Late in the fall, while Ethan was repairing fences, one of the bailiffs came to his house and delivered an official summons to the district courthouse, signed by one of the judges who served there. At first, Ethan was inclined to ignore the order and see what might happen, but after the next rain, when his fields were too wet to plow, he decided to ride into Hillsborough. Not wanting to alarm Epsey, he told her only part of the truth, that he wanted to trade some of his tobacco for horseshoes, cut nails, and bar iron for fabricating other metal instruments in his blacksmith shop. When he arrived in the county seat, his first stop was to show the paper to his brother.

After reading it carefully, Henry said, “A number of people, especially farmers, have brought documents like this to my shop. Since it only requests that you come to the tax office, there’s no way to know the purpose of the visit. Sometimes it’s to clarify something on the records, or the assessors may want to question the value you have placed on your property.”

With a laugh, he added, “Maybe you have overpaid, and they want to give you a big refund! If so, be sure to stop by here and share some with your brother before you go back home and give it all to Epsey.”

None of Henry’s alternatives was troubling, so Ethan did his trading and then proceeded to the courthouse to see what the officials might want with him. He leisurely dismounted from his horse and entered the front door, confident that a mistake had been made in requesting his appearance. There, for the first time in his life, he was confronted by two men in uniform, holding rifles.

“Who are you?” one asked.

“I’m Ethan Pratt and have been asked to come here.”

The soldier glanced at a paper in his hand and motioned toward the tax office. “You’re wanted in there,” he said.

“I’ve paid my taxes,” he said.

“Shut your mouth,” said one of the soldiers. “You can talk to Mr. Langhorn inside.”

Ethan was taken aback. “I’ll not be going inside,” he replied, and walked out the front door. As he put one foot in the stirrup to remount his horse, he heard steps close behind him and a sharp command, “Halt there.”

He looked around and saw both rifles leveled at his chest, with the flints cocked. He was ordered to stand down and put his hands behind his head.