Mr. Revere burst through Reverend Clarke’s doorway. Filigree jumped from his bag onto the floor. Mr. Revere went into the large parlor. Filigree scrambled after him. There on the hearth lay Jove.
The big Newfoundland lifted his head. He looked like he had never been so surprised to see another dog in his life.
Filigree lowered his ears and wagged his tail. He didn’t want Jove to stand on him again. Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock stumbled into the room in their nightshirts. Reverend Clarke came down the stairs.
“Adams. Hancock,” Mr. Revere said, taking off his spurs and coat. “Gage’s men know where you are and they’re coming for you. You’ve got to head out now.”
Filigree felt something big looming over him. He looked to see Jove staring down at him. Jove’s breath was warm on his face. He sniffed at Filigree.
“What are you doing here?” Jove woofed. It was like he couldn’t believe his nose.
Filigree wanted to sound like things like this happened all the time. But he couldn’t. He woofed back proudly, “I’ve been helping Mr. Revere.”
“You, Dormouse?” Jove laughed. “You?”
“I see you brought your daughter’s little dog, Revere,” said Mr. Adams.
Filigree wished Mr. Adams hadn’t called him “little” right in front of Jove.
“Yes,” Mr. Revere said. “He helped me warn all the families on the way. And he sniffed out every Redcoat patrol between here and Charlestown Common. I’d never have gotten here safely without him.”
Jove grunted. “I see. Assembling the troops.”
Jove looked at the hearth. On the stone were some cornbread and sausages. Jove always told the pack how Mr. Adams saved him the nicest scraps. He looked back at Filigree. “I was just about to tuck in,” he said. “Join me?”
Stunned, Filigree yipped a “yes.”
He scampered to the hearth and gulped down a sausage before Jove could change his mind. Then he started on the cornbread. Jove ate the rest and told him what was going on.
“My master spent half the night convincing Hancock he can’t fight with the militia himself,” he said.
“Why can’t he?” Filigree asked.
Jove puffed out his chest. “He and my master are too important! The patriots need them. But try telling that fool Hancock that.”
Mr. Revere’s voice startled them both. It cut through the warmth of the room like a knife.
“Where’s Dawes?” he demanded. “He was on a slow horse, but he left before I did. He should be here by now. Reverend Clarke? Any sign of him?”
“Nothing,” said Reverend Clarke.
Filigree saw Mr. Revere’s jaw tighten.
“Redcoats chased us on the way here,” Filigree told Jove.
“They might have caught Dawes,” rumbled Jove. “Maybe even all the other riders. That’s a worry.”
“I hope not,” Filigree said. He liked Mr. Dawes. But at least Mr. Revere, with Filigree’s help, had completed his mission. Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock knew they had to escape.
“What happens now?” Filigree asked Jove.
Before Jove could answer, the room was suddenly full of bustle. Other people came downstairs. One of them was Mrs. Clarke, the reverend’s wife. Another woman came from the kitchen with platters of food.
“You’ll need some nourishment,” she said. Jove told Filigree she was Miss Quincy and was going to marry Mr. Hancock. Some other men knocked on the door—Filigree hoped one of them was Mr. Dawes, but they were from the village. They spoke urgently to Mr. Revere and Reverend Clarke. Filigree heard something about the militia. Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock went into the next room and came back dressed. But then they started running back and forth between the rooms, looking for things.
“Mr. Revere said they had to leave now!” Filigree barked at Jove.
“That’s just how people talk,” Jove said. “But they never just go. They always seem to have to find things and pack things and do things first. Not like us dogs.”
Mr. Revere paced. Filigree was so tense, he almost jumped out of his fur when the door flew open and a man strode in.
“It’s Mr. Dawes!” Filigree said. “He made it!”
“Glad he’s in one piece,” Jove said.
Mr. Dawes was disguised as a farmer to fool the Redcoats. He was breathing hard.
“The country is alive with British patrols,” he said. “I don’t know if anyone at all made it to Concord.”
Mr. Revere didn’t say anything. He just walked over to a chair, sat in it, and started to put on his spurs. Dawes nodded at him. He didn’t even sit down.
“You’ve been riding all night, Revere,” Clarke said. “It’s after midnight. You’re exhausted. You too, Dawes. We’ll find someone else.”
“We have to make sure at least one rider gets through to Concord,” Mr. Revere answered. He stood up. “And you know very well there are no better riders than Dawes and me.”
“He’s just being nice about Mr. Dawes,” Filigree told Jove proudly. “Everyone knows Mr. Revere is the fastest rider in Massachusetts.”
John Hancock picked up his sword. “I’ll go!” he boomed. “I’ll fight any Regular who gets in my way.”
“That fool,” Jove muttered.
Mr. Adams took the sword from Mr. Hancock. “Now, John,” he said. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I’ll get the horses,” said Mr. Dawes. “Adams, Hancock—you head to Watertown, away from the Regulars. Revere, I’ll meet you outside.”
Mr. Revere walked to the door. Filigree started to follow and then stopped. Mr. Revere had been so angry with him for following before.
Jove shoved him with his nose. “What are you waiting for?” he barked.
Mr. Revere turned back.
“Coming, boy?” he said. “Can’t do it without you.”
Filigree’s heart soared like an eagle. He had never felt this way before. He ran to Mr. Revere. Together they set out into the night.