his impatience, yet most unwillingly, Stuyvesant
obediently turned. He had shouldered a musket in a splendid regiment of
citizen soldiery whose pride it was that no regular army inspector could
pick flaws in their performance of guard and sentry duty. He had brought
to the point of his bayonet, time and again, officers far higher in rank
than that which he now held. He knew that, whether necessary or not, the
sentry's demand was within his rights, and there was no course for him
but compliance. He hastened back, and, controlling his voice as much as
possible, began:

"You're right, sentry! S-t-u-y"--when through a gate-way across the
street north of the Faura came swinging into sight a little squad of
armed men.

Again the sentry's challenge, sharp, clear, resonant, rang on the still
night air. Three soldiers halted in their tracks, the fourth, with the
white chevrons of a corporal on his sleeves, came bounding across the
street without waiting for a demand to advance for recognition.

"Same old patrol, Billy," he called, as he neared them. "On the way back
to the guard-house." Then, seeing the straps on the officer's shoulders,
respectfully saluted. "Couldn't find a trace outside. Keep sharp
lookout, Number 6," he added, and turning hurriedly back to his patrol,
started with them up the street in the direction Stuyvesant was longing
to go.

"Sorry to detain you, sir, and beg pardon for letting him run up on us
in that way. We've got extra orders to-night. There's a queer set,
mostly natives, in that second house yonder" (and he pointed to a
substantial two-story building about thirty paces from the corner).
"They got in there while the fire excitement was on. Twice I've seen
them peeking out from that door. That's why I dare not leave here and
chase after you--after the lieutenant. Now, may I have the name again,
sir."

And at last, without interruption, Stuyvesant spelled and pronounced the
revered old Dutch patronymic. At last he was able to go unhindered, and
now, overcome by anxiety, eagerness, and dread, he hardly knew what, he
broke into fleet-footed, rapid run, much to the surprise of the staid
patrol which he overtook trudging along on the opposite side of the
street, two blocks away, and never halted until again brought up
standing by a sentry at the San Luis.

Ten minutes later, while still listening to Brent's oft-repeated tale of
the theft, and still quivering a little from excitement, Stuyvesant
he