Mystery #6 — The Bell at Sideling Hill

It was March 6, 1765, and eleven-year-old Andrew was riding a slow old pack horse named Biscuit. In front of him stretched a long line of horses—eighty of them, nose to tail—winding along Forbes Road through the cold Pennsylvania woods. At the very front of the line walked Biscuit's big brother, a horse named Captain, who wore a brass bell around his neck.

Andrew worked for a famous trader named George Croghan, and this was his first big trip on a pack train. His job was simple: keep the horses moving and listen for the bell. If the bell stopped, that meant trouble.

Andrew's eyes went huge. Men were stepping out from behind the trees on both sides of the road—maybe thirty of them. They carried muskets and long rifles. Their faces were black, but not dirty—painted black with soot from a fire, so nobody would recognize them later. Andrew had heard about these men. The whole frontier had. They called themselves the Black Boys.

A tall man with sharp eyes walked calmly to the front of the train. "My name is James Smith. Steady on, lads. Nobody is going to be hurt today. But these goods are stopping right here."

Mr. Croghan came hurrying back from the front. "James Smith! You can't do this! These are the King's supplies! I have papers from the governor!"

"I don't care about your papers, Mr. Croghan. There are war goods on these horses. Rifles. Gunpowder. Tomahawks. Rum. You're hauling weapons west during Pontiac's War, and the King's own Proclamation says you can't. Some of those weapons could end up in the hands of folks who would use them against settler families like mine."

Mr. Croghan went red. "You won't find a single illegal item on those horses! I checked every load myself!"

"Then you won't mind if WE check." James Smith turned to his men. "Search every horse. Every barrel. Every sack."

Andrew swallowed hard. He wasn't actually scared anymore—James Smith hadn't pointed his rifle at anyone, and his men were calm and orderly. But Andrew was watching his boss VERY closely now. Because Mr. Croghan had said he checked every load. And Mr. Croghan was sweating in the cold March air.

While the Black Boys started working their way down the line, Andrew slid quietly off Biscuit and started walking up the row of pack horses, pretending to check straps. There were eighty horses. The smugglers' goods could be on any of them. Or none of them.

But Andrew had something the Black Boys didn't. Andrew had loaded most of these horses himself yesterday morning, and he KNEW what was supposed to be on each one.

Andrew stopped walking. He stared at horse number four for a long moment. Something was wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

He moved closer and looked at the barrels. The first thing he noticed was that horse number four was sweating. Heavy sweat. The horse was breathing hard, even though they had only been walking. Why? Because the load on his back was too heavy for flour.

Three barrels of flour weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds. Biscuit could carry that all day. But this horse looked exhausted, like he was carrying twice as much.

Then Andrew noticed the second clue. One of the "flour" barrels had a long dark stain running down its side, soaked into the wood. Flour doesn't stain anything. Whatever was inside that barrel was a liquid—and it had leaked.

RUM. Sharp and sweet, exactly like what his uncle made at home. That barrel was full of rum, not flour.

Then Andrew noticed the third clue. Across the horse's back, just behind the three "flour" barrels, was a long bundle wrapped in brown canvas and tied down with extra ropes. Andrew touched it gently. It was hard. Long and hard, with bumps every few inches—like the bumps you'd feel if six rifles were lined up side by side under a sheet.

One of Mr. Croghan's drivers—a man named Silas—was standing about ten feet away, watching Andrew very, very carefully. Silas's left hand was inside his coat. His eyes never left Andrew's face. And as Andrew bent down to look at the leaking barrel, Silas slowly began walking his own horse off the road and into the trees.

Andrew straightened up. He looked at Silas. Silas looked back. For one long second, the two of them just stared at each other.

The Answer: Andrew put four clues together to identify the smuggling horse:

The horse was sweating heavily and breathing hard, like it was carrying twice the weight of three flour barrels. The load was too heavy for what it was supposed to be.
One barrel had a dark liquid stain soaked down the side. Flour doesn't stain anything. Something liquid had leaked.
It smelled like rum, not flour.
A long bundle wrapped in canvas with hard bumps every few inches—the exact shape of rifles laid side by side under a cover.

Bonus clue: Silas was watching Andrew the whole time and trying to sneak his own horse into the woods—a sure sign that Silas knew exactly what was on horse number four.

James Smith strode over fast. "Cut that bundle open. I want to see it with my own eyes."

Two of his men sliced the canvas ropes. Six brand new rifles, freshly oiled, gleamed in the March sunlight. James Smith pried the lid off the stained "flour" barrel, and the sharp smell of rum rolled out into the cold air.

"Well, Mr. Croghan," James Smith said, very quiet now. "Would you look at that."

Mr. Croghan went the color of paper. "I—I had no idea those were on there, Smith! I swear it! Silas must have—"

"Don't." James Smith held up one hand. "Don't lie to me twice in the same morning. You told me every load was checked by you personally. Either that was a lie, or this is about to be one. Which is it?"

Mr. Croghan said nothing at all.

Silas, meanwhile, was already sprinting for the trees. Two of James Smith's men caught up to him before he'd gone fifteen yards and brought him back, politely but firmly, each holding one of his elbows.

James Smith turned slowly to Andrew and looked him up and down like a man sizing up a fellow soldier. "Son. What's your name?"

"Andrew, sir."

"How old are you, Andrew?"

"Eleven, sir."

"Eleven." James Smith almost smiled. "And in the time it took my grown men to start searching the line, you had already named the exact horse. Tell me something, Andrew—what made you look at horse number four in the first place?"

"He was sweating too much, sir. He was breathing too hard for the weight he was supposed to be carrying."

"You noticed the horse before you noticed the goods?"

"Yes sir."

James Smith turned to his men. "Boys. Listen to that. Eleven years old and watching the HORSE. That's scouting. That's the eye of a ranger." He looked back at Andrew. "Don't ever stop using those eyes, son. The frontier has too few of them." Then he turned to his men. "Burn the contraband—the rifles, the rum, the powder. Everything else goes on. Mr. Croghan and his lawful goods are free to ride west—without Silas."

The Black Boys built a great pile of the smuggled rifles and rum barrels right there in the road. Then they set the whole pile on fire. The flames roared up into the cold March sky, taller than the trees. Andrew watched from Biscuit's back and felt something he had never felt before: he had been brave, and someone had noticed.

When the flames died down, James Smith walked back over and shook Andrew's hand like Andrew was a grown man. "Ride home safe, scout. And remember—it isn't wrong to speak up when you see something wrong. Even if it's your own boss who doesn't want you to."

A bit of real history: On March 6, 1765, the frontiersman James Smith and his "Black Boys" really did stop a pack train belonging to the famous trader George Croghan near Sideling Hill, not far from Fort Loudoun. They really did burn the smuggled rifles, gunpowder, tomahawks, knives, and rum the horses were carrying, because they believed it was being illegally sold to people who might use it against settler families during Pontiac's War. This very event made the British soldiers at Fort Loudoun furious—and led directly to the big siege of the fort nine months later (see Mystery #2!). Pack trains of 30 to 100 horses really were the main way goods traveled on Forbes Road, and the lead horse really did wear a brass bell. Andrew and Silas are made up—but James Smith, George Croghan, the Black Boys, the burned goods, and the date are all real history.