lucky to be alive."
"I can't recall a closer scrape," admitted Busch. "Did you fire two shots from a pocket pistol?"
"It is a gun I bought in London some time ago," said Jake, holding it up so Busch could see. There was a new moon and the tree-covered road was particularly dark. "Made by Segallas. I do not believe there is another on our whole continent."
"It is an admirable weapon," said Busch.
"Who were our friends?"
"The rebel criminals call themselves Skinners, though they are after more than mere animal skins, that you may believe."
"Are they soldiers?"
"The law does not draw a distinction between rebels and plain criminals," said Busch, patting his horse's side gently before spurring it onward. "But no, not in the sense you or the rebel congress mean. These men use the war as an excuse for their depravity — as, unfortunately, do some who fancy themselves Royalists. Come, we have much to do tonight."
Busch's pace precluded further talk. Jake realized that he could not have staged a better incident to gain the Tory's trust. He also saw that his initial assessment of Busch had, if anything, underestimated him. A lesser man might have well been flustered by his brush with death, nor would it have taken too much ego to insist on returning to finish the thieves off. But Busch had both overcome the shock of the close call and realized the men held little real threat to his ultimate mission, whatever that might be.
He was also man enough to admit the truth of the roving bandit gangs and their allegiances, which many a hot patriot would not.
Three miles north, the Tory pulled up his horse's reins. They had arrived at a crossroads undistinguished from hundreds of others in the surrounding countryside. Jake had only a vague idea of where they were ― a mile or so from North Castle and not far from the Kisco River.
"We'll rest here a bit," said Busch.
"So what are we all about, then?" Jake asked.
"Come now, surely you've guessed after our encounter."
"I'm not in the habit of making guesses."
"Well, Mr. Smith, what are you in the habit of?"
"I have only good and sober habits," said Jake. "I am God fearing and looking for work, if the truth be told. I have no money."
"I wouldn't worry about that," said Busch. He pulled his horse around to look down the road. The stars shone as brightly as they could, but the neighboring vicinity was still dark and shadowy. "I know from your actions as well as your comments that you are loyal to the king, and a brave man besides."
"As are you," said Jake.
" Indeed, Iam a bit more ," said Busch, his voice instantly
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