Filigree flung himself down next to the belfry at the edge of Lexington Common. He’d never run so far and fast in his life. He’d done it in short bursts. All he cared about was staying ahead of the Redcoat patrol. If he hadn’t jumped on a wagon full of wood heading past the town, he would never have made it in time.
He was covered in mud from his paws to his ears. Even his nose was full of mud. He’d had to cross the swamp by the graveyard to stay out of sight.
The houses of the town were dark, but light from Buckman Tavern spilled out across the road. Now that Filigree was here, he wasn’t sure what to do. If he went back to Reverend Clarke’s house without Mr. Revere, they would guess that something was wrong. But there was no way for him to tell them about having to keep the patrol away. And the house was past the far end of town. By the time Filigree got there, it might be too late.
Something huge and dog-shaped crossed in front of Buckman Tavern. Relief washed over Filigree. Only one dog could be that big. Jove would know what to do!
Filigree ran toward him. And straight into a man hiding beside the little shed that stood between the belfry and the tavern. Filigree’s nose was so full of mud, he hadn’t smelled a thing.
In the moonlight, Filigree saw that the man was tall with a pale face. It was the Redcoat from the fight that afternoon on Back Street! The same one who had tried to smash Jove’s head in! But he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He was in ordinary clothes. He stared at Filigree.
“YOU. LITTLE. RAT!” he whispered.
There weren’t supposed to be any British soldiers in Lexington yet.
“Everyone laughed at me,” the Redcoat growled. “Said I couldn’t even fight a yippy little dog. The captain said I was useless and sent me here to wait in the dark.”
He’s a spy! Filigree realized.
Another man stepped out from behind the shed. It was the shorter Redcoat from that afternoon. He wore ordinary clothes too.
The tall soldier swung his musket off his shoulder. “I’ll teach you to get in the way of one of King George’s best fighters!” he snarled at Filigree. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a paper wad stuffed with what smelled like gunpowder. Within seconds, he’d cocked the gun, bit off the top of the paper wad, and poured some powder into the firing pan. Then he stuffed the rest of the wad into the barrel of the musket. His gun was loaded!
Filigree bolted across the road to the tavern. He swerved sharply back and forth.
The Redcoat fired. The dirt just to the left of Filigree exploded. He yipped and kept on running.
“You fool!” he heard the shorter Redcoat whisper. “We’re supposed to be quiet! That shot could be heard all the way to Charlestown! If you fire again, I swear I’ll tell General Gage himself. Understand? I’m going to see what’s happening across the Common. You stay here and be quiet.” Filigree heard him stomp away.
Filigree reached Jove. His ears hurt from the sound of the shot, and he was panting so hard, his ribs ached. “There are Redcoats hiding on the Common!” he yipped breathlessly.
“There are what? Who fired that shot?”
“The REDCOAT!” Filigree woofed, shaking. “Why isn’t anyone coming out of the tavern to find him? He shot at me!”
“People shoot off muskets all the time,” Jove rumbled. “They have to empty their guns just to come into the tavern so they don’t fire them by mistake. And I don’t see what you’re so upset about. He missed.”
He didn’t miss by much! Filigree wanted to say. But Jove was watching him. Filigree made himself stop shaking. Jove woofed in approval.
“Now,” the big dog said, “what are you doing here? Where’s your master?”
Filigree told Jove that Mr. Revere had been captured, and that a Redcoat patrol was on its way.
“We have to stop them before they get here,” Filigree panted. “They’ll find your master! Why are you still here?”
“They’re still at Reverend Clarke’s house trying to pack all our secret papers into a trunk,” Jove answered. “Where’s that patrol? Sounds like Mr. Revere could use my help. Those Redcoats won’t know what hit them when I’m through.” He started toward the road.
Filigree jumped in front of him. Jove stopped, startled. Filigree was startled too. A few hours ago, he would never have stood between Jove and where he wanted to go.
“We can’t stop them that way,” he told the big Newfoundland. “There are too many of them. We have to trick them. Mr. Revere did that.” Frances did too, on the wharf, Filigree remembered. “When you fight a bigger enemy, you have to be smarter than they are.”
“How?” Jove asked. Filigree realized that Jove had probably never fought a bigger enemy.
“We have to make them think that there are armed patriots waiting for them here,” Filigree told him. “That’s what Mr. Revere told the patrol.”
“Well, then, what’s your plan, Dormouse?” Jove asked. Filigree gulped. He never thought that Jove would ask him anything.
They were running out of time. The patrol would be in Lexington any minute. And that Redcoat spy was watching the patriots’ every move.
Then he remembered what the shorter Redcoat had said: That shot could be heard all the way to Charlestown.
And then Filigree knew what he had to do.
If it worked, he could save Mr. Revere and stop the patrol from coming to Lexington. Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock would be safe. If it didn’t . . .
“Jove,” Filigree said, “I need your help.”
