“That you, Jeremiah?” Archer enquired pleasantly. “Haven’t seen you for a while. How’ve you been? How’s Maggie? Beth was hoping to call in on her the next time we picked up supplies at the store.”

The horseman shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed at being singled out. “She’s well, thank you.” Refusing to meet Archer’s eye, his gaze slid away.

“Enough,” the man called Deacon cut in. “We’re not here for a neighbourly chat. This is business.” He looked at Archer. “So, you won’t reconsider?”

“Not now,” Archer said; his tone emphatic. “Not ever.”

The horseman considered the reply then said, “Maybe you should have left with the others.”

Archer shook his head. “I’ve too much sweat and blood invested in this place to walk away.” He stared fixedly at the man on the horse. “Or see it purloined by the likes of you.”

The rider coloured. Recovering quickly, he assumed a look of mock hurt. “You wound me, William. What sort of man d’you take me for?”

“A goddamn traitor,” Archer said flatly.

The humour leached from Deacon’s face. “Not a traitor, Archer. A patriot. Like these men with me; men who’ve had their fill of paying unfair taxes to a country on the other side of the world and not having a thing to show for it.”

“A country you fought for, Seth,” Archer responded, “as I recall. You took the King’s shilling then. Was it so long ago, you’ve forgotten which side you were on?”

“I’ve not forgotten, but a little more remuneration wouldn’t have gone amiss.”

Archer’s eyebrows lifted. “What were you expecting? We defeated our enemies; the King’s enemies; and we lived through it. That should have been reward enough.”

“Not for me,” Deacon snapped. His grip on the musket tightened and then, as if having come to a decision, he intoned solemnly, “William Archer, by the authority vested in me by the Tryon County Committee, you are hereby called to attend the County Board in Albany. There to appear before the Commissioners for Detecting and Defeating Conspiracies, in order that you may swear an Oath of Allegiance to the State of New York and the Congress of the United States of America.”

“No.” Archer shook his head. “I’ve told you: my allegiance is to the Crown, not your damned Congress. Besides, I’ve better things to do than make a wasted journey all the way to Albany and back. I’ve a farm to run; stock to care for.”

Deacon looked out towards the pasture and sneered. “Three milk cows? Not what I’d call a herd.”

Archer stiffened. When he spoke, his voice was brittle. “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Deacon’s head turned quickly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”