Whisper Thy Last

They had ridden for hours in the cold and freezing rain. They were Londoners, city folk, and the New England marshes were a curse to be reckoned with. But hope lay ahead; just past the slippery trees, light glimmered in the distance.
“Boston,” Lieutenant Matthews called back to his comrade. “General Gage will be glad to hear the news we bring. It’s just a little further now.”
A shot rang through the trees.
With a thud the other soldier fell.
Matthews twisted around, reaching for his saber.
“Hold right there,” a Yankee voice called. “No one’s going to Boston tonight.”