om western Connecticut, but no one stopped him. In the
faded hat and coat and trousers of Reuben Smith, this man, who called
himself John Anderson, was not much unlike the farmer folk who were
riding hither and thither in the neutral territory, on their petit
errands. His face was different. It was the well kept face of an
English aristocrat with handsome dark eyes and hair beginning to turn
gray. Still, shadowed by the brim of the old hat, his face was not
likely to attract much attention from the casual observer. The
handsome mare he rode was a help in this matter. She took and held the
eyes of those who passed him. He went on unchallenged. A little past
the hour of the high sun he stopped to drink at a wayside spring and to
give his horse some oats out of one of the saddle-bags. It was then
that a patriot soldier came along riding northward. He was one of
Solomon's scouts. The latter stopped to let his horse drink. As his
keen eyes surveyed the south-bound traveler, John Anderson felt his
danger. At that moment the scout was within reach of immortal fame had
he only known it. He was not so well informed as Solomon. He asked a
few questions and called for the pass of the stranger. That was
unquestionable. The scout resumed his journey.

Andre resolved not to stop again. He put the bit in the mare's mouth,
mounted her and rode on with his treasure. The most difficult part of
his journey was behind him. Within twelve hours he should be at
Clinton's headquarters.

Suddenly he came to a fork in the road and held up his horse, uncertain
which way to go. Now the great moment was come. Shall he turn to the
right or the left? On his decision rests the fate of the New World and
one of the most vital issues in all history, it would seem. The
left-hand road would have taken him safely to New York, it is fair to
assume. He hesitates. The day is waning. It is a lonely piece of
road. There is no one to tell him. The mare shows a preference for
the turn to the right. Why? Because it leads to Tarrytown, her former
home, and a good master. Andre lets her have her way. She hurries on,
for she knows where there is food and drink and gentle hands. So a leg
of the mighty hazard has been safely won by the mare Nancy. The
officer rode on, and what now was in his way? A wonder and a mystery
greater even than that of Nancy and the fork in the road. A little out
of Tarrytown on the highway the horseman tra