Chapter 29: The Problem Solved

"This is Mrs. Lister," said the Madam, "and her daughter Amy."

The girl smiled at me and made a small curtsey while I held her stately mother's hand and admired her grace and beauty.

"A militia company," the old lady said, nudging me to get my attention, "has driven them from their home, a local company, New Yorkers they say, that claimed to be with the patriot cause. Call themselves Partisans they do."

"I never saw such a foul bunch," the woman said while her daughter stood staring at me, biting at her lower lip, her plump boobs threatening to escape her lacy fringe and boned cage.

"Pity," I said, "damn'd shame."

"They are going to stay here until you drive them off," the Madam said sternly, "and be sure their home is not damaged. They have a good bit of fine furniture and some prized paintings."

"Me," I said, "how many are there?"

"Oh, a score, perhaps three dozen," said Mrs. Lister. "The leader is a man who knew my late husband, Jerimiah Wentworth is his name."

"Three dozen," I said. "You know that help is not available right now with so many men off to the harvest."

"You can do it," Madam Von R-- stated flatly. "Get on. Here's a map and directions."

I tugged my forelock and shook my head and turned the map around two or three times, finally admitting that I could not make head or tail of it. The lithe daughter stepped beside me, made a wry face at me like a schoolmarm, took the square of paper from hands, pointed which way was north and then, exasperated with my stupidity, said, "I'll guide him there. After all it is our problem."

Twenty minutes later she reappeared in worn breeches, rolled over at the waist, a loose-fitting shirt, one of the stableboys' stained waistcoats, a floppy hat and her own boots. She had tied her hair back like mine and wore a look of determination and good humor. She pirouetted in front of me.

"Well?" she said.

"You look about as much like a boy as my horse looks like a box turtle," I said.

She laughed. "Let's get going."

She rode well astride, and I enjoyed watching her young body bounce and had plenty of time to admire her fine buttocks in her tight britches. I wondered how old she was; guessed fifteen and mentally scratched her off my "to do" list. It was dusk when we reached her farm which was tucked away in a valley and had two good streams as well as rolling hills covered with fruit trees. We sat on the hillside as the sun set and studied the place. It appeared nearly empty except that there was smoke from one chimney and several horses in the paddock. Two riders came in and a man appeared from the barn to take their animals.

"Think I'll go talk to him, that feller," I said.

"I know him," Amy said, "He worked for us. His name is Bill something. He indentured, least he was."

"Want to come along?"

She nodded and we worked our way down the hillside using all the cover there was and entered the barn from the back. The man was mucking out the stalls in a desultory manner, in no hurry, and he was whistling as he worked.

When we stepped out of the shadows, he stopped, cocked his head, looked at the girl and smiled. "You oughtn't be here," he said.

"What's going on?" the girl asked.

He rested on his pitchfork. "They've about all gone except the officers; some of them's still here, eatin' out your larder."

"Where did they go?" I asked.

He squinted at me. "Over by the stage road. Bunch a'thieves is all they is."

"How many?" I asked.

"Oh, couple a dozen I suppose. They comes and goes, no discipline a'tall."

"And in my house?" Amy asked.

"Usually the colonel, Wentworth, and Snow, his foul captain, and sometimes one or two more. Two jus' come in so there's four a'them now. Come to sleep in your good beds and eat your vittles. They brings wimmen here sometimes, sad creatures."

"Shall we visit?" I asked the girl.

She smiled up at me. "Let's."

"You wait here with Bill." I handed the girl my pistol and put it on full-cock. "Hold it with both hands and aim low." The young man picked up his pitchfork and looked determined.

She nodded and tried not to look frightened. He said, "We'll stop 'em if they come this way."

I walked right through the front door with my musket in my hands, bayonet fixed and ready. The four men, coats open, were sitting around the dining room table, drinking and conversing when I stepped into the room and put a smile on my face."

"I'm a Continental solider," I told them, " and you have disgraced our cause. Put your weapons on the table."

The man on the far end of the table knocked over his chair when he stood, reaching for his sword, two other sat frozen but the one on the left lunged at me and I sliced him open from chest to ear, ripping his throat asunder. He screamed and fell face down on the table pouring out his blood and then it got a bit confused. I never did fire my gun but I was doing a lot of thrusting and jabbing when I heard a pistol fire from outside. I left the gore-splattered room where two men lay dead and another knelt bent over and holding his guts in.

I ran out the back door and found the stableboy trying to fend off an officer's wild sword blows and the girl standing wide-eyed and holding a smoking pistol near her knees. Bill fell to a slice just above the hip, a mortal wound, and the man pivoted to face me, grabbing the girl as he did. I stopped ten feet from him and looked into Amy's face.

"I'm sorry," she wailed.

I smiled at her and put my weapon on the ground.

"You bastard," the man cried, "where's Captain Snow?"

"Lying in his guts," I said. "You the so-called colonel?"

He nodded. "I am. I formed this company."

I watched the girl unbutton her weskit with her free hand and wondered what she thought she was doing. Then, suddenly, she ducked down, raised her arms and skinned herself right out of her shirt. I leapt at the man and he raised his sword to block me, but I smashed him down, kicked his blade away and then booted him in the ear.