The Iron Chain by Jim DeFelice

your horse to him, Smith," directed Busch.
    "Black, a bit wobbly but a faithful animal, nonetheless. Five years old, if a day." A nearly imperceptible shake of his head gave van Clynne his answer.
    "I have seen neither," said the Dutchman. "Or I have seen them all — gentlemen, I assure you, the description could be applied to half the equine population of the colony, if not the continent."
    "Untie him and let us be gone," commanded Busch.
    "Yes, sir." Jake reached into his belt for his elk-handled knife and flashed it before the Dutchman's face before slicing his ropes. "Don't fail me," he whispered. "Have Old Put put the troops guarding the chain on alert."
    "I will do nothing of the sort!" yelled van Clynne, looking back to Busch. "I would sooner kiss my horse than lick your boots!"
    The whole company laughed and applauded as Jake gave the Dutchman one last kick and returned to his horse. Even Busch smiled as they rode off in train. Van Clynne was left to cough the dust out of his lungs and clear his eyes, which he did to the accompaniment of a loud chorus of Dutch oaths.
    The bruises Jake administered were real enough, and if van Clynne had suffered far worse during his career, still it grated him that these had been inflicted by a supposed friend and ally. Indeed, it seemed inconceivable that a true patriot could strike another — perhaps van Clynne had misjudged his companion's allegiance after all.
    As that would have involved a sizeable flaw on his part — indeed, it would be such a gross mistake in judgment that it was inconceivable any Dutchman could make it — van Clynne quickly dismissed it.
    He straightened his coat and reviewed his situation. Jake had given him two specific tasks — the meeting, which was not to take place until tonight, and alerting General Putman. He had said nothing in regard to the stolen salt, nor his prior assignment.
    Obviously, the job of journeying to Schuyler was now completely superseded, as there would be no way of reaching Albany and returning before evening.
    But on the other hand, his compatriot — commander, if he insisted — would certainly realize that the two assignments, no matter how important, would not take up much time for an able operative like van Clynne; one was not even to be undertaken until an undetermined hour late tonight. This could only mean that the Dutchman was to use his energies to accomplish other tasks vital to the Cause. Obviously, Jake had felt it self-evident and unnecessary to mention.
    No mission could be more vital than the retrieval of his salt, destined for the very general whom he was supposed to now contact. Not only was it critical to the survival of Putnam's men; there was no telling how it might inspire the Tories if left in their possession.
    But how to arrive at a plan which combined its liberation and union with Putnam, without exposing his comrade? Van Clynne sighed deeply and scratched his beard, as he always did in such crises. Then he followed the next logical step — he turned his horse back in search of an inn, where a few strong whiffs of stout would prepare his mind for the job ahead.

 
     
     
    -Chapter Twelve-
     
    Wherein, Jake concocts a plan to spoil the Tory raid on Salem.
     
    J ake undoubtedly would have had a different view on the direction van Clynne should take. Fortunately for the squire, he was not available for consultation. Indeed, Jake's thoughts were devoted exclusively to the Tories he was riding with, and their mission of harrying Salem.
    He had not told van Clynne to have Old Put send men there because he suspected it might be a diversion, though its precise role in any overall scheme was still unclear. Nonetheless, even a diversion could injure Americans, and as Jake rode he searched his mind for some way of sabotaging the operation without drawing too much attention to himself, or damaging his chances at discovering any plans to attack the chain.
    The rangers proceeded east in high spirits, for there