144 JUSTIN MORGAN 



And on Morgan and his rider went. 



"The British are coming!" 



The cry rose and fell and echoed through the moun- 

 tains and valleys of Vermont. 



At last they reached Montpelier where they were to 

 rest the night at the Farmer's Inn, where Morgan used 

 to live. But he was so tired he could not revive memo- 

 ries of his youth, and lay down on the clean straw to 

 rest, almost at once. 



He did not know how long he had been sleeping when 

 his keen ears were penetrated by the whisper of men 

 outside the stable door. He sprang to his four feet, sus- 

 piciously. 



" 'Tis the fleetest horse in the state," said one voice. 

 "Have him out and you will signal General Prevost 

 from the Upper Lake to-morrow night!" 



"Prevost! a Red-Coat General!" thought Morgan. 

 "They must be spies !" 



The door was opened softly a moment later, and a 

 man crept in. 



On the instant a rush of air from without swept into 

 Morgan's nostrils the unforgotten odor of the Tory Boy 

 whose dog had killed Black Baby, the lamb. No longer 

 a boy, he no doubt deserved the kick in accordance with 

 his increased age and wickedness. 



Here surely was the opportunity Allah had been pre- 

 paring all these years. 



Morgan had been standing with his face to the door, 

 but, on recognizing the intruder, he wheeled suddenly, 

 and with a cry, almost human, he delivered the kick of 

 a lifetime ! 



Lieutenant Van Sicklen, sleeping near at hand and 

 ever on the alert, had been roused by Morgan's first 

 movement and rushed out with drawn sword, Hq 



