“When you grow older,” said the gentleman, “you will know better. If a body of angels came together they would fall to quarreling in these terrible times. It is not human nature to be forever agreeable, no matter how desperate the cause. You soldiers forget, too, that every State has its word in the councils of Congress, and seldom do all States agree. Each has its own interests to watch. Perhaps the Congress makes unfulfilled promises, perhaps it errs in judgment. It is a body without power, my friend. It can ask flour and beef of the States, but only conscience can make those States supply the need. Do you forget that?” Jukes grunted, disquieted. The old gentleman handled words as he handled a gun. He could not oppose the argument because he had no knowledge. But of what use reason when the misery and misfortune of Valley Forge was there to confound all the fine talk of lawyers. If they wanted a free country why didn’t they find means of helping their soldiers? “’Tis strange,” said he, “how you gentlemen draw pay an’ wear fine clothes no matter how you disagree. An’ it’s a cussed example you set the country by runnin’ off from Philadelphia every time a British gun sounds within fifty miles. A fine example!” “I can plainly see,” snorted the old gentleman, “that you are a malcontent. You say you are on leave? Where is your paper to show it?” “I’ll show no papers,” said Jukes, stoutly. “Then you are a deserter. ----, sir, I’ve a notion to clap a pistol at your head and turn you around for the provost guards.” Jukes slipped the musket from his shoulders. “Mind your business, old fellow, or I’ll knock you off that perch.” They came to a halt, facing each other as the dusk gave way to darkness and the snow fell about them in redoubled thickness. Jukes laughed grimly. “Stick to your debatin’, old man. You c’n do better at it. Leave the guns to a fightin’ man. Le’s go, now. I ain’t got time to waste on a fat old turkey-cock like you.” St. Louis Cotton swore softly, putting his horse in motion. “You _are_ a renegade--a desperate ruffian, better out of the army than in it.” “Good enough to kill Englishmen though, ain’t I? Good enough to believe in your fine promises when everything looked mighty black. Now you an’ your blue-blood friends c’n fight fer your own necks. I’m through!” They turned a curve of the road and had sight of a tavern hidden amongst trees, not a hundred yards away. Jukes bit his words in two and came to a halt. A door of the tavern stood wide open, with the yellow light making a lane in the snow. And up that lane filed a squad of men dressed in the uniform of British dragoons. The door closed behind them, leaving Jukes with dry lips and a question on his tongue. “There a camp o’ those animals hereabouts, old feller?” “My eyes, they’re ---- poor,” said the squire. “What did you see?” “British dragoons,” muttered Jukes, peering through the darkness. “Saw six go inside. Wonder--” The squire was swearing.