Chapter 11

Matthew and Mark Ridgemont were feeling about as useless as the sticks of wood they were hiding behind, not seasoned enough to be of use and very mindful of their uncle's lesson about acting alone. Matthew had watched through a hole in the stack as the initial interrogation happened. He kept one eye on what was going on and one on Mark. He could feel his brother's tension as if it were his own. They both wanted to stop it but couldn't without being captured.

When the two agents were dragged into the house, the boys relaxed a little and waited for a chance to move out of their hiding place. The others were supposed to start a fire at the seed barn. That should happen soon. Once it did, they agreed to move into the house to attempt a rescue.

Mark was getting restless again. By his watch, an hour passed with no signs of the fire they were waiting for. He shifted his weight in the narrow space, not enough to cause any noise, but enough to take the pressure off his hip. "You think the others were captured?"

Matthew didn't say anything and had been perfectly still the whole time. Mark settled on his stomach.

He's always been the patient one, but patience only goes so far. We need to get moving.

"There hasn't been anyone by in a good while," Mark whispered. "Let's get out of here and find the others. If they don't know what happened to Mr. Fogg and West, they need to be told."

"We should wait right here," Matt said. "The fire will cover our movements better."

"That fire should have happened by now," Mark hissed. "They may have been captured or are holed up somewhere like we are. They may need help, and we aren't doing anyone any good here."

Taking a quick look around, Mark slipped his feet back under him and looked over the woodpile. There was no one anywhere nearby. Carefully, he crawled out of his hiding place, followed by Matt.

They tiptoed to the back of the house before seeing anyone. That person was just a girl, a black servant, tossing dishwater out the back kitchen door. The girl didn't look up from her work. In a moment, voices were heard coming from the kitchen. Two women came out. One was a breathtakingly beautiful blonde holding a tray. The other was another servant. The blonde told the two servants to go home until time to help with dinner. As they all moved away, the brothers rounded the kitchen and ducked inside. The building was warm and smelled of fresh bread cooling in a corner. Mark cut two thick slices from a loaf already cut, took a bite, and handed a slice to his brother.

"She makes delicious bread." Mark praised. "No point in passing up a quick meal."

Matt agreed with a nod and looked around for something more. He opened the pantry. It held a banquet of fresh fruit and vegetables. Removing a bunch of bananas, which were his personal favorite. He looked around for meat and found a sliced ham on the lower shelf.

When he pulled it out, he caught sight of a boot on the floor sticking out from behind a stack of burlap sacks. Not a western boot, but a fancy knee-high riding boot like he had seen occasionally on the feet of New Orleans dandies, and last on the feet of the tall Englishman.

Matt put the ham on a table and found the door leading to the inner room. Mr. Fogg was tied up on the floor, bound hand and foot, unconscious. Overhead was a rope flung over a beam in the ceiling. It didn't take much for Matt to figure out what had happened. The Englishman looked well worked over. His face was bruised. His coat vest and shirt were in a pile on the floor, allowing a bruised torso to show. Mr. West was nowhere to be seen.

Mark followed, mouth full, and knelt beside his brother and the Englishman. Carefully, he gave the injured man a shake. Mr. Fogg pulled himself in as if to ward off a blow, but relaxed when he opened his eyes, seeing them.

Phileas expected to see the Irish American cavalryman's return. The one who had spent his wrath over the famine's effects on his family.

Just my luck to be interrogated by a bitter immigrant's son.

After the first question, the Corporal had asked no more.

An excellent boxer, the Corporal, a skill I don't have and would have been in trouble dealing with him tied or not.

He blinked, tried to clear his vision.

No, I'm not seeing double.

"Good to see you, both of you." Phileas said. He shook his head again and immediately regretted the movement. The room spun around several times before coming back to a stationary position.

Mark untied Fogg's hands while his brother took care of his feet. As he did it, Mark noted the lacerations on the wrists. His arms must have been pulled up over his head during the beating. No surprise there, but Mark did not that sort of thing. Pulling himself back to the task, he found a stack of cloth and tore strips to bind the man's wrists.

Phileas accepted the nursing without comment until his head cleared further.

"Are we still prisoners?"

"We never were," Mark said, as he worked on the second wrist. "You and Mr. West were caught. We found a place to hide. Do you know where he is?"

"We were taken into the house," Phileas said. "The dwarf… Dr. Loveless, he and the Army officer kept him in the house. I was sent out here for questioning."

Phileas sat up gingerly. Nothing seemed broken, but his ribs and stomach hurt like hell. His head felt clearer, despite the headache. The Corporal had been a shorter man, concentrating on areas he could easily reach.

"West identified himself as a government agent," Phileas said. "Dr. Loveless had not been impressed by the announcement, but Captain Johnson was. He was quite upset at the thought, and well, he should. His career will be in tatters once this matter is settled. Did the fire distract everyone? How long since it started?"

"There has been no fire," Matt said. "The others either couldn't and are hiding or have been captured. We haven't seen or heard anyone brought to the house, but we weren't in the best spot to hear anything."

"All right," Phileas said. "If we can, we should get to your uncle and the others."

He stood up and declared himself well enough. His wrist wounds were bound and his middle… Fogg put out of his mind. The brothers helped him back into his clothes before they left, heading for the woods.