Strangers

A tall, thin man held Patrick’s shoulder. He wore a tan jacket, brown pants, and brown stockings. He had a large hat.

“Look here, Mr. Brown,” he said to another man with him. “We have an arms smuggler.”

Patrick felt his stomach twist into a knot. He opened his mouth to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

“To be sure, Ross,” said Mr. Brown.

Ross pulled a quill out of his coat pocket. Then he pulled out a thick wad of papers and a small writing kit. One of the papers looked like a map.

Patrick watched as he wrote something down with a quill. Ross’s bony fingers were covered with black ink stains.

Patrick jerked away from Ross. “Leave me alone, or I’ll call for help,” he said.

“Steady now, young man,” Mr. Brown said.

Patrick eyed Mr. Brown carefully. He looked as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes. The sleeves on his coat were too long. His brown pants were baggy.

Mr. Brown leaned toward Patrick and said in a low voice, “We’re Patriots just like you.”

Patrick frowned. Something didn’t seem right about these men.

“Tell us, young Patriot,” Ross said. “Where are you taking this ammunition?”

“I’m not sure,” Patrick said. He bent over to pick up the musket balls. The letter to Paul Revere slipped out of his pocket. It landed faceup on the ground.

“Are you taking these musket balls to Paul Revere?” Ross asked.

“No,” Patrick said. He stuffed the letter back in his pocket. “I don’t know where these musket balls are going. The letter is private.”

“It’s all right, lad,” Ross said as he wrote something on his papers.

“What about the cannons?” Mr. Brown asked Ross in a near whisper.

“The boy is being cautious. And so he should be,” Ross said to Mr. Brown. “One never knows who to trust these days.”

Mr. Brown began to protest. “But —”

“You’re doing a good job, lad,” Ross said to Patrick. “Carry on.”

Patrick stood back up with the musket balls in his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

“Come along then,” Ross said to Mr. Brown.

Mr. Brown frowned at Patrick and then hitched up his pants.

The two men walked off. They disappeared into the woods behind the building.

Just then, Sybil and Beth came outside. Patrick was relieved. He told the girls about the two men.

“Did you ask them for the secret phrase?” Sybil asked.

“The men told me they were Patriots. Why would I need to ask them about quills?” Patrick asked. He felt annoyed.

“Then you don’t know if they were Patriots or not,” Sybil said.

“What about the man inside?” Patrick asked. “Dr. Church?”

“What about Dr. Church?” Sybil asked.

Beth’s eyes widened. “He didn’t know the secret phrase,” she said.

Sybil shook her head. “Dr. Church is a leader of the Patriots. He’s a close friend of John Hancock and Paul Revere,” Sybil said.

“Then someone should make sure he knows the secret code,” Beth said. “It was confusing.”

“This whole business is confusing,” Patrick said as he dropped the last musket balls into the saddlebags. The man called Ross was right. It is hard to know who to trust.

“We have to be careful,” Sybil said. She helped Beth put the musket balls into a saddlebag. “If you have any doubt, don’t say anything,” she added.

Several of the horses stirred. Patrick turned to see the doors of the church meetinghouse swing open.

The men came out. Some got on their horses and galloped off. Others climbed into nearby carriages and rode away.

Sybil pulled herself up on her pony’s saddle. “Star is a bit small for the three of us to ride,” she said.

“Beth can ride with you,” Patrick said. “I’ll walk.”

“But Lexington is a good six miles from here,” Sybil said.

“No problem,” Patrick said. He had hiked that far on other adventures.

John Hancock approached them with another man. The Patriot leader waved his gavel in the air. “Carrying such heavy ‘quills’ all the way to Lexington will make you tired,” John Hancock said, smiling broadly. He winked at Patrick.

Patrick smiled back.

John Hancock turned to the other man.

The new man was dressed in shabby clothes. He was short and round. Thick eyebrows almost hid his calm blue eyes.

“What say you, Samuel Adams? Do we have room in our carriage for two more?” John Hancock asked.

“I’ll race you!” Sybil said. She dug her heels into Star’s sides. She was off like the wind.

“Hurry and climb in,” Samuel Adams said. “We can’t let that young lady beat us.”

He held open the door to a small black carriage. It had a tall roof and white curtains in the windows. Black cushions covered the seats inside. Six horses stood harnessed to the front of it.

Patrick waited while Beth climbed in. John Hancock sat down next to her. Patrick slid into the seat next to Samuel Adams. Patrick held his cane tightly in his hand.

A servant climbed onto the front seat of the carriage. He clicked the reins. “Giddyap!” he shouted. The horses lunged forward at a full gallop.

The race was on.