FS L7 p o QfatncU Httinerattg ffiibrary BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE JACOB H. SCHIFF ENDOWMENT FOR THE PROMOTION OF STUDIES IN HUMAN CIVILIZATION 1918 Cornell University Library PS 1284.L7 The little red foot. 3 1924 021 993 757 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021993757 THE LITTLE RED FOOT ROBERT W. CHAMBERS THE LITTLE RED FOOT By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Author of 'The Slayer of Sowls," "Ailsa Paige," "Athalie," "The Girl Philippa" "The Restless Sex," etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Published by arrangement with George H. Doran Company V, COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS /h- COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO MY SON ROBERT H. CHAMBERS CONTENTS CBAPT&B PAGB I SIR WILLIAM PASSES 11 II TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE . . . . 13 III THE POT BOILS 23 IV TWO COUNTRY MICE 32 V A SUPPER . 40 VI RUSTIC GALLANTRY 51 VII BEFORE THE STORM 60 VIII SHEEP AND GOATS 68 IX STOLE AWAY . . ... 81 X A NIGHT MARCH .... . . 86 XI SUMMER HOUSE POINT . . . . 94 XII THE SHAPE IN WHITE . . . 102 XIII THE DROWNED LANDS ... . 113 XIV THE LITTLE RED FOOT 124 XV WEST RIVER 132 XVI A TROUBLED MIND 141 XVII DEEPER TROUBLE 151 XVIII FIRELIGHT 169 XIX OUT OF THE NORTH 177 XX IN SHADOW-LAND 189 XXI THE DEMON 197 XXII HAG-RIDDEN 207. vii Tiii CONTENTS CHAPTHE PAGE XXni WINTER AND SPRING 220 XXIV GREEN-COATS . 235 XXV BURKE'S TAVERN 253 XXVI ORDERS 267 XXVII FIREFLIES 283 XXVIII OYANEH! 292 XXIX THE WOOD OF BRAKABEEN 309 XXX A LONG GOOD-BYE 322 XXXI "IN THE VALLEY" 333 AFTERMATH .....:,.,.. 350 THE LITTLE RED FOOT THE LITTLE RED FOOT CHAPTEE I BIE WILLIAM PASSES THE «lay Sir William died there died the greatest American of his day. Because, on that midsummer evening, His Excellency ■was still only a Virginia gentleman not yet famous, and best known because of courage and sagacity displayed in that bloody business of Braddock. Indeed, all Americans then living, and who since have become famous, were little celebrated, excepting locally, on the day Sir William Johnson died. Pew were known outside a single prov- ince; scarcely one among them had been heard of abroad. But Sir William was a world figure; a great constructive genius; the greatest land-owner in North America; a wise magistrate, a victorious soldier, a builder of cities amid a wilderness; a re- deemer of men. He was a Baronet of the British Eeahn; His Majesty's Super- intendent of Indian Affairs for aU North America. He was the only living white man implicitly trusted by the savages of this continent, because he never broke his word to them. He was, perhaps, the only representative of royal authority in the Western Hemisphere utterly believed in by the dishonest, tyrannical, and stupid pack of Eoyal Governors, Magistrates and lesser vermin that afflicted the colonies with the British plague. He was kind and great. All loved him. AU mourned him. Eor he was a very perfect gentleman who practiced truth and honour and mercy; an unassuming and respectable man who loved laughter and gaiety and plain people. He saw the conflict coming which must drench the land in blood and dry with fire the blackened cinders. Tom betwixt loyalty to his King whom he had so tirelessly served, and loyalty to his country which he so passionately loved, 11 12 THE LITTLE RED FOOT it has been said that, rather than choose between King and Colony, he died by his own hand. But those who knew him best know otherwise. Sir William died of a broken heart, in his great Hall at Johnstown, aU alone. His son, Sir John, killed a fine horse riding from Fort Johnson to the Hall. And arrived too late and all of a lather in the starlight. And I have never ceased marvelling how such a man could have been the son of the great Sir William. At the Hall the numerous household was all in a turmoil; and, besides Sir William's immediate family, there were a thou- sand guests — a thousand Iroquois Indians encamped around the Hall, with whom Sir William had been holding fire-council. For he had determined to restrain his Mohawks, and to main- tain tranquillity among all the fierce warriors of the Six Nations, and so pledge the entire Iroquois Confederacy to an absolute neutrality in the imminence of this war betwixt King and Col- ony, which now seemed to be coming so rapidly upon us that already its furnace breath was heating restless savages to a fever. All that hot June day, though physically ill and mentally unhappy, — and under a vertical sun and with head uncovered, — Sir William had spoken to the Iroquois with belts. The day's labour of that accursed council-fire ended at sun- set; sachem and chief departed — ^tall spectres in the flaming west; there was a clash of steel at the guard-house as the guard pre- sented arms; Mr. Duncan saluted the Confederacy with Hfted claymore. Then an old man, bareheaded, alone, turned away from the covered council-fire; and an officer, seeing how feebly he moved, flung an arm about his shoulders. So Sir WiUiam came slowly to his great Hall, and slowly entered. And laid him down in his library on a sofa. And slowly died there while the sun was going down. Then the first star came out where, in the ashes of the June sunset, a pale rose tint still lingered. But Sir WiUiam lay dead in his great HaU, all alone. CHAPTEE n TWO PKEES SANS PEERAGE SIE JOHN Lad arrived and I caught sight of his hea-vy, ex- pressionless face, -which seemed more colourless than ever in the candle light. Consternation reigned in the Hall, — a vast tumult of whis- pering and guarded gabble among servants, checked by sobs, — and I saw officers come and go, and the tall forms,, of Mohawks still as pines on a summer night. The entire household was there — all excepting only Michael Cardigan and Felicity Warren. The two score farm slaves were there huddled along the wall in dusky clusters, and their great, dark eyes wet with tears. I saw Sir William's lawyer, Lafferty, come in with Flood, the Baronet's Bouw-Meester.* His blacksmith, his tailor, and his armourer were there; also his gardener; the German, Frank, his butler; Pontioch, his per- sonal waiter; and those two uncanny and stunted servants, the Bartholomews, with their dead white faces and dwarfish dignity. Also I saw poor Billy, Sir William's fiddler, gulping down the blubbers; and there was his personal physician. Doctor Daly, very grave; and the servile Wall, schoolmaster to Lady Molly's brood; and I saw Nicolas, his valet, and black Flora, his cook, both sobbing into the same bandanna. The dark Lady Johnson was there, very quiet in her grief, slow-moving, still beautiful, having by the hands the two young- est girls and boy, while near her clustered the older children, fat Peter and Betsy and pretty Lana. A great multitude of candles burned throughout the hall; Sir William's silver and mahogany sparkled everywhere; and so did the naked clajrmores of the Highlanders on guard where the dead man lay in his own chamber, done, at last, vrith aU per- plexity and grief. In the morning came the quality in scores — all the landed • Farm overseer. 13 14 THE LITTLE EED FOOT gentry of Tryon County, Tory and Whig alike, to show their reverence: — old Colonel John Butler from his seat at Butlers- bury near Caughnawaga, and his dark, graceful son Walter, — he of the melancholy golden eyes — an attorney then and sick of a wound which, some said, had been taken in a duel with Michael Cardigan near Fort Pitt. Colonel Claus was there, too, son-in-law to Sir William, and battered much by frontier battles : and Guy Johnson, a cousin, and a son-in-law, too, had come from his fine seat at Guy Park to look upon a face as tranquil in death as a sleeping child's. The McDonald, of damned memory, was there in his tartan and kilts and bonnet; and the Albany Patroon, very modest; and God knows how many others from far and near, all arrived to honour a man who had died very tired in the service of our Lord, who knows and pardons all. The pretty lady of Sir John, who was Polly Watts of 'Sew York, came to me where I stood in the noon breeze near the lilacs; and I kissed her hand, and, straightening myself, re- tained it, looking into her woeful face of a child, all marred with tears. "I had not thought to be mistress of the Hall for many years," said she, her lips a-tremble. "But yesterday, at this hour, he was living: and, today, in this hour, the heavy importunities of strange new duties are already crushing me. ... I count on you. Jack." I made no answer. "May we not count on you?" she said. "Sir John and I ex- pect it." As I stood silent there in the breezy sunshine by the porch, there came across the grass Billy Alexander, who is Lord Stir- ling, a man much older than I, but who seemed young enough; and made his reverence to Lady Johnson, kissing the hand which I very gently released. "Oh, Billy," says she, the tears starting again, "why should death take him at such a time, when God's wrath darkens ail the world?" "God's convenience is not always ours," he replied, looking at me sideways, with a certain curiosity which I understood if Lady Johnson did not. She turned and gazed out across the sunny grass where, be- yond the hedge fence, the primeval forest loomed like a dark cloud along the sky, far as the eye could see. "Well," says she, half to herself, "the storm is bound to break. TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE 15 now. And we women of County Tryon may need your swords, gentlemen, before snow flies." Lord Stirling stole another look at me. He knew as well as I how loosely in their scabbards lay our two swords. He knew, also, as well as I, in which cause would flash the swords of the landed gentry of County Tryon. And he knew, too, that his blade as well as mine must, one day, be unsheathed against them and against the stupid King they served. Something of this Lady Johnson had long since suspected, I think; but Billy Alexander, for all his years, was a childhood friend; and I, too, a friend, although more recent. She looked at my Lord Stirling with that troubled sweetness I have seen so often in her face, alas I and she said in a low voice : "It would be unthinkable that Lord Stirling's sword could lay a-rusting when the Boston rabble break clear out o' bounds." She turned to me, touched my arm confidingly, child that she seemed and was, God help her. "A Stormont," she said, "should never entertain any doubts. And so I count on you. Lord Stormont, as I count upon my Lord Stirling " "I am not Lord Stormont," said I, striving to force a smile at the old and tiresome contention. "Lord Stormont is the King's Ambassador in Paris — if it please you to recollect — — " "Tou are as surely Viscount Stormont as is Billy Alexander, here. Lord Stirling — and as I am Lady Johnson," she said ear- nestly. "What do you care if your titles be disputed by a doddering committee on privileges in the House of Lords ? What difference does it make if usurpers wear your honours as long as you know these same stolen titles are your own?" "A pair o' peers sans peerage," quoth Billy Alexander, with that boyish grin I loved to see. "I care nothing," said I, still smiling, "but Billy Alexander does — pardon 1 — ^my Lord Stirling, I should say." Said he: "Sure I am Lord Stirling and no one else; and shall wear my title however they dispute it who deny me my proper seat in their rotten House of Lords I" 'H. think you are very surely the true Lord Stirling," said I, "but I, on the other hand, most certainly am not a Stormont Murray. My name is John Drogue; and if I be truly also Vis- count Stormont, it troubles me not at all, for my ambition is to be only American and to let the Stormonts glitter as they please and where." 16 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Lady JolmsorL came close to me and laid botli hands upon my shoulders. "Jack," she pleaded, "be true to us. Be true to your gentle blood. Be true to your proper caste. God knows the King will have a very instant need of his gentlemen in America before we three see another summer here in County Tryon." I made no reply. What could I say to her? And, indeed, the matter of the Stormont Viscounty was distasteful, stale, and wearisome to me, and I cared absolutely nothing about it, though the landed gentry of Tryon were ever at pains to place me where I belonged, — if some were right, — and where I did not belong if others were righter still. For Lady Johnson, like many of her caste, believed that the second Viscount Stormont died without issue, — which was true, — and that the third Viscount had a son, — which is debatable. At any rate, David Murray became the fourth Viscount, and the claims of my remote ancestor went a-glimmering for so many years that, in 1705, we resumed our family name of the Northesks, which is Drogue; and in this natural manner it became my proper name. God knows I found it good enough to eat and sleep with, so that my Lord Stormont's capers in Paris never disturbed my dreams. Thank Heaven for that, too; and it was a sad day for my Lord Stormont when he tried to bully Benjamin Tranklin; for the whole world is not yet done a-laugh- ing at him. No, I have no desire to claim a Viscounty which our witty Franklin has made ridiculous with a single shaft of satire from his bristling repertoire. Thinking now of this, and reddening a little at the thought, — for no Stormont even of remotest kinship to the family can truly relish Mr. Franklin's sauce, though it dressed an undoubted goose, — J become far more than reconciled to the decision ren- dered in the House of Lords. Two people who had come from the house, and who were ad- vancing slowly toward us across the clipped grass, now engaged our full attention. The one we perceived to be Sir John Johnson himself: the other his lady's school friend and intimate companion, Claudia Swift, the toast of the British Army and of all respectable young Tories; and the "Sacharissa" of those verses made by the new and lively Adjutant General, Major Andre, who was then a captain. TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE 17 For, though, very young, our lovely Sachariasa had murdered many a gallant's peace of mind, leaving a trail of hearts bled ■white from New York to Boston, and from that afflicted city to Albany; where, it was whispered, her bright and merciless eyes had made the sad young Patroon much sadder, and his offered manor a more melancholy abode than usual. She gave us, now, her dimpled hand to kiss. And, to Lady Johnson: "My dear," she said very tenderly, "how pale you seem! God sends us affliction as a precious gift and we must accept it with meekness," letting her eyes rest absently the while on Lord Stirling, and then on me. Our Sacharissa might babble of meekness if she chose, but that virtue was not lodged within her, God knows, — nor many other virtues either. Billy AlexEunder, old enough to be her parent, nevertheless had been her victim; and I also. It was our opinion that we had recovered. But, to be honest with myself, I could not avoid admitting that I had been very desperate sick o' love, and that even yet, at times But no matter: others, stricken as deep as I, know well that Claudia Swift was not a maid that any man might easily forget, or, indeed, dismiss at will from his mind as long as she remained in his vicinity. "Are you well, Billy, since we last met?" she asked Lord Stirling in that sweet, hesitating way of hers. And to me: "You have grown thin. Jack. Have you been in health?" I said that I had been monstrous busy with my new glebe in the Sacandaga patent, and had swung an axe there with the best o' them until an express from Sir William simamoned me to re- turn to aid him with the Iroquois at the council-fire. At which explaining of my silence the jade smiled. When I mentioned the Sacandaga patent and the glebe I had had of Sir William on too generous terms — ^he making all ar- rangements with Major JeUes Fonda through Mr. LaSerty — Sir John, who had been standing silent beside us, looked up at me in that cold and stealthy way of his. 'T)o you mean your parcel at Fonda's Bush?" he inquired. "Yes; I am clearing it." "Why?" "So that my land shall grow Indian com, pardie!" "Why clear it nowf he persisted in his deadened voice. I could have answered very naturally that the land was of no value to anybody unless cleared of forest. But of course he knew this, too ; so I did not evade the slyer intent of his question. 18 THE LITTLE BED FOOT "I am clearing my land at Fonda's Bush," said I, "because, God willing, I mean to occupy it in proper person." "And when, sir, is it your design to do this thing?" "Do what, sir? Clear my glebe?" "Eemove thither — in proper person,, Mr. Drogue?" "As soon as may be, Sir John." At that Lady Johnson gave me a quick look and Claudia said: "What! Would you bury yourself alive in that wilderness. Jack Drogue ?" I smiled. "But I must hew out for myself a career in the world some day, Sacharissa. So why not begin now?" "Then in Heaven's name," she exclaimed impatiently, "go somewhere among men and not among the wild beasts of the forest! Why, a young man is like to perish of loneliness in such a spot ; is he not, Sir John ?" Sir John's inscrutable gaze remained fixed on me. "In such times as these," said he, "it is better that men like ourselves continue to live together. . . . To await events. . . . And master them. . . . And afterward, each to his vocation and his own tastes. ... It is my desire that you remain at the HaU," he added, looking steadily at me. "I must decUne, Sir John." "Why?" "I have already told you why." "If your present position is irksome to you," he said, "you have merely to name a deputy and feel entirely at liberty to pursue your pleasure. Ox — ^you are at least the Laird of Northesk if you are nothing g^^eater. There is a commission in my High- landers — if you desire it. . . . And your salary, of course, con- tinues also." He looked hard at me : "Augmented by — ^haH," he added in his 3I0W, cold voice. "And this, with your income, should properly maintain a young man of your age and quality." I had been Brent-Meester to Sir William, for lack of other em- ployment; and had been glad to take the important office, loving as I do the open air. Also the addition of a salary to my slender means had been acceptable. But it was one matter to serve Sir William as Brent-Meester, and another to serve Sir John in any capacity whatsoever. And as for the remainder of the family, — Guy Johnson and Colonel Claus — and their intimates the Butlers, I had now had more than enough of them, having endured these uncongenial people only because I had loved Sir William. Yet, TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE 19 for his father's sake, I now spoke to Sir Jolin politely, using him most kindly because I both liked and pitied his lady, too. Said I: "My desire is to become a Tryon County farmer. Sir John; and to that end I happily became possessed of the parcel at Fonda's Bush, For that reason I am clearing it. And so I must beg of you to accept my resignation as Brent-Meester at the Hall, for I mean to start as soon as convenient to occupy my glebe." There was a silence; Sacharissa gazed at me in pity, astonish- ment, and unfeigned horror; Lady Johnson gave me an odd, uu* happy look; and Billy Alexander a meaning one, half grin. Then Sir John's slow and heavy voice invaded the momentary silence : "As my father's Brent-Meester, only an Indian or a Forest Runner knows the wilderness as do you. And we shall have great need of such forest knowledge as you possess, Mr. Drogue." I think we all understood the Baronet's meaning. I considered a moment, then replied very quietly that in time of stress no just cause would find me skulking to avoid duty. I think my manner and tone, as well as what I said, combined to stop Sir John's mouth. For nobody could question such re- spectable sentiments unless, indeed, a quarrel was meant. But Sir John Johnson, in his way, was as slow to mortal quarrel as was I in mine. And whatever suspicion of me he might nixrse in his secret mind he now made no outward sign of it. Also, other people were coming across the grass to join us; and presently grave greetings were exchanged in sober voices suitable to the occasion when a considerable company of ladies and gentle- men are gathered at a house of mourning. Turning away, I noticed Mr. Duncan and the Highland officers at the magazine, all wearing their black badges of respect and a knot of crape on the basket-hilts of their claymores; and young Walter Butler, still stiff in his bandages, gazing up at the June sky out of melancholy eyes, like a damned man striving to see God. Sir John had now given his arm to his lady. His left hand rested on his sword-hilt — the same left hand he had offered to poor Claire Putnam — and to which the child still clung, they said. Claudia turned from BiUy Alexander and came toward me. Her face was serious, but I saw the devil looking out of her blue eyes. Nature had given this maid most lovely proportions — that charm- ing slenderness which is plumply moulded — and she stood straight, and tall enough, too, to meet on a level the love-sick gaze of any Stout young man she had bedevilled ; and she wore a most bewitcii- 20 THE LITTLE RED FOOT ing countenance — short-nosed, red-lipped, a skin as white as a ■water-lily, and thick soft hair as black as night, which she wore unpowdered — the dangerous jade! "Jack," says she in honeyed tones, "are you truly designing to become a hermit?" "Oh, no," said I, smilingly, "only a farmer, Claudia." "Why?" "Because I am a poor man and must feed and clothe myself." "There is a commission from Sir John in the Scotch regi- ment " "I'm Scotch enough without that," said L "Jack?" "Yes, Madam?" "Are you a little angry with me?" "Wo," said I, feeling uncomfortable and concluding to beware of her, for she stood now close to me, and the scent of her warm breath troubled me. "Why are you angry with me. Jack?" she asked sorrowfully. And took one step nearer. "I am not," said I. "Am — am I driving you into the wilderness ?" she inquired. "That, also, is absurd," I replied impatiently. "No woman could ever boast of driving me, though some may once have led me." "Oh; I feared that I had sapped, perhaps, your faith in women, John." I forced a laugh: "Why, Claudia? Because I lately — and vainly • — was enamoured of you ?" "Lately f" "Yes. I did love you, once." "Did love?" she breathed. "Do you not love me any more. Jack?" "I think not," said I, very cheerfully. "And why ? Sure I used you kindly, Jack. Did I not so ?" "You conducted as is the privilege of maid with man, Sacha- lissa," said I uneasily. "And that is all I have to say." "How so did I conduct. Jack?" "Sweetly — to my undoing." "Try me again," she said, looking up at me, and the devil in her eyes. But already I was becoming sensible of the ever-living enchant- ment of this young thing, so wise in stratagems and spoils of Love, and I chose to leave my scalp hang drying at her lodge door beside the scanter pol of Billy Alexander. TWO PEERS SANS PEERAGE 21 For God knows this vixen-virgin spared neither young nor old, but shot them through and through at sight with those heavenly darts from her twin eyes. And no man, so far, could boast of obtaining from Mistress Swift the least token or any serious guerdon that his quest might lead him by a single step toward Hymen's altar, but only to that cruel arena where all her victims agonized under the mocking sweetness of her smile, and her pretty, down-turned and merciless thumbs — the little Vestal villain! "No, Claudia," quoth I, "you have taken my bow and spear, and shorn me of my thatch like any Mohawk. No; I go to Fonda's Bush " I smiled, " — to heal, perhaps, my heart, as you say; but, anyhow, to consult my soul, and armour it in a wilderness." "A hermit!" she exclaimed scornfully, " — and afeard of a maid armed only with two matched eyes, a nose, a mouth and thirty teeth !" "Afeard of a monster more frightful than that," said I, laughing. "Of what monster, John Drogue?" "Of that red monster that is surely, surely creeping northward to surprise and rend us all," said I in a low voice. "And so I shall retire to question my secret soul, and arm it cap-a-pie as God directs." She was looking at me intently. After a silence she said : "I do love you; and Billy Alexander; and all gay and brave young men whose unstained swords hedge the women of County Tiyon from this same red monster that you mention." And watched me to see how I swallowed this. I said warily: "Surely, Claudia, aU women command our swords ... no matter which cause we espotise." "Jack!" "I hear you, Claudia." But, "Oh, my God!" she breathed; and put her hands to her face. A moment she stood so, then, eyes still covered by one hand, extended the other to me. I kissed it lightly; then kissed it again. "Do you leave us. Jack?" I understood. "It is you who leave me, Claudia." She, too, understood. It was my first confession that all was not right betwixt my conscience and my King. For that was the only thing I was certain about concerning her: she never betrayed a confidence, whatever else she did. And so I made plain to her where my heart and honour lay — not with the King's men in this coming struggle — ^but with my own people. 22 THE LITTLE EED FOOT I think she knew, too, that I had never before confessed as much to any living soul, for she took her other hand from her eyes and looked at me as though something had happened in which she took a sorrowful pride. Then I kissed her hand for the third time, and let it free. And, going : "God be with you," she said with a slight smile; "you are my dear friend, John Drogue." At the Hall porch she turned, the mischief glimmering in her eyes : " — And so is Billy Alexander," quoth she. So she went into the darkened Hall. It was many months before I saw our Sacharissa again — not until Major Andre had made many another verse for many another Inamorata, and his soldier-actors had played more than one of his farces in besieged Boston to the loud orchestra of His Ex- cellency's rebel cannon. CHAPTEE ni THE POT BOILS SIE WILLIAM died on the 24th of June in the year 1YT4; which was the twentieth year of my life. On the day after he was buried in Saint John's Church in Johnstown, which he had built, I left the Hall for Fonda's Bush, which was a wilderness and which lay some nine miles distant in the Mohawk country, along the little river called Kennyetto. I speak of Fonda's Bush as a wilderness ; but it was not entirely so, because already old Henry Stoner, the trapper who wore two gold rings in his ears, had built him a house near the Kennyetto and had taken up his abode there with his stalwart and handsome sons, Nicholas and John, and a little daughter, Barbara. Besides this family, who were the pioneers in that vast forest where the three patents * met, others now began settling upon the pretty little river in the wilderness, which made a thousand and most amazing windings through the Bush of Major Fonda. There came, now, to the Kennyetto, the family of one De Silver; also the numerous families of John Homan, and Elias Cady; then the Salisburys, Putnams, Bowmans, and Helmers ar- rived. And Benjamin De Luysnes followed with Joseph Scott where the Frenchman, De Golyer, had built a house and a mill on the trout brc(ok north of us. There was also a dour Scotchman come thither — a grim and decent man with long, thin shanks under his kilts, who roved the Bush like a weird and presently went away again. But before he took himself elsewhere he marked some gigantic trees with his axe and tied a rag of tartan to a branch. And, "Fonda's Bush is no name," quoth he. "Where a Mclntyre sets his mark he returns to set his foot. And where he sets foot shall be called Broadalbin, or I am a great liar I" And he went away, God knows where. But what he said has become true; for when again he set his foot among the dead ashes of Fonda's Bush, it became Broadalbin. And the clans came with • The Three Patents were Sacandaga, Kayaderosseras, and Stones. 23 24 THE LITTLE RED FOOT him, too; and they peppered the wilderness with their Scottish names, — Perth, Galway, Scotch Bush, Scotch Church, Broadalhin, — ^but my memory runs too fast, like a young hound giving tongue where the scent grows hotter! — for the quarry is not yet in sight, nor like to be for many a bloody day, alas ! There was a forest .road to the Bush, passable for waggons, and used sometimes by Sir William when he went a-fishing in the Kennyetto. It was by this road I travelled thither, well-horsed, and had borrowed the farm oxen to carry all my worldly goods. I had clothing, a clock, some books, bedding of my own, and sufficient pewter. I had my own rifle, a fowling piece, two pistols, and sufficient ammunition. And with these, and, as I say, weU horsed, I rode out of Johns- town on a June morning, all alone, my heart still heavy with grief for Sir "William, and deeply troubled for my country. For the provinces, now, were slowly kindling, warmed with those pure flames that purge the human soul; and already the Are had caught and was burning fiercely in Massachusetts Bay, where John Hancock fed the flames, daintily, cleverly, with all the cir- cumstance, impudence, and grace of your veritable macaroni who will not let an inferior outdo him in a bow, but who is sometimes insolent to kings. Well, I was for the forest, now, to wrest from a siinless land a mouthful o' corn to stop the stomach's mutiny. And if the Northland caught fire some day — well, I was as in- flammable as the next man, who will not suffer violation of house or land or honour. As Brent-Meester to Sir William, my duties took me every- where. I knew old man Stoner, and Nick had become already my warm friend, though I was now a grown man of more than twenty and he still of boy's age. Yet, in many ways, he seemed more mature than I. I think Nick Stoner was the most mischievous lad I ever knew — and admired. He sometimes said the same of me, though I was not, I think, by nature, designed for a scapegrace. However, two years in the wilderness will undermine the grace of saint or sinner in some degree. And if, when during those two hard years I went to Johnstown for a breath of civilization— or to Schenectady, THE POT BOILS 25 or, rarely, to Albany — I frequented a few good taverns, there was little harm done, and nothing malicious. True, disputes with Tories sometimes led to blows, and mayhap some Albany watchman's Dutch noddle needed vinegar to soothe the flamms drummed upon it by a stout stick or ramrod resembling mine. True, the humming ale at the Admiral Warren Tavern may sometimes have made my own young noddle hum, and Nick Stoner's, too ; but there came no harm of it, unless there be harm in bussing a fresh and rosy wench or two; or singing loudly in the tap-room and timing each catch to the hammering of our empty leather jacks on long hickory tables wet with malt. But why so sad, brother Broadbrim ? Youth is not to be denied. No ! And youth that sets its sinews against an iron wilderness to conquer it, — ^youth that wields its puny axe against giant trees, — youth that pulls with the oxen to uproot enormous stumps so that when the sun is let in there will be a soil to grow corn enough to defy starvation, — ^youth that toils from sun-up to dark, hewing, burning, sawing, delving, plowing, harrowing day after day, month after month, pausing only to kill the wild meat craved or snatch a fish from some forest fount, — such youth cannot be decently denied, brother Broadbrim ! But if Nick and I were truly as graceless as some stiff-necked folk pretended, always there was laughter in our scrapes, even when hot blood boiled at the Admiral Warren, and Tory and Eebel drummed one anothei^'s hides to the outrage of law and order and the mortification of His Majesty's magistrates in County Tryon. Even in Fonda's Bush the universal fire had begun to smoulder ; the names Rebel and Tory were whispered; the families of Philip Hehner and Elias Cady talked very loudly of the King and of Sir John, and how a hempen rope was the fittest cravat for such Bos- ton men as bragged too freely. But what most of all was in my thoughts, as I swung my axe there in the immemorial twilight of the woods, concerned the Indians of the great Iroquois Confederacy. What would these savages do when the storm broke? What would happen to this frontier ? What would happen to the solitary settlers, to such hamlets as Fonda's Bush, to Johnstown, to Schenectady— nay, to Albany itself? Sir William was no more. Guy Johnson had become his Majesty's Superintendent for Indian affairs. He was most vio- lently a King's man — a member of the most important family in 26 THE LITTLE RED FOOT all the ITortliland, and master of six separate nations of savages, which formed the Iroquois Confederacy. What would Guy Johnson do with the warriors of these six nations that bordered our New York frontier? Always these questions were seething in my mind as I swung my axe or plowed or harrowed. I thought about them as I sat at eventide by the door of my new log house. I considered them as I lay abed, watching the moonlight crawl across the puncheon floor. As Brent-Meester to Sir William, I knew Indians, and how to conduct when I encountered them in the forest, in their own castles, or when they visited the Hall. I had no love for them and no dislike, but treated them always with the consideration due from one white man to another. I was not conscious of making any friends among them, nor of making any enemies either. To me they were a natural part of the wilderness, like the trees, rivers, hills, and wild game, belong- ing there and not wantonly to be molested. Others thought difEerently; trappers, forest runners, coureurs- du-bois often hated them, and lost no opportunity to display their animosity or to do them a harm. But it was not in me to feel that way toward any living creature whom God had fashioned in His own image if not in His own colour. And who is so sure, even concerning the complexion of the Most High ? Also, Sir William's kindly example affected my sentiments toward these red men of the forest. I learned enough of their language to suit my requirements; I was courteous to their men, young and old ; and considerate toward their women. Otherwise, I remained indifferent. Now, during these first two years of my life in Fonda's Bush, events in the outer world were piling higher than those black thunder-clouds that roll up behind the Mayfield hills and climb toward mid-heaven. Already the dull glare of lightning lit them redly, though the thunder was, as yet, inaudible. In April of my first year in Fonda's Bush a runner came to the Kennyetto with the news of Lexington, and carried it up and down the wilderness from the great Vlaie and Maxon Ridge to French- man's Creek and Fonda's Bush. This news came to us just as we learned that our Continental Congress was about to reassemble; and it left our settlement very THE POT BOILS 27 still and sober, and a loaded rifle within reach of every man who went grimly about his spring plowing. But the news of open rebellion in Massachusetts Bay madded our Tory gentry of County Tryon; and they became further so enraged when the Continental Congress met that they contrived a counter demonstration, and, indeed, seized upon a pretty oppor- tunity to carry it with a high hand. For there was a Court holden in Johnstown, and a great con- course of Tryon loyalists; and our Tory hatch-mischiefs did by arts and guile and persuasions obtain signatures from the majority of the Crand Jurors and the County Magistracy. Which, when known and flaunted in the faces of the plainer folk of Tryon County, presently produced in all that slow, deep anger with which it is not well to trifle — neither safe for kings nor lesser fry. In the five districts, committees were appointed to discuss what •was to be the attitude of our own people and to erect a liberty pole in every hamlet. The Mohawk district began this business, which, I think, was truly the beginning of the Revolution in the great Province of New York. The Canajoharie district, the Palatine, the Flatts, the Kingsland followed. And, at the Mohawk district meeting, who should arrive but Sir John, unannounced, uninvited; and with him the entire company ef Tory big-wigs — Colonels Claus, Guy Johnson, and John Butler, and a heavily armed escort from the Hall. Then Guy Johnson climbed up onto a high stoop and began to harangue our unarmed people, warning them of offending Majesty, abusing them for dolts and knaves and traitors to their King, until Jacob S amnions, unable to stomach such abuse, shook his fist at the Intendant. And, said he: "Guy Johnson, you are a liar and a villain ! You may go to hell, sir, and take your Indians, too!" But Guy Johnson took him by the throat and called him a damned villain in return. Then the armed guard came at Sam- mons and knocked him down with their pistol-butts, and a servant of Sir John sat astride his body and beat him. There was a vast uproar then; but our people were unarmed, and presently took Sammons and went off. But, as they left the street, many of them called out to Sir John that it were best for him to fortify his Baronial Hall, because the day drew near when he would be more in need of swivel guns than of congratulations from his Eoyal Master. 28 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Sure, now, the fire blazing so prettily in Boston was already running north along the Hudson ; and Tryon had begun to smoke. Now there was, in County Tryon, a number of militia regiments of which, when brigaded. Sir William had been our General. Guy Johnson, also, was Colonel of the Mohawk xegiment. But the Mohawk regiment had naturally split in two. Nevertheless he paraded the Tory remainder of it, doubtless with the intention of awing the entire county. It did awe us who were unorganized, had no powder, and whose messengers to Albany in quest of ammunition were now stopped and searched by Sir John's men. Tor the Baronet, also, seemed alarmed; and, with his battalion of Highlanders, his Tory militia, his swivels, and his armed re- tainers, could muster five hundred men and no mean artillery to hold the Hall if threatened. But this is not what really troubled the plain people of Tryon. Guy Johnson controlled thousands of savage Iroquois. Their war chief was Sir William's brother-in-law, brother to the dark Lady Johnson, Joseph Brant, called Thayendanegea, — the greatest Mo- hawk who ever lived, — ^perhaps the greatest of all Iroquois. And I think that Hiawatha alone was greater in North America. Brave, witty, intelligent, intellectual, having a very genius for war and stratagems, educated like any gentleman of the day and having served Sir William as secretary. Brant, in the conventional garments of civilization, presented a charming and perfectly agree- able appearance. Accustomed to the society of Sir William's drawing room, this Canienga Chief was utterly conversant with polite usage, and entirely qualified to maintain any conversation addressed to him. Always he had been made much of by ladies — always, when it did not too greatly weary him, was he the centre of batteries of bright eyes and the object of gayest solicitation amid those respectable gatherings for which, in Sir William's day, the Hall was so justly celebrated. That was the modest and civil student and gentleman, Joseph Brant. But in the forest he was a painted spectre; in battle a flame! He was a war chief: he never became Eoya-neh;* but he pos- sessed the vrisdom of Hendrik, the eloquence of Eed Jacket, the terrific energy of Hiakatoo. We, of Tryon, were aware of all these things. Our ears were lis- tening for the dread wolf cry of the Iroquois in their paint; our • Sachem : the Canienga term. THE POT BOILS 29 eyes -were turned in dumb expectation toward our Provincial Congress of New York; toward our dear General Schuyler in Albany; toward the Continental Congress now in solemn session; toward our new and distant hope shining clearer, brighter as each day ended — ^His Excellency the Virginian. How long were Sir John and his people to be left here in County Tryon to terrorize all friends to liberty, — ^to fortify Johnstown, to stop us about our business on the King's highway, to intrigue with the Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Sene- cas, the Tusearoras? Guy Johnson tampered with the Eiver Indians at Poughkeepsie, and we knew it. He sent belts to the Shawanese, to the Wyan- dottes, to the Mohicans. We knew it. He met the Delaware Sachems at a mongrel fire — God knows where and by what author- ity, for the Federal Council never gave it! — and we stopped one of his runners in the Bush with his pouch full o' belts and strings ; and we took every inch of wampum without leave of Sir John, and bade the runner tell him what we did. We wrote to Albany; Albany made representations to Sir John, and the Baronet replied that his show of armed force at the Hall was solely for the reason that he had been warned that the Boston people were laying plans to invade Tryon and make of him a prisoner. I think this silly lie was too much for Schuyler, for all now knew that war must come. Twelve Colonies, in Congress as- sembled, had announced that they had rather die as free people than continue to live as slaves. Very fine indeed I But what was of more interest to us at Ponda's Bush, this Congress commis- sioned George Washington as Commander in Chief of a Colonial Army of 20,000 men, and prepared to raise three millions on biUs of credit for the prosecution of the war! Now, at last, the cleavage had come. Now, at last, Sir John was forced into the open. He swore by Almighty God that he had had no hand in in- triguing against the plain people of Tryon: and while he was making this oath, Guy Johnson was raising the Iroquois against us at Oswego; he was plotting with Carleton and Haldimand at Montreal; he had arranged for the departure of Brant with the great bulk of the Mohawk nation, and, with them, the fighting men of the Iroquois Confederacy. Only the Western Gate Keep- ers remained, — the fierce Senecas. And so, except for a few Tusearoras, a few lukewarm Ononda- gas, a few of the Lenape, and perhaps half — possibly two-thirds 30 TPIB LITTLE RED FOOT of the Oneida nation, Guy Johnson already had swung the terrible Iroquois to the King. And now, secretly, the rats began to leave for the North, where, behind the Canada border, savage hordes were gathering by clans, red and white alike. Guy Johnson went on pretense of Indian business; and none dare stop the Superintendent fo.r Indian affairs on a mission re- quiring, as he stated, his personal appearance at Oswego. But once there he slipped quietly over into Canada; and Brant joined him. Colonel Claus sneaked North ; old John Butler went in the night with a horde of Johnstown and Caughnawaga Tories. McDonald followed, accompanied by some scores of bare-shinned Tory Mc's. Walter Butlesr disappeared like a phantom. But Sir John remained behind his stockade and swivels at the Hall, vowing and declaring that he meditated no mischief — ^no, none at all. Then, in a fracas in Johnstown, that villain sheriff, Alexander White, fired upon Sammons, and the friends to liberty went to take the murderous Tory at the jail. Frey was made sheriff, which infuriated Sir John ; but Governor Tryon deposed him and reappointed White, so the plain people went again to do him a harm ; and he fled the district to the morti- fication of the Baronet. But Sir John's course was nearly at an end: and events in the outer world set the sands in his cloudy glass running very swiftly. Schuyler and Montgomery were directing a force of troops against Montreal and Quebec, and Sir Guy Carleton, Governor General of Canada, was shrieking for help. St. John's surrendered, and the Mohawk Indians hegan fighting! Here was a pretty pickle for Sir John to explain. Suddenly we had news of the burning of Palmouth. On a bitter day in early winter, an Express passed through Fonda's Bush on snow-shoes, calling out a squad of the Mohawk Regiment of District Militia. Nick Stoner, Andrew Bowman, Joe Scott, and I answered the summons. Snow-shoeing was good — a light fall on the crust — and we pulled foot for the Kingsborough trail, where we met up with a squad from the Palatine Regiment and another from the Flatts. But scarce were we in sight of Johnstown steeples when the THE POT BOILS 31 drums of an Albany battalion were heard; tnd we saw, across the snow, their long brown muskets slanting, and heard their bugle- horn on the Johnstown road. I saw nothing of the affair at the Hall, being on guard at St. John's Church, lower down in the town. But I saw our General Schuyler ride up the street with his officers; and so knew that all would go well. All went well enough, they say. For when again the General rode past the church, I saw waggons under our essort piled with the muskets of the Highland Battalioil, and others heaped high with broad-swords, pistols, swivels, and pikes. And on Saturday, the twentieth of January, when our tour of duty ended, and our squads were dismissed, each to its proper district, all people knew that Sir John Johnson had given his parole of honor not to take up arms against America; not to communicate with the Royalists in Canada; not to oppose the friends of liberty at home; nor to stir from his Baronial HaU to go to Canada or to the sea, but with liberty to transact such business as might be necessary in other parts of this colony. And I, for one, never doubted that a son of the great Sir William would keep his word and sacred parole of honour. CHAPTEE rV TWO COUNTRY MICB IT -was late in April, and I had boiled my sap and had done with my sugar bush for another year. The snow was gone; the Kennyetto roared amber brilliant through banks of melting ice, and a sweet odour of arbutus filled all the woods. Spring was in the land and in my heart, too, and when Nick Stoner galloped to my door in his new forest dress, very fine, I, nothing loath, did hasten to dress me in my new doe-skins, not less fine than Nick's and lately made for me by a tailor-woman in Kingsborough who was part Oneida and part Dutch. That day I wore a light, round cap of silver mole fur with my nnshorn hair, all innocent of queue or powder, curling crisp like a woman's. Of which I was ashamed and eager to visit Toby Tice, our Johnstown barber, and be trimmed. My new forest dress, as I say, was of doe-skin — a laced shirt belted in, shoulder-caped, cut roimd the neck to leave my throat free, and with long thrums on sleeve and skirt against need. Trews shaped to fit my legs close; and thigh moccasins, very deep with undyed fringe, but ornamented by an infinite pattern of little green vines, made me brave in my small mirror. And my ankle moccasins were gay with Oneida devices wrought out of porcupine quills and beads, scarlet, green, purple, and orange, and laid open at the instep by two beaded flaps. I saddled my mare, Kaya, in her stall, which was a log wing ■to my house, and presently mounted and rode around to where Nick sat his saddle a-playing on his fife, which he carried every- where with him, he loving music but obliged to make his own. "Lord Harry!" cried he on seeing me so fine. "If you are not truly a Viscount then you look one !" "I would not change my name and health and content," said I, "for a king's gold crown today." And I clinked the silver coins in my pouch and laughed. And so we rode away along the Johnstown road. lie also, I think, -was dying for a frolic. Young minds in trouble as well as bar l-worked bodies need a holiday now and 32 TWO COUNTRY MICE 33 then. He winked at me and chinked the shillings in his bullet- pouch. "We shall see all the sights," quoth he, "and the Kennyetto could not quench my thirst today, nor our two horses eat as much, nor since time began could all the lovers in history love as much as could I this April day. . . . Were there some pretty wench of my own mind to use me kindly. . . . Like that one who smiled at us — do you remember?" "At Christmas?" "That's the one!" he exclaimed. "Lord! but she was handsome in her sledge! — and her sister, too. Jack." ''I forget their names," said I. "Browse," he said, " — Jessica and Betsy. And they live at Pigeon- Wood near Mayfield." "Oho !" said I, "you have made their acquaintance !" He laughed and we galloped on. Nick sang in his saddle, beating time upon his thigh with his fife: "Flammadiddle! Paddadiddle! Flaramadiddle dandy! My Love's kisses Are sweet as sugar-candy! Flammadiddle ! Paddadiddle ! Flammadiddle dandy! She makes fun o' me Because my legs are bandy " He checked his gay refrain : "Speaking of flamms," said he, "my brother John desires to be a drummer in the Continental Line." "He is only fourteen," said I, laughing. "I know. But he is a tall lad and stout enough. What will be your regiment, Jack?" "I like Colonel Livingston's," said I, "but nobody yet knows what is to be the fate of the district militia and whether the Mohawk regiment, the Palatine, and the other three are to be recruited to replace the Tory deserters, or what is to be done." Nick flourished his flute: "All I know," he said, "is that my father and brother and I mean to march." "I also," said 1. 34 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Then it's in God's hands," he remarked cheerfully, "and I mean to use my ears and eyes in Johnstown today." We put our horses to a gallop. We rode into Johnstown and through the village, very pleased to he in civilization again, and saluting many wayfarers whom we recognized, Tory and Whig alike. Some gave us but a cold good- day and looked sideways at our forest dress; others were marked in cordiality, — men like our new Sheriff, Frey, and the two Sam- monses and Jacob Shew. We met none of the Hall people except the Bouw-Meester, rid- ing beside five yoke of beautiful oxen, who drew bridle to exchange a mouthful of farm gossip with me while the grinning slaves waited on the footway, goads in hand. Also, I saw out o' the tail of my eye the two Bartholomews pass- ing, white and stunted and uncanny as ever, but pretended not to notice them, for I had always felt a shiver when they squeaked good-day at me, and when they doffed hats the tops of their heads had blue marbling on the scalp under their scant dry hair. Which did not please me. Whilst I chattered with the Bouw-Meester of seeds and plowing, Nick, who had no love for husbandry, practiced upon his fife so windily and with such enthusiasm that we three horsemen were soon ringed round by urchins of the town on their reluctant way to school. "How's old Wall?" cried Nick, resting his puckered lips and wiping his fife. "There's a schoolmaster for pickled rods, I war- rant. Eh, boys? Am I right?" Lads and lassies giggled, some sucked thumbs and others hung their heads. "Come, then," cried Nick, "he's a good fellow, after all! And so am I — when I'm asleep!" Whereat all the children giggled again and Nick fished a great cake of maple sugar from his Indian pouch, drew his war-hatchet, broke the lump, and passed around the fragments. And many a childish face, which had been bright and clean with scrubbing, continued schoolward as sticky as a bear cub in a bee-tree. And now the Bouw-Meester and his oxen and the grinning slaves had gone their way; so Nick and I went ours. There were taverns enough in the town. We stopped at one or two for a long pull and a dish of meat. Out of the window I could see something of the town and it seemed changed; the Court House deserted; the jail walled in by TWO COUNTRY MICE 35 a new palisade; fewer people on the street, and little traffic. Nor did I perceive any red-coats ruffling it as of old; the Highlanders who passed wore no side-arms, — excepting the officers. And I thought every Scot looked glum as a stray dog in a new village, where every tyke moves stiffly as he passes and follows his course with evil eyes. We had silver in our bullet pouches. We visited every shop, but purchased nothing useful; for Nick bought sweets and a mouse-trap and some alley-taws for his brother John — who wished to go to war! Oh, Lord! — and for his mother he found skeins of brightly-coloured wool; and for his father a Barlow jack-knife. I bought some suckets and fish-hooks and a fiddle, — God knows why, for I can not play on it, nor desire to! — and I further pur- chased two books, "Lives of Great Philosophers," by Eudd, and a witty poem by Peter Pindar, called "The Lousiad" — a bold and mirthful lampoon on the British King. These packets we stowed in our saddle-bags, and after that we knew not what to do save to seek another tavern. But Nick was no toss-pot, nor was I. And having no malt- thirst, we remained standing in the street beside our horses, de- bating whether to go home or no. "Shall you pay respects at the Hall?" he asked seriously. But I saw no reason to go, owing no duty ; and the visit certain to prove awkward, if, indeed, it aroused in Sir John no more violent emotion than pain at sight of me. With our bridles over our arms, stiU debating, we walked along the street until we came to the Johnson Arms Tavern, — a Tory rendezvous not now frequented by friends of liberty. It was so dull in Johnstown that we tied our horses and went into the Johnson Arms, hoping, I fear, to stir up a mischief inside. Their brew was poor; and the spirits of the dozen odd Tories who sat over chess or draughts, or whispered behind soiled gazettes, was poorer still. All looked up indifferently as we entered and saluted them. "Ah, gentlemen," says Nick, "this is a glorious April day, is it not?" "It's well enough," said a surly man in horn spectacles, "but I should be vastly obliged, sir, if you would shut the door, which you have left swinging in the wind." "Sir," says Nick, "I fear you are no friend to God's free winds. Free winds, free sunshine, free speech, these suit my fancy. Free- dom, sir, in her every phase — and Liberty — the glorious jadel 36 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Ah, gentlemen, there's a sweetheart you can never tire of. Take my advice and vyoo her, and you'll never again complain of a breeze on your shins!" "If you are so ardent, sir," retorted another man in a sneering voice, "why do you not go courting your jade in Massachusetts Bay?" "Because, sir,'' said I, "our sweetheart. Mistress Liberty, is already on her joyous way to Johnstown. It is a rendezvous, gentlemen. Will it please you to join us in receiving her?" One man got up, overturning the draught board, paid his reck- oning, and went out muttering and gesticulating. "A married man," quoth Nick, "and wedded to that old hag. Tyranny. It irks him to hear of fresh young jades, knowing only too well what old sour-face awaits him at home with the bald end of a broom." The dark looks cast at us signalled storms; but none came, so poor the spirit of the company. "Gentlemen, you seem melancholy and distrait," said I. "Are you so pensive because my Lord Dunmore has burned our pleasant city of Norfolk? Is it that which weighs upon your minds? Or is the sad plight of Tommy Gage distressing you ? Or the several pickles in which Sir Guy Carleton, General Burgoyne, and Gen- eral Howe find themselves ?" "Possibly," quoth Nick, "a short poem on these three British warriors may enliven you : "Carleton, Burgoyne, Sowe, "Bow-wow-wow !" But there was nothing to be hoped of these sullen Tories, for they took our laughter scowling, but budged not an inch. A pity, for it was come to a pretty pass in Johnstown when two honest farmers must go home for lack of a rogue or two of sufficient spirit to liven a dull day withal. We stopped at the White Doe Tavern, and Nick gave the com- pany another poem, which he said was writ by my Lord North: "O Boston wives and maids draw near and see Our delicate Souchong and Ityson tea; Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black, or brown ; If not, we'll cut your throats and burn your town!" TWO COUNTRY MICE 37 Whereat all the company laughed and applauded; and there was no hope of any sport to be had there, either. "Well," said Nick, sighing, "the war seems to be done ere it be- gun. What's in those whelps at the Johnson Arms, that they stomach such jests as we cook for them? Time was when I knew where I could depend upon a broken head in Johnstown — mine own or another's." We had it in mind to dine at the Doe, planning, as we sat on the stoop, bridles in hand, to ride back to the Bush by new moon- light. "If a pretty wench were as rare as a broken head in Johns- town," he muttered, "I'd be undone, indeed. Come, Jack; shall we ride that way homeward?" 'Which way?" "By Pigeon- Wood." "By Mayfield?" "Aye." "Tou have a sweetheart there, you say?" "And so, perhaps, might you, for the pain of passing by." "No," said I, "I want no sweetheart. To clip a lip en passant, if the lip be warm and willing, — ^that is one thing. A blush and a laugh and 'tis over. But to journey in quest of gallantries with malice aforethought — no." "I saw her in a sledge," sighed Nick, sucking his empty pipe. "And followed. Lord, but she is handsome, — Betsy Browse! — and looked at me kindly, I thought. . . . We had a fight." "What?" "Her father and I. For an hour the old man nigh twisted his head off turning around to see what sledge was following his. Then he shouts. Whoa!' and out he bounces into the snow; and I out o' my sledge to see what it was he wanted. "He wanted my scalp, I think, for when I named myself and said I lived at Fonda's Bush, he fetched me a knock with his frozen mittens, — Lord, Jack, I saw a star or two, I warrant you; and a gay stream squirted from my nose upon the snow and presently the whole wintry world looked red to me, so I let fly a fist or two at the old man, and he let fly a few more at me. " 'Dammy !' says he, 'I'll learn ye to foller my darters, you poor dum Boston critter! I'll drum your hide from Fundy's Bush to Canady !' "But after I had rolled him in the snow till his scratch-wig fell off, he became more civil — quite polite for a Tory with his mouth full o' snow. 38 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "So I went with him to his sledge and made a polite bow to the ladies— who looked excited but seemed inclined to smile when I promised to pass by Pigeon-Wood some day." "A rough wooing," said I, laughing. "Eough on old man Browse. But he's gone with Guy Johnson." "What! To Canada? The beast!" "Aye. So I thought to stop some day at Pigeon- Wood to see if the cote were entirely empty or no. - Lord, what a fight we had, old Browse and I, there in the snow of the Mayfield road! And he burly as an October bear — a man all knotted over with muscles, and two fists that slapped you like the front kick of a moose !_ Oh, Lordy ! Lordy ! What a battle was there. . . . What bright eyes hath that little jade Betsy, of Pigeon- Wood !" Now, as he spoke, I had a mind to see this same Tory girl of Pigeon- Wood; and presently admitted to him my curiosity. And then, just as we had mounted and were gathering bridles and searching for our stirrups with moccasined toes, comes a galloper in scarlet jacket and breeks, with a sealed letter waved high to halt me. Sitting my horse in the street, I broke the seal and read what was written to me. The declining sun sent its rosy shafts through the still village now, painting every house and setting glazed windows a-glitter. I looked around me, soberly, at the old and familiar town; I glanced at Nick; I gazed coldly upon the galloper, — a cornet of Border Horse, and as solemn as he was young. "Sir," said I, "pray present to Lady Johnson my duties and my compliments, and say that I am honoured by her ladyship's commands, and shall be — happy — to present myself at Johnson Hall within the hour." Young galloper salutes; I outdo him in exact and scrupulous courtesy, mole-skin cap in hand; and 'round he wheels and away he tears like the celebrated Tory in the song, Jock Gallopaway. "Here's a kettle o' fish," remarked Nick in disgust. "Were it not Lady Johnson," muttered I, but checked myself. After all, it seemed ungenerous that I should decline to see even Sir John, who now was virtually a prisoner of my own party, penned here within that magnificent domain of which his great father had been creator and absolute lord. "I must go, Nick," I said in a low voice. He said with a slight sneer, "Noblesse oblige " and then, sorry, laid a quick hand on my arm. TWO COUNTRY MICE 39 'Torgive me, Jack. My father wears two gold rings in his ears. Tour father wore them on his fingers. I know I am a boor until your kindness makes me forget it." I said quietly : "We are two comrades and friends to liberty. It is not what we are born to but what we are that matters a copper penny in the world." "It is easy for you to say so." "It is important for you to believe so. As I do." "Do you really so?" he asked with that winning upward glance tliat revealed his boyish faith in me. "I really do, Nick ; else, perhaps, I had been with Guy Johnson in Canada long ago." "Then I shall try to believe it, too," he murmured, " — ^whether ears or fingers or toes wear the rings." We laughed. "How long?" he inquired bluntly. "To sup, I think. I must remain if Lady Johnson requests it of me." "And afterward. Will you ride home by way of Pigeon- Wood 2" "Will you still be lingering there?" I asked with a smile. 'Whether the pigeon-cote be empty or fuU, I shall await you there." I nodded. We smiled at each other and wheeled our horses in opposite directions. CHAPTEK V A SUPPEE NOW, ■what seemed strange to me at the Hall was the cheer- fulness of all under circumstances which must have mortified any Eoyalist, and, in particular, the principal family in North America of that political complexion. Even Sir John, habitually cold and reserved, appeared to be in most excellent spirits for such a man, and his wintry smile shed its faint pale gleam more than once upon the company assembled at supper. On my arrival there seemed to be nobody there except the groom, who took my mare, Kaya, and Frank, Sir William's but- ler, who ushered me and seemed friendly. Into the drawing room came black Flora, all smiles, to say that the gentlemen were dressing but that Lady Johnson would re- ceive me. She was seated before her glass in her chamber, and the red- cheeked Irish maid she had broight from New York was exceed- ingly busy curling her hair. "Oh, Jack!" said Lady Johnson softly, and holding out to me one hand to be saluted, "they told me you were in the village. Has it become necessary that I must send for an old friend who should have come of his own free will?" "I thought perhaps you and Sir John might not take pleasure in a visit from me," I replied, honestly enough. "Why ? Because last winter you answered the district summons and were on guard at the church with the Eebel Mohawk com- pany ?" So she knew that, too. But I had scarcely expected otherwise. And it came into my thought that the dwarfish Bartholomews had given her news of my doings and my whereabouts. "Come," said she in her lively manner, "a good soldier obeys his colonel, whoever that officer may chance to be — for the moment. And, were you even otherwise inclined, Jack, of what use would it have been to disobey after Philip Schuyler disarmed our poor Scots?" 40 A SUPPER 41 If Sir John feels as you do, it makes my visit easier for all," said I. "Sir John," she replied, "is not a whit concerned. We here at the Hall have laid down our arms; we are peaceably disposed; farm duties begin; a multitude of affairs preoccupy us; so let who wiU fight out this quarrel in Massachusetts Bay, so only that we have tranquillity and peace in County Tryon." I listened, amazed, to this school-girl chatter, marvelling that she herself believed such pitiable nonsense. Yet, that she did believe it I was assured, because in my Lady Johnson there was nothing false, no treachery or lies or cunning. Somebody sure had filled her immature mind with this jargon, which now she repeated to me. And in it I vaguely perceived the duplicity and ingenious manoeuvring of wills and minds more experienced than her own. But I said only that I hoped this county might escape the con- flagration now roaring through all New England and burning very fiercely in Virginia and the Carolinas. Then, smiling, I made her a compliment on her hair, which her Irish maid was dressing very prettily, and laughed at her man's banyan which she so saucily wore in place of a levete. Only a young and pretty woman could presume to wear a flowered silk banyan at her toilet; but it mightily became Polly Johnson. "Claudia is here," she remarked with a kindly malice perfectly transparent. I took the news in excellent part, and played the hopeless swain for a while, to amuse her, and so cunningly, too, that presently the charming child felt bound to comfort me. "Claudia is a witch," says she, "and does vast damage to no purpose but that it feeds her vanity. And this I have said fre- quently to her very face, and shall continue until she chooses to refrain from such harmful coquetry, and seems inclined to a more serious consideration of life and duty." "Claudia serious!" I exclaimed. "When Claudia becomes pen- sive, beware of her I" "Claudia should marry early — as I did," said she. But her features grew graver as she said it, and I saw not in them that inner light which makes delicately radiant the face of happy wifehood. I thought, "God pity her," but I said gaily enough that retribu- tion must one day seize Claudia's dimpled hand and place it in the grasp of some gentleman fitly fashioned to school her. We both laughed; then she being ready for her stays and 42 THE LITTLE RED FOOT gown, I retired to the library below, where, to my chagrin, who should be lounging but Hiakatoo, war chief of the Senecas, in all his ceremonial finery. Despite what dear Mary Jamison has written of him, nor doubting that pure soul's testimony, I knew Hiakatoo to be a savage beast and a very devil, the more to be suspected because of his terrible intelligence. With him was a Mr. Hare, sometime Lieutenant in the Mohawk Begiment, with whom I had a slight acquaintance. I knew him to be Tory to the bone, a deputy of Guy Johnson for Indian af- fairs, and a very shifty character though an able officer of county militia and a scout of no mean ability. Hare gave me good evening with much courtesy and self-pos- session. Hiakatoo, also, extended a muscular hand, which I was obliged to take or be outdone in civilized usage by a savage. "Well, sir," says Hare in his frank, misleading manner, "the last o' the sugar is a-boiling, I hear, and spring plowing should begin this week." Neither he nor Hiakatoo had as much interest in husbandry as two hoot-owls, nor had they any knowledge of it, either; but I replied politely, and, at their request, gave an account of my glebe at Fonda's Bush. "There is game in that country," remarked Hiakatoo in the Seneca dialect. Instantly it entered my head that his remark had two inter- pretations, and one very sinister; but his painted features re- mained calmly inscrutable and perhaps I had merely imagined the dull, hot gleam that I thought had animated his sombre eyes. "There is game in the Bush," said I, pleasantly,— "deer, hear, turkeys, and partridges a-drumming the long roll all day long. And I have seen a moose near Lake Desolation." Now I had replied to the Seneca in the Canienga dialect; and he might interpret in two ways my reference to hears, and also what I said concerning the drumming of the partridges. But his countenance did not change a muscle, nor did his eyes. And as for Hare, he might not have understood my play upon words, for he seemed interested merely in a literal interpretation, and appeared eager to hear about the moose I had seen near Lake Desolation. So I told him I had watched two bulls fighting in the swamp until the older beast had been driven ofE. "Civilization, too, will soon drive away the last of the moose from Tryon," quoth Hare. A SUPPER 43 "How many families at Fonda's Bush?" asked Hiakatoo abruptly. I was about to reply, telling him the truth, and checked myself with lips already parted to speak. There ensued a polite silence, but in that brief moment I was convinced that they realized I suddenly suspected them. What I might have answered the Seneca I do not exactly know, for the next instant Sir Jolm entered the room with Ensign Moucher, of the old Mohawk Regiment, and young Captain Watts from New York, brother to Polly, Lady Johnson, a handsome, dissipated, careless lad, inclined to peevishness when thwarted, and marred, perhaps, by too much adulation. Scarce had compliments been exchanged with snufi when Lady Johnson entered the room with Claudia Swift, and I thought 1 had seldom beheld two lovelier ladies in their silks and powder, who curtsied low on the threshold to our profound bows. As I saluted Lady Johnson's hand again, she said: "This is most kind of you. Jack, because I know that all farmers now have little time to waste." "Like Cincinnatus," said I, smilingly, "I leave my plow in the furrow at the call of danger, and hasten to brave the deadly battery of your bright eyes." Whereupon she laughed that sad little laugh which I knew so well, and which seemed her manner of forcing mirth when Sir John was present. I took her out at her request. Sir John led Claudia; the others paired gravely. Hare walking with the Seneca and whispering in his ear. Candles seemed fewer than usual in the dining hall, but were sufficient to display the late Sir William's plate and glass. The scented wind from Claudia's fan stirred my hair, and I remembered it was still the hair of a forest runner, neither short nor sufficiently long for the queue, and powdered not a trace. I looked around at Claudia's bright face, more brilliant for the saucy patches and newly powdered hair. "La," said she, "you vie with Hiakatoo yonder in Mohawk finery. Jack, — all beads and thrums and wampum. And yet you have a pretty leg for a silken stocking, too." "In the Bush," said I, "the backwoods aristocracy make little of your silk hosen, Claudia. Our stockings are leather and our powder black, and our patches are of buckskin and are sewed on elbow and knee with pack-thread or sinew. Or we use them, too, for wadding." U THE LITTLE RED FOOT "It is a fashion like another," she remarked with a shrug, but ■watching me intently over her fan's painted edge. "The mode is a tyrant," said I, "and knows neither pity nor good taste." "How so?" "Why, Hiakatoo also wears paint, Claudia." "Meaning that I wear lip-rouge and lily-balm? Well, I do, my impertinent friend." "Who could suspect it?" I protested, mockingly. "You might have suspected it long since had you been suffi- ciently adventurous." "How so ?" I inquired in my turn. "By kissing me, pardieu ! But you always were a timid youth. Jack Drogue, and a woman's 'No,' with the proper stare of indig- nation, always was sufficient to route you utterly." In spite of myself I reddened under the smiling torment. "And if any man has had that much of you," said I, "then I for one will believe it only when I see your lip-rouge on his lips !" "Court me again and then look into your mirror," she retorted calmly. "What in the world are you saying to each other?" exclaimed Lady Johnson, tapping me with her fan. "Why, you are red as a squaw-berry. Jack, and your wine scarce tasted." Claudia said : "I but ask him to try his fortune, and he blushes like a silly." "Shame," returned Lady Johnson, laughing; "and you have Mr. Hare's scalp fresh at your belt!" Hare heard it, and laughed in his frank way, which instantly disarmed most people who had not too often heard it. "I admit," said he, "that I shall presently perish unless this cruel lady proves kinder, or restores to me my hair." "It were more merciful," quoth Ensign Moucher, "to slay out- right with a single glance. I myself am long since doubly dead," he added with his mealy-mouthed laugh, and his mean reddish eyes a-flickering at Lady Johnson. Sir John, who was carving a roast of butcher's meat, carved on, though his young wife ventured a glance at him — a sad, timid look as though hopeful that her husband might betray some inter- est when other men said gallant things to her. I asked Sir John's permission to oiJer a toast, and he gave it with cold politeness. "To the two cruellest and loveliest creatures alive in a love- stricken world," said I. "Gentlemen, I ofier you our charming A SUPPER 45 tyrants. And may our Leads remain ever in the dust and their silken shoon upon our necks 1" All drank standing. The Seneca gulped his Madiera like a slobbering dog, noticing nobody, and then fell fiercely to cutting up his meat, until, his knife being in the way, he took the flesh in his two fists and gnawed it. But nobody appeared to notice the Seneca's beastly manners; and such general complaisance preoccupied me, because Hiakatoo knew better, and it seemed as though he considered himself in a position where he might disdain to conduct suitably amid a com- pany which, possibly, stood in need of his good will. Nobody spoke of politics, nor did I care to introduce such a subject. Conversation was general; matters concerning the town, the Hall, were mentioned, together with such topics as are usually discussed among land owners in time of peace. And it seemed to me that Sir John, who had, as usual, re- mained coldly reticent among his guests, became of a sudden con- versational with a sort of forced animation, like a man who recollects that he has a part to play and who unwillingly at- tempts it. He spoke of the Hall farm, and of how he meant to do this with this part and that with that part; and how the herd bulls were now become useless and he must send to the Patroon for new blood, — all a mere toneless and mechanical babble, it seemed to me, and without interest or sincerity. Once, sipping my claret, I thought I heard a faint clash of arms outside and in the direction of the guard-house. And another time it seemed to me that many horses were stirring somewhere outside in the darkness. I could not conceive of anything being afoot, because of Sir John's parole, and so presently dismissed the incidents from my mind. The wine had somewhat heated the men; laughter was louder, speech less guarded. Toung Watts spoke boldly of Haldimand and Guy Carleton, naming them as the two most efficient servants that his Majesty had in Canada. Nobody, however, had the effrontery to mention Guy Johnson in my presence, but Ensign Moucher pretended to discuss a prob- able return of old John Butler and of his son Walter to our neighborhood, — to hoodwink me, I think, — but his mealy manner and the false face he pulled made me the more wary. The wine burned in Hiakatoo, but he never looked toward me nor directly at anybody out of his blank red eyes of a panther. 46 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Sir Jolin had become a little drunk and slopped his -wine-glass, but the wintry smile glimmered on his thin lips as though some secret thought contented him, and he was ever whispering with Captain Watts. But he spoke always of the coming summer and of his cattle and fields and the pursuits of peace, saying that he had no interest in Haldimand nor in any kinsmen who had fled Tryon; and that all he desired was to be let alone at the Hall, and not bothered by Phil Schuyler. "Tor," says he, emptying his glass with unsteady hand, 'Tve enough to do to feed my family and my servants and collect my rents; and I'm damned if I can do it unless those excitable gen- tlemen in Albany mind their own business as diligently as I wish to mind mine." "Surely, Sir John," said I, "nobody wishes to annoy you, be- cause it is the universal desire that you remain. And, as you have pledged your honour to do so, only a fool would attempt to make more difficult your position among us." "Oh, there are fools, too," said he in his slow voice. "There were fools who supposed that the Six Nations would not resent ill treatment meeted out to Guy Johnson." His cold gaze rested for a second upon Hiakatoo, then swept elsewhere. Preoccupied, I heard Claudia's voice in my ear: "Do you take no pleasure any longer in looking at me. Jack? You have paid me very scant notice tonight." I turned, smilingly made her a compliment, and she was now gazing into the little looking-glass set in the handle of her French fan, and her dimpled hand busy with her haij. "Polly's Irish maid dressed my hair," she remarked. "I would to God I had as clever a wench. Could you discover one to wait on me?" Hare, who had no warrant for familiarity, as far as I was con- cerned, neveirtheless called out with a laugh that I knew every wench in the countryside and should find a pretty one very easily to serve Claudia. Which pleasantry did not please me; but Ensign Moucher and young Watts bore him out, and they all fell a-laughing, discussing with little decency such wenches as the two Wormwood girls near Fish House, and Betsy and Jessica Browse — maids who were pretty and fuU of gaiety at dance or frolic, and perhaps a trifle free in manners, but of whom I knew no evil and believed none what- ever the malicious gossip concerning them. The gallantries of such men as Sir John and Walter Butler were A SUPPER 47 known to everybody in the country; and so were the carryings on of all the younger gentry and the officers from Johnstown to Albany. Young girls' names — ^the daughters of tenants, settlers, farmers, were bandied about carelessly enough; and the names of those famed for beauty, or a lively disposition, had become more or less familiar to me. Yet, for myself, my escapades had been harmless enough — a pretty maid kissed at a quilting, perhaps; another courted lightly at a barn-romp; a laughing tavern wench caressed en passant, but no evil thought of it and nothing to regret — ^no need to remember aught that could start a tear in any woman's eyes. Watts said to Claudia : "There is a maid at Caughnawaga who serves old Douw Fonda — a Scotch girl, who might serve you as well as Flora cares for my sister." 'Tenelope Grant!" exclaims Hare with an oath. Whereat these three young men fell a-laughing, and even Sir John leered. I had heard her name and that the careless young gallants of the country were all after this yoimg Scotch girl, servant to Douw Fonda — ^but I had never seen her. "She lives with the old gentleman, does she not?" inquired Claudia with a shrug. "She cares for him, dresses him, cooks for him, reads to him, sews, mends, lights him to bed and tucks him in," said Hare. "My God, what a wife she'd make for a farmer ! Or a mistress for a gentleman." "A wench I would employ very gladly," quoth Claudia, frowning. "Could you get her eax. Jack, and fetch her?" "Take her from Douw Fonda?" I exclaimed in surprise. "The old man is like to die any moment," remarked Watts. "Besides," said Moucher, "he has scores of kinsmen and their women to take him in charge." "She's a pretty bit o' baggage," said Sir John drunkenly. "If you but kiss the little slut she looks at you like a silly kitten, and, I think, with no more sense or comprehension." Captain Watts darted an angry look at his brother-in-law but said nothing. Lady Johnson's features were burning and her lip quivered, but she forced a laugh, saying that her husband could have judged only by hearsay, and that the Scotch girl's reputation was still very good in the country. "Somebody'll get her," retorted Sir John, thickly, "for they're all a-pestering — ^Walter Butler, too, when he was here, — and your brother, and Hare and Moucher yonder. The little slut has yellow 48 THE LITTLE RED FOOT hair, but she's too damned thin ! " he hiccoughed and upset his wine; and a servant wiped his neck-cloth and his silk and silver waistcoat while he, with wagging and unsteady head, gazed gravely down at the damage done. Claudia set her lips to my ear: "The beast! — to affront his wife!" she whispered. "Tell me, do you, also, go about your rustic gallantries in the shameful manner of these educated and Christian gentlemen ?" "I seek no woman's destruction," said I drily. "Not even mine?" She laughed as I reddened, and tapped me with her fan. "If our young men do not turn this Scotch girl's head with their philandering, send her to me and I will use her kindly." "You would not seduce her from an old and almost helpless man who needs her?" I demanded. "I find my servants where I can in such days as these," said she coolly. "And there are plenty to care for old Douw Fonda in Caughnawaga, but only an accomplished wench like Penelope Grant would I trust to do my hair and lace me. Will you send this girl to me?" "No, I won't," said I bluntly. "I shall not charge myself with such an errand, even for you. It is not a decent thing you ask of me or of the wench, either." "It is decent," retorted Claudia pettishly. "If she's as pretty a baggage as is reported, some of our young fools will never let her alone until one among them turns her sOly head. Whereas the girl would be safe with me." "That is not my affair," I remarked. "Do you wish her harm ?" "I tell you she is no concern of mine. And if she's not a hope- less fool she'll know how to trust the gentry of County Tryon." "Tou are of them, too. Jack," she said maliciously. "I am a plain farmer and I trouble no woman." "Tou trouble me," she insisted sweetly. I laughed, not agreeably. "Tou do so," she repeated. "I would you had courage to court me again." "Do you mean courage or inclination, Claudia?" She gave me a melting look, very sweet, and a trifle sad. "With patience," she murmured, "you might awaken both our hearts." "I know well what I'd awaken in you," said I ; 'Td awaken the devil. No; I've had my chance." A SUPPER 49 She sighed, still looking at me, and I awaited her further as- sault, grimly armed with memories. But ere she could speak, Hiakatoo lurched to his feet and stood towering there unsteadily, his burning gaze fixed on space. Whereat Sir John, now very tight and very drowsy, opened owl- ish eyes ; and Hare took the Seneca by the arm. "If you desire to go," said he, "here are three of us ready to ride beside you." Moucher, too, stood up, and so did Captain Watts; but they were not in their cups. Watts took Hiakatoo's blanket from a servant and cast it over the tall warrior's shoulders. "The Western Gate of the Confederacy lies unguarded," ex- plained Hare to us all, in his frank, amiable manner. "The great Gate Keeper, Hiakatoo, bids you all farewell. Duty calls him toward the setting sun." All had now risen from the table. Hiakatoo lurched past us and out into the hallway; Hare and Moucher and Watts took smiling leave of Sir John; the ladies gave them all a courteous farewell. Hare, passing, said to me: "To any who enquire you can answer pat enough to make an end to foolish rumours concerning any meditated flight of this family." "My answer," said I quietly, "is always the same : Sir William's son has given his parole." They went out after their Indian, which disturbed me greatly, as I could not account for Hiakatoo's presence at Johnstown, and I was ill at ease seeing him so apparently in charge of three known Tories, and one of them a deputy of Guy Johnson. However, I took my leave of Sir John, who gave me a wavering hand and stared at me blankly. Then I kissed the ladies' hands and went out to the porch where Billy waited with my mare, Kaya. Lady Johnson came to the door as I mounted. "Don't forget us when again you are in Johnstown," she said. Claudia, too, appeared and stepped daintily out on the dewy grass, lifting her petticoat. "What a witching night," she exclaimed mischievously, " — what a night for love! Do you mark the young moon, Jack, and how all the dark is saturated with a sweet smell of new buds?" "I mark it all," said I, laughing, "and, as for love, why, I love it all, Claudia, — moon, darkness, scent of young leaves, the far forest still as death, and the noise of the brook yonder." "I meant a sweeter love," quoth she, coming to my stirrup and laying both hands upon my saddle. 50 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "There ia no sweeter love," said I, still laughing, " — none hap- pier than the love of this silvery vforld of night which God made to heal us of the blows of day." "Whither do you ride. Jack?" "Homeward." "To Fonda's Bueh?" "Yes." "Directly home?" "I have a comrade " said L "He awaits me on the May- field Eoad." "Why do you ride by Mayfield?" "Because he waits for me there." "Why, Jack?" "He has friends to visit " "At Mayfield?" "At Pigeon-Wood," I muttered. "More gallantry 1" she said, tossing her head. "But young men must have their fling, and I am not jealous of Betsy Browse or of her pretty sister, so that you ride not toward Caughnawaga " "What?" "To Jee this rustic beauty, Penelope Grant " "^ave I not refused to seek her for you ?" I demanded. "Tes, but not for yourself. Jack! Curiosity killed a cat and started a young man on his travels !" Exasperated by her malice I struck my mare's flanks with moc- casined heels ; and as I rode out into the darkness Claudia's gaily mocking laugh floated after me on the still, sweet air. OHAPTEE VI RUSTIC GALLANTRY THERE were few lanterns and fewer candle lights in Johns- town ; sober folk seemed to be already abed ; only a constable, Hugh McMonts, stood in the main street, leaning upon his pike as I followed the new moon out of town and down into a dark and lovely land where all was still and fragrant and dim as the dreams of those who lie down contented with the world. Now, as I jogged along on my mare, Kay a, over a well-levelled road, my mind was rery full of what I Tiad seen and heard at Johnson Hall. One thing seemed clear to me; there could be no foundation for any untoward rumours regarding Sir John, — no fear that he meant to shame his honoured name and flee to Canada to join Guy John- son and his Indians and the Tryon County Tories who already had fled. No; Sir John was quietly planning his summer farming. All seemed tranquil at the Hall. And I could not find it in my nature to doubt his pledged word, nor believe that he was plotting mis- chief. Still, it had staggered me somewhat to see Hiakatoo there in his ceremonial paint, as though the fire were still burning at Onon- daga. But I concluded that the Seneca War Chief had come on some private affair and not for his nation, because a chief does not travel alone upon a ceremonial mission. No; this Indian had arrived to talk privately with Hare, who, no doubt, now rep- resented Guy Johnson's late authority among the Johnstown Tories. Thinking over these matters, I jogged into the Mayfield road; and as I passed in between the tall wayside bushes, without any warning at all two shadowy horsemen rode out in front of me and threw their horses across my path, blocking it. Instantly my hand flew to my hatchet, but at that same moment one of the tall riders laughed, and I let go my war-axe, ashamed. "It's John Drogue!" said a voice I recognized, as I pushed my 61 52 THE LITTLE RED FOOT mare close to them and peered into their faces; and I discovered that these riders were two neighbors of mine, Godfrey Shew of Fish House, and Joe de Golyer of Varick's. "What frolic is this?" I demanded, annoyed to see their big pistols resting on their thighs and their belted hatchets loosened from the fringed sheaths. "No frolic," answered Shew soberly, "though Joe may find it a matter for his French mirth." "Why do you stop folk at night on the King's highway V I in- quired curiously of de Golyer. "Voyons, I'ami Jean," he replied gaily, "Sir Johnson and his Scottish bare-shanks, they have long time stop us on their sacre King''s highway. Now, in our turn, we stop them, by gar I Oui, nom de dieu ! And we shall see what we shall see, and we shall catch in our little trap what shall step into it, pardieu !" Shew said in his heavy voice: "Our authorities in Albany have concluded to watch, for smuggled arms, the roads leading to Johns- town, Mr. Drogue." "Do they fear treachery at the Hall?" "They do not know what is going on at the Hall. But there are rumours abroad concerning the running in of arms for the High- landers, and the constant passing of messengers between Canada and Johnstown." "I have but left the Hall," said I. "I saw nothing to warrant suspicion." And I told them who were there and how they con- ducted at supper. Shew said with an oath that Lieutenant Hare was a dangerous man, and that he hope d a warrant for him would be issued. "As for the Indian, Hiakatoo," he went on, "he's a surly and cunning animal, and a fierce one as are all Senecas. I do not know what has brought him to Johnstown, nor why Moucher was there, nor Steve Watts." "Young Watts, no doubt, came to visit his sister," said I. "That is natural, Mr. Shew." "Oh, no doubt, no doubt," grumbled Shew. "You, Mr. Drogue, are one of those gentlemen who seem trustful of the honour of all gentlemen. And for every gentleman who is one, the next is a blackguard. I do not contradict you. No, sir. But we plain folk of Tryon think it wisdom to watch gentlemen like Sir John Johnson." "I am as plain a man as you are," said I, "but I am not able to doubt the word of honour given by the son of Sir William Johnson." RUSTIC GALLANTRY 53 De Golyer laughed and asked me which way I rode, and I told him. "Nick Stoner also went Mayfield way," said Shew with a shrug. '1 think he unsaddled at Pigeon-Wood." They wheeled their horses into the bushes with gestures of adieu; I shook my bridle, and my mare galloped out into the sandy road again. The sky was very bright with that sweet springtime lustre which comes not alone from the moon but also from a million million unseen stars, aU a-shining behind the purple veil of night. Presently I heard the Mayfield creek babbling like a dozen laugh- ing lasses, and rode along the bushy banks looking up at the moun- tains to the north. They are friendly little mountains which we call the Mayfield Hills, all rising into purple points against the sky, like the waves on Lake Ontario, and so tumbling northward into the grim jaws of the Adirondacks, which are different — ^not sinister, perhaps, but grim and stolid peaks, ever on guard along the Northern wil- derness. Long, stiU reaches of the creek stretched away, unstarred by ris- ing trout because of the lateness of the night. Only a heron's croak sounded in the darkness; there were no lights where I knew the Mayfield settlement to be. Already I saw the grist mill, with its dusky wheel motionless; and, to the left, a frame house or two and several log-houses set in cleared meadows, where the vast ramparts of the forest had been cut away. Now, there was a mile to gallop eastward along a wet path toward Summer House Point ; and in a little while I saw the long, low house called Pigeon- Wood, which sat astride o' the old Iroquois war trail to the Sacandaga and the Canadas. It was a heavy house of hewn timber and smoothed with our blue clay, which cuts the sandy loam of Tryon in great streaks. There was no light in the windows, but the milky lustre of the heavens flooded all, and there, upon the rail fence, I did see Nick Stoner a-kissing of Betsy Browse. They heard my horse and fluttered down from the fence like two robins, as I pulled up and dismounted. "Hush!" said the girl, who was bare of feet and her gingham scarce pinned decently; and laid her finger on her lips as she glanced toward the house. "The old man is back," quoth Nick, sliding a graceless arm around her. "But he sleeps like an ox." And, to Betsy, "Whistle 54 THE LITTLE RED FOOT thy little sister from her nest, sweetheart. For there are no gallants in Tryon to match with my comrade, John Drogue!" Which did not please me to hear, for I had small mind for rustic gallantry; hut Martha pursed her lips and whistled thrice; and presently the house door opened without any noise. She was a healthy, glowing wench, half confident, half coquette, like a playful forest thing in springtime, when all things mate. And her sister, Jessica, was like her, only slimmer, who came across the starlit grass rubbing both eyes with her little fists, like a child roused from sleep, — a shy, smiling, red-lipped thing, who gave me her hand and yawned. And presently went to where my mare stood to pet her and pull the new, wet grass and feed her tid-bits. I did not feel awkward, yet knew not how to conduct or what might be expected of me at this star-dim rendezvous with a sleepy, woodland beauty. But she seemed in nowise disconcerted after a word or two; drew my arm about her; put up her red mouth to be kissed, and then begged to be lifted to my saddle. Here she sat astride and laughed down at me through her tangled hair. And: "I have a mind to gallop to Pish House," said she, "only that it might prove a lonely jaunt." "Shall I come, Jessica?" "Will you do so?" I waited till the blood cooled in my veins ; and by that time she had forgotten what she had been about — like any other forest bird. "Tou have a fine mare, Mr. Drogue," said she, gently caressing Kaya with her naked heels. "No rider better mounted passe* Pigeon-Wood." "Do many riders pass, Jessica?" "Sir John's company between Fish House and the Hall." "Any others lately?" "Yes, there are horsemen who ride swiftly at night. We hear them." "Who may they be?" "I do not know, sir." "Sir John's people?" "Very like." "Coming from the North?" "Yes, from the North." "Have they waggons to escort?" RUSTIC GALLANTRY 55 "I have heard waggons, too.'' "Lately?" "Yes." She leaned down from the saddle and rested both hands on my shoulders : "Have you no better way to please than in catechizing me, John Drogue?" she laughed. "Do you know what lips were fashioned for except words ?" I kissed her, and, still resting her hands on my shoulders, she looked down into my eyes. "Are you of Sir John's people?" she asked. "Of them, perhaps, but not now with them, Jessica." "Oh. The other party?" "Yes." "You! A Boston man?" "Nick and I, both." "Why?" "Because we design to live as free as God made us, and not as king-fashioned slaves." "Oh, la!" quoth she, opening her eyes wide, "you use very mighty words to me, Mr. Drogue. There are young men in red coats and gilt lace on their hats who would call you rebel." "I am." "No," she whispered, putting both arms around my neck. "You are a pretty boy and no Yankee! I do not wish you to be a Boston rebel." "Are all your lovers King's men ?" "My lovers?" "Yes." "Are you one?" At which I laughed and lifted the saucy wench from my saddle, and stood so in the starlight, her arms still around my neck. "No," said I, "I never had a sweetheart, and, indeed, would not Jmow how to conduct " "We could learn." But I only laughed, disengaging her arms, and passing my own around her supple waist. "Listen," said L "Nick and I mean no harm in a starlit frolic, where we tarry for a kiss from a pretty maid." "No harm?" "Neither that nor better, Jessica. Nor do you ; and I know that very well. With me it's a laugh and a kiss and a laugh; and into my stirrups and ofi. . . . And you are young and soft and sweet 56 THE LITTLE RED FOOT as new maple-sap in tie snow. But if you dream like other little birds, of nesting " "May a lass not dream in springtime?" "Surely. But let it end so, too." "In dreams." "It is wiser." "There is no wisdom in me, pretty boy in buckskin. And I love tbrums better than red-coats and lace." "Love spinning better than either 1" "Oh, la! He preaches of wheels and spindles when my mouth aches for a kiss !" "And mine," said I, " — ^but my legs ache more for my saddle; and I must go." At that moment when I said adieu with my lips, and she did not mean to unlink her arms, came Nick on noiseless tread to twitch my arm. And, "Look," said he, pointing toward the long, low rampart of Maxon Ridge. I turned, my hand still retaining Jessica's : and saw the Iro- quois signal-flame mount thin and high, tremble, bum red against the stars, then die there in the darkness. Northward another flame reddened on the hills, then another, fire answering fire. "What the devil is this?" growled Nick. "These are no times for Indians to talk to one another with fire." "Get into your saddle," said I, "and we shall ride by Varick's, for I've a mind to see what will-o'-the-wisps may be a-dancing over the great Vlaie!" So the taU lad took his leave of his little pigeon of Pigeon- Wood, who seemed far from willing to let him loose; and I made my adieux to Jessica, who stood a-pouting; and we mounted and set ofE at a gallop for Varick's, by way of Summer House Point. I could not be certain, but it seemed to me that there was a light at the Point, which came through the crescents from behind closed shutters; but that was within reason. Sir John being at liberty to keep open the hunting lodge if he chose. As for the Drowned Lands, as far as we could see through the night there was not a spark over that desolate wilderness. The Mohawk fires on the hills, too, had died out. Fish House, if still burning candles, was too far away to see; we galloped through Varick's, past the mill where, from its rocky walls. Frenchman's Creek roared under the stars ; then turned west along the Brent-Meester's trail toward Fonda's Bush ani-iome. RUSTIC GALLANTRY 57 "Those Iroquois fires trouble me mightily," quoth Nick, pushing his lank horse forward beside my mare. "And me," said I. "Why should they talk with fire on the night Hiakatoo cornea to the Hall?" "I do not know," said I. "But when I am home I shall write it in a letter to Albany that this night the Mohawks have talked among themselves with fire, and that a Seneca was present." "And that mealy-mouthed Ensign, Moucher; and Hare and Steve Watts!" "I shall so write it," said I, very seriously. "Good!" cried he with a jolly slap on his horse's neck. "But the sweeter part of this night's frolic you and I shall carry locked in our breasts. Eh, John? By heaven, is she not fresh and pink as a dewy strawberry in June — my pretty little wench? Is she not apt as a school-learned lass with any new lesson a man chooses to teach ?" "Yes, too apt, perhaps," said I, shaking my head but laughing. "But I think they have had already a lesson or two in such frolics, less innocent, perhaps, than the lesson we gave." 'Til break the back of any red-coat who stops at Pigeon- Wood I" cried Nick Stoner with an oath. "Yes, red-coat or any other colour, either!" "You would not take our frolic seriously, would you, Nick?" "I take all frolics seriously," said he with a gay laugh, smiting both thighs, and his bridle loose. "Where I place my mark with my proper lips, let roving gallants read and all roysterers beware! — even though I so mark a dozen pretty does !" "A very Turk," said I. "An antlered stag in the blue-coat that brooks no other near his herd!" cried he with a burst of laughter. And feU to smiting his thighs and tossing up both arms, riding like a very centaur there, with his hair flowing and his thrums streaming in the star- light. And, "Lord God of Battles!" he cried out to the stars, stretch- ing up his powerful young arms. "Thou knowest how I could love tonight ; but dost Thou know, also, how I could fight if I had only a foe to destroy with these two empty hands !" "Thou murderous Turk !" I cried in his ear. "Pray, rather, that there shall be no war, and no foe more deadly than the pretty wench of Pigeon- Wood !" "Love or war, I care not !" he shouted in his springtide frenzy, galloping there unbridled, his lean young face in the wind. "But 58 THE LITTLE RED FOOT God send the one or the other to me very quickly — or love or war — for I need more than a plow or axe to content my soul afire!" "Idiot!" said I, "have done a-yelling! You wake every owl in the bush!" And above his youth-maddened laughter I heard the weird yelp- ing of the forest owls as though the Six Nations already were in their paint, and blood fouled every trail. So we galloped into Fonda's Bush, pulling up before my door; but Nick would not stay the night and must needs gallop on to his own log house, where he could blanket and stall his tired and sweating horse — I owning only the one warm stall. "Well," says he, still slapping his thighs where he sat his saddle as I dismounted, and his young face still aglow in the dim, silvery light, " — well, John, I shall ride again, one day, to Pigeon- Wood. Will you ride with me?" "I think not." "And why?" But, standing by my door, bridle in hand, I slowly shook my head. "There is no prettier bit o' baggage in County Tryon than Jes- sica Browse," he insisted — "unless, perhaps, it be that Scotch girl at Caughnawaga, whom all the red-coats buzz about like sap flies around a pan." "And who may this Scotch lassie be?" I asked with a smile, and busy, now, unsaddling. "I mean the new servant to old Douw Fonda." "I have not noticed her." "Tou have not sejn the Caughnawaga girl?" "No. I remain incurious concerning servants," said I, drily. "Is it so !" he laughed. "Well, then, — for all that they have a right to gold binding on their hats, — the gay youth of Johnstown, yes, and of Schenectady, too, have not remained indifferent to the Scotch girl of Douw Fonda, Penelope Grant!" I shrugged and lifted my saddle. "Every man to his taste," said I. "Some eat woodehucks, some porcupines, and others the tail of a beaver. Venison smacks sweeter to me." Nick laughed again. "When she reads the old man to sleep and takes her knitting to the porch, you should see the ring of gallants every afternoon a-courting her! — and their horses tied to every tree around the house as at a quilting ! "But there's no quilting frolic; no supper; no dance; — nothing RUSTIC GALLANTRY 59 more than a yellow-haired slip of a wench busy knitting there in the sun, and looking at none o' them but intent on her needles and with that faint smile she wears " "Go court her," said I, laughing; and led my mare into her warm stall. "You'll court her yourself, one day!" he shouted afteir me, as he gathered bridle. "And if you do, God help you, John Drogue, for they say she's a born disturber of quiet men's minds, and mistress of a very mischievous and deadly art!" "What art?" I laughed. "The art o' love!" he bawled as he rode ofi, slapping his thighs and setting the moonlit woods all a-ringing with his laughter. CHAPTEE Vn BEFORE THE STOKM JOHNNY SILVEE had ridden my mare to Varick's to be shod, the evening previous, and was to remain the night and return by noon to Fonda's Bush. It was the first sunny May day of the year, murmurous with bees, and a sweet, warm smell from woods and cleared lands. Already bluebirds were drifting from stump to stump, and robins, which had arrived in April before the snow melted, chirped in the furrows of last autumn's plowing. Also were flying those frail little grass-green moths, earliest harbingers of vernal weather, so that observing folk, versed in the pretty signals which nature displays to acquaint us of her designs, might safely prophesy soft skies. I was standing in my glebe just after sunrise, gazing across my great cleared field — I had but one then, all else being woods — and I was thinking about my crops, how that here should be sown buckwheat to break and mellow last year's sod; and here I should plant com and Indian squashes, and yonder, God willing, pota- toes and beans. And I remember, now, that I presently fell to whistling the air of "The Little Eed Foot," while I considered my future har- vest; and was even planning to hire of Andrew Bowman his fine span of white oxen for my spring plowing; when, of a sud- den, through the May woods there grew upon the air a trem- bling sound, distant and sad. Now it sounded louder as the breeze stirred; now fainter when it shifted, so that a mournful echo only throbbed in my ears. It was the sound of the iron bell ringing on the new Block House at Mayfield. The carelessly whistled tune died upon my lips ; my heart al- most ceased for a moment, then violently beat the alarm. I ran to a hemlock stump in the field, where my loaded rifle rested, and took it up and looked at the priming powder, find- ing it dry and bright. A strange stillness had fallen upon the forest; there was no 60 BEFORE THE STORM 61 sound save that creeping and melancholy quaver of the bell. The birds had become quiet; the breeze, too, died away; and it was as though each huge tree stood listening, and that no leaf dared stir. As a dark cloud gliding between earth and sun quenches the sky's calm brightness, so the bell's tolling seemed to transform the scene about me to a sunless waste, through which the dread sound surged in waves, like the complaint of trees before a storm. Standing where my potatoes had been hoed the year before, I listened a moment longer to the dreary mourning of the bell, my eyes roving along the edges of the forest which, like a high, green rampart, enclosed my cleared land on every side. Then I turned and went swiftly to my house, snatched blanket from bed, spread it on the puncheon floor, laid upon it a sack of new bullets, a new canister of powder, a heap of buckskin scraps for wadding, a bag of salt, another of parched corn, a dozen strips of smoked venison. Separately on the blanket beside these I placed two pair of woollen hose, two pair of new ankle moccasins, an extra pair of deer-skin leggins, two cotton shirts, a hunting shirt of doe-skin, and a fishing line and hooks. These things I rolled within my blanket, making of everything a strapped pack. Then I pulled on my District Militia regimentals, which same was a hunting shirt of tow-cloth, spatter-dashes of the same, and a felt hat, cooked. Across the breast of my tow-cloth hunting-shirt I slung a bul- let-pouch, a powder-horn and a leather haversack; seized my light hatchet and hung it to my belt, hoisted the blanket pack to my shoulders and strapped it there; and, picking up rifle and hunting knife, I passed swiftly out of the house, fastening the heavy oaken door behind me and wondering whether I should ever return to open it again. The trodden forest trail, wide enough for a team to pass, lay straight before me due west, through heavy woods, to Andrew Bowman's farm. When I came into the cleared land, I perceived Mrs. Bowman washing clothing in a spring near the door of her log house, and the wash a-bleaching in the early sun. When she saw me she called to me across the clearing: "Have you news for me, John Drogue?" "None," said I. "Where is your man, Martha?" "Gone away to Stoner's with pack and rifle. He is but just 62 THE LITTLE RED FOOT departed. Is it only a drill call, or are tte Indians out at the Lower Castle?" "I know nothing," said I. "Are you alone in the house?" "A young kinswoman, Penelope Grant, serrant to old Douw Fonda, arrived late last night with my man from Oaughnawaga, and is still asleep in the loft." As she spoke a girl, clothed only in her shift, came to the open door of the log house. Her naked feet were snow-white; her hair, yellow as October-corn, seemed very thick and tangled. She stood blinking as though dazzled, the glory of the rising sun in her face; then the tolling of the tocsin swam to her sleepy ears, and she started like a wild thing when a shot is fired very far away. And, "What is that sound?" she exclaimed, staring about her; and I had never seen a woman's eyes so brown under such yellow hair. She stepped out into the fresh grass and stood in the dew lis- tening, now gazing at the woods, now at Martha Bowman, and now upon me. Speech came to me with an odd sort of anger. I said to Mrs. Bowman, who stood gaping in the sunshine: "Where are your wits? Take that child into the house and bar your shutters and draw water for your tubs. And keep your door bolted until some of the militia can return from Stoner's." "Oh, my God," said she, and fell to snatching her wash from the bushes and grass. At that, the girl Penelope turned and looked at me. And I thought she was badly frightened until she spoke. "Young soldier," said she, "do you know if Sir John has fled?" "I know nothing," said I, "and am like to learn less if you women do not instantly go in and bar your house." "Are the Mohawks out?" she asked. "Have I not said I do not know?" "Yes, sir. . . . But I should have escort by the shortest route to Oayadutta " "You talk like a child," said I, sharply. "And you seem scarcely more," I added, turning away. But I lingered still to see them safely bolted in before I departed. '"Soldier," she began timidly; but I interrupted: "Go fill your tubs against fire-arrows," said I. "Why do you loiter?" "Because I have great need to return to Oaughnawaga. Will you guide me the shortest way by the woods?" BEFORE THE STORM 63 "Do you not hear that bell?" I demanded angrily. "Yes, sir, I hear it. But I should go to Cayadutta- "And I should answer that militia call," said I impatiently. "Go in and lock the house, I tell youl" Mrs. Bowman, her arms full of wet linen, ran into the house. The girl, Penelope, gazed at the woods. "I am servant to a very old man," she said, twisting her linked fingers. "I can not abandon himl I can not let him remain all alone at Oayadutta Lodge. Will you take me to him?" "And if I were free of duty," said I, "I would not take you or any other woman into those accursed woods!" "Why not, sir?" "Because I do not yet comprehend what that bell is telling me. And if it means that there is a painted war-party out be- tween the Sacandaga and the Mohawk, I shall not take you to Caughnawaga when I return from Stoner's, and that's flat!" "I am not afraid to go," said she. But I think I saw her shud- der; and her face seemed very still and white. Then Mrs. Bow- man ran out of the house and caught the girl by her homespun shift. "Come indoors!" she cried shrilly, "or will you have us all pulling war arrows out of our bodies while you stand blinking at the woods and gossiping with Jack Drogue?" The girl shook herseK free, and asked me again to take her to Oayadutta Lodge. But I had no more time to axgue, and I flung my rifle to my shoulder and started out across the cleared land. Once I looked back. And I saw her still standing there, the rising sun bright on her tangled hair, and her naked feet shining like silver in the dew-wet grass. By a spring path I hastened to the house of John Putman, and found him already gone and his family drawing water and fas- tening shutters. His wife, Deborah, called to me saying that the Salisburys should be warned, and I told her that I had already spoken to the Bowmans. "Tour labour for your pains, John Drogue!" cried she. "The Bowmans are King's people and need fear neither Tory nor Indian!" "It is unjust to say so, Deborah," I retorted warmly. "Dries Bowman is already on his way to answer the militia call!" "Watch him!" she said, slamming the shutters; and fell to 64 THE LITTLE RED FOOT scolding her children, who, poor things, were striving at the well with dripping bucket too heavy for their strength. So I drew the water they might need if, indeed, it should prove true that Little Abe's Mohawks at the Lower Castle had painted themselves and were broken loose; and then I ran back along the spring path to the Salisbury's, and found them already well bolted in, and their man gone to Stoner's with rifle and pack. And now comes Johnny Silver, who had ridden my mare from Variek's, but had no news, all being tranquil along Frenchman's Creek, and nobody able to say what the Block House bell was telling us. "Did you stable Kaya?" I asked. "Oui, mon garce! I have holt her in tight!" "Good heavens," said I, "she can not remain bolted in to starve if I am sent on to Canada! Get you forward to Stoner's house and say that I delay only to fetch my horse 1" The stout little French trapper flung his piece to his shoulder and broke into a dog-trot toward the west. "Follow quickly, Sieur Jean!" he called gaily. "By gar, I have smell Iroquois war paint since ver' long time already, and now I smell him strong as old dog fox!" I turned and started back through the woods as swiftly as I could stride. As T came in sight of my log house, I was astounded to see my mare out and saddled, and a woman setting foot to stirrup. As I sprang out of the edge of the woods and ran toward her, she wheeled Kaya, and I saw that it was the Caughnawaga wench in my saddle and upon my horse — her yellow hair twisted up and shining like a Turk's gold turban above her bloodless face. "What do you mean!" I cried in a fury. "Dismount instantly from that mare ! Do you hear me ?" "I must ride to Caughnawaga!" she called out, and struck my mare with both heels so that the horse bounded away beyond my reach. Exasperated, I knew not what to do, for I could not hope to overtake the mad wench afoot; and so could only shout after her. However, she drew bridle and looked back ; but I dared not ad- vance from where I stood, lest she gallop out o' hearing at the Erst step. "This is madness!" I called to her across the field. "You do not know why that bell is ringing at Mayfield. A week since the Mohawks were talking to one another with fires on all these BEFORE THE STORM 65 hills! There may be a -war party in yonder woods! There may be more than one betwixt here and Caughnawaga I" "I cannot desert Mr. Fonda at such a time," said she with that same pale and frightened obstinacy I had encountered at Bow- man's. "Do you wish to steal my horse!" I demanded. "No, sir. ... It is not meant so. If some one would guide me afoot I would be glad to return to you your horse." "Oh. And if not, then you mean to ride there in spite o' the devil. Is that the situation?" "Yes, sir." Had it been any man I would have put a bullet in him; and could have easily marked him where I pleased. Never had I been in colder rage; never had I felt so helpless. And eveiy moment I was afeard the crazy girl would ride on. "Will you parley?" I shouted. 'Tarley?" she repeated. "How so, young soldier?" "In this manner, then: I engage my honour not to seize your bridle or touch you or my horse if you will sit stiU till I come up with you." She sat looking at me across the fallow field in silence. "I shall not use violence," said I. "I shall try only to find some way to serve you, and yet to do my own duty, too." "Soldier," she replied in a troubled voice, "is this the very truth you speak?" "Have I not engaged my honour?" I retorted sharply. She made no reply, but she did not stir as I advanced, though heir brown eyes watched my every step. When I stood at her stirrup she looked dovm at me intently, and I saw she was younger even than I had thought, and was made more like a smooth, slim boy than a woman. "Ton are Penelope Grant, of Caughnawaga," I said. "Yes, sir." "Do you know who I am?" "No, sir." I named myself, saying with a smile that none of my name had ever broken faith in word or deed. "Now," I continued, "that bell calls me to duty as surely as drum or trumpet ever sum.moned soldier since there were wars on earth. I must go to Stoner's; I can not guide you to Caugh- nawaga through the woods or take you thither by road or trail. And yet, if I do not, you mean to take my horse." "I must." 66 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "And risk a Mohawk war party on the way?" "I— must." "That is very brave," said 1, curbing my impatience, "but not wise. There are others of his kin to care for old Douw Fonda if war has truly come upon us here in Tryon County." "Soldier," said she in her still voice, which I once thought had been made strange by fear, but now knew otherwise — "my honour, too, is engaged, ilr. Fonda, whom I serve, has made of me more than a servant. He uses me as a daughter; offers to adopt me; trusts his age and feebleness to me; looks to me for every need, every ministration. . . . "Soldier, I came to Dries Bowman's last night with his con- sent, and gave him my word to return within a week. I came to Fonda's Bush because Mr. Fonda desired me to visit the only family in America with whom I have the slightest tie of kin- ship—the Bowmans. "But if war has come to us here in County Tryon, then in- stantly my duty is to this brave old gentleman who lives all alone in his house at Caughnawaga, and nobody except servants and black slaves to protect him if danger comes to the door." What the girl said touched me; nor could I discern in her anything of the coquetry which Nick Stoner's story of her knitting and her ring of gallants had pictured for me. Surely here was no rustic coquette to be flattered and courted and bedeviled by her betters — no country suck-thumb to sit a-giggling at her knitting, surfeited with honeyed words that meant destruction; — no wench to hang her head and twiddle apron while some pup of quality whispered in her ear temptations. I said; "This is the better way. Listen. Ride my mare to Mayfield by the highway. If you learn there that the Lower Castle Indians have painted for war, there is no hope of winning through to Cayadutta Lodge. And of what use to Mr. Fonda would be a dead girl?" "That is true," she whispered. "Very well. And if the Mohawks are loose along the river, then you shall remain at the Block House until it becomes pos- sible to go on. There is no other way. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." "Do you engage to do this thing? And to place my horse in safety at the Mayfield fort?" "Yes, sir." "Then," said I, "in my turn I promise to send aid to you at Mayfield, or come myself and take you to Cayadutta Lodge as BEFORE THE STORM 67 soon aa that proves possible. And I promise more; I shall en- deavour to get word through to Mr. Fonda concerning your situ- ation." She thanked me in that odd, still voice of hers. Her eyes had the starry look of a child's — or of unshed tears. "My mare will carry two," said I cheerfully. "Let me mount behind you and set you on the Mayfield road." She made no reply. I mounted behind her, took the bridle from her chilled fingers, and spoke to Kaya very gaily. And so we rode across my sunlit glebe and across the sugar-bush, where the moist trail, full of ferns, stretched away toward Mayfield as straight as the bee flies. ^ I do not know whether it was because the wench was now ful- filling her duty, as she deemed it, and therefore had become con- tented in a measure, but when I dismounted she took the bridle with a glance that seemed near to a faint smile. But maybe it was her mouth that I thought fashioned in pleasant lines. "Will you remember, soldier?" she asked, looking down at me from the saddle. "I shall wait some news of you at the May- field fort." "I shall not let you remain there long abandoned," said I cheerily. "Be kind to Kaya. She has a tender mouth and an ear more sensitive still to a harsh word." The girl laid a hand flat on my mare's neck and looked at me, l^e shy caress in her gesture and in her eyes. Both were meant for my horse; and a quick kindness for this Scotch girl came into my heart. "Take shelter at the Mayfield fort," said I, "and be very cer- tain I shall not forget you. Tou may gallop all the way on this soft wood-road. Will you care for Kaya at the fort when she is unsaddled?" A smile suddenly curved her lips. "Yes, John Drogue," she answered, looking me in the eyes. And the next moment she was off at a gaUop, her yellow hair loosened with the first bound of the horse, and flying all about her face and shoulders now, like sunshine flashing across wind- blown goldenrod. Then, in her saddle, the girl'turned and looked back at me, and sat so, still galloping, until she was out of sight. And, as I stood there alone in the woodland road, I began to understand what Nick Stoner meant when he called this Scotch girl a disturber of men's minds and a mistress — all unconscious, perhaps — of a very deadly art. CHAPTER Vni SHEEP AJSTD GOATS NOW, as I came again to tlie forest's edge and hastened along tlie wide logging road, to make up for moments wasted, I caught sight of two neighbors, John Putman and Herman Salisbury, walking ahead of me. They wore the regimentals of our Mohawk Regiment of dis- trict militia, carried rifles and packs; and I smelled the tobacco from their pipes, which seemed pleasant though I had never learned to smoke. I called to them ; they heard me and waited. "Well, John," says Putman, as I came up with them, "this is like to he a sorry business for farmers, what with plowing scarce begun and not a seed yet planted in all the Northland, barring winter wheat." "You think we are to take the field in earnest this time?" I asked anxiously. "It looks that way to me, Mr. Drogue. It's a long, long road to liberty, lad; and I'm thinking we're off at last." "He believes," explained Salisbury, "that Little Abraham's Mo- hawks are leaving the Lower Castle — which God prevent! — ^but I think this business is liker to be some new deviltry of Sir John's." "Sir John gave his parole to General Schuyler," said I, turning very red ; for I was mortified that the honour of my caste should be so carelessly questioned. "It is not unthinkable that Sir John might lie," retorted Salisbury bluntly. "I knew his father. Well and good. I know the son, also. . . . But I suppose that gentlemen like yourself, Mr. Drogue, are ashamed to suspect the honour of any of their own class, — even an enemy." But Putman was plainer spoken, saying that in his opinion any Tory was likely to attempt any business, however dirty, and rub up his tarnished honour afterward. I made him no answer; and we marched swiftly forward, each engaged with a multitude of serious and sontbre thoughts. SHEEP AND GOATS 69 A few momenta later, chancing to glance behind nae, stirred by what instinct I know not, I espied two neighbors, young John, son of Philip Helmer, and Charles Cady, of Fonda's Bush, fol- lowing us so stealthily and so closely that they might decently have hailed us had they been so minded. Now, when they perceived that I had noticed them, they dodged into the bush, as though moved by some common impulse. Then they reappeared in the road. And, said I in a low voice to John Putman: "Yonder comes slinking a proper pair o' tree-cats to sniS us to our destination. If these two be truly of the other party, then they have no business at John Stoner's." Putman and Salisbury both looked back. Said the one, grimly: "They are not coming to answer the militia call; they have rifles but neither regimentals nor packs." Said the other: "I wish we were clean split at Fonda's Bush, so that an honest man might know when 'neighbor' spells 'traitor* in low Dutch." "Some riddles are best solved by bullets," muttered the other. "Who argues with wolves or plays cat's-cxadle with catamounts I" Glancing again over my shoulder, I saw that the two behind us were mending their pace and must soon come up with us. And so they did, Putman giving them a civil good-day. "Have you any news, John Drogue?" inquired young Helmer. I replied that I had none to share with him, meaning only that I had no news at all. But Cady took it otherwise and hia flat- featured face reddened violently, as though the pox were com- ing out on him. And, "What the devil," says he, "does this young, forest-run- ning cockerel mean? And why should he not share his news with John Helmer here, — ^yes, or with me, too, by God, or yet with any true man in County Tryon?" I said that I had not intended any such meaning; that he mistook me; and that I had aimed at no discourtesy to any- body. "And safer for you, too!" retorted Cady in a loud and threat- ening tone. "A boy's wisdom lies in his silence." "Johnny Helmer asked a question of me," said I quietly. "I replied as best I knew how." "Yes, and I'll ask a dozen questions if I like!" shouted Cady. "Don't think to bully me or cast aspersions on my political com- plexion !" "If," said I, "your political complexion be no clearer than your 70 THE LITTLE RED FOOT natural one, God only can tell what ferments under your skin." At which he seemed so taken aback that he answered nothing; but Hehner urgently demanded to know what political views I pretended to carry. "I wear mine on my back," said I pleasantly, glancing around at both Hehner and Cady, who bore no packs on their backs in earnest of their readiness for service. "You are a damned impudent boy!" retorted Cady, "whatever may be your politics or your complexion." Salisbury and Putman looked around at him in troubled si- lence, and he said no more for the moment. But Helmer's hand- some features darkened again: and, "I'll not be put upon," said he, "whatever Charlie Cady stomachs! Who is Jack Drogue to flaunt his pack and his politics under my nose! "And," he added, looking angrily at me, "by every natural right a gentleman should be a King's man. So if your politics stink somewhat of Boston, you are doubly suspect as an ingxate to the one side and a favour-currying servant to the other!" I said: "Had Sir William lived to see this day in Tryon, I think he, also, would be wearing his regimentals as I do, and to the same purpose." Cady burst into a jeering laugh: "Say as much to Sir John! Go to the HaU and say to Sir John that his father, had he lived, would this day be sending out a district militia call! Tell him that, young cockerel, if you desire a flogging at the guard-house." "You know more of floggings than do I," said I quietly. Which stopt his mouth. For, despite my scarcity of years, I had given liim a sound beating the year before, being so harassed and pes- tered by him because I had answered the militia-call on the day that General Schuyler marched up and disarmed Sir John's Highlanders at the Hall. Putman, beside whom I was marching, turned to me and said, loud enough for all to hear: "You are only a lad, John Drogue, but I bear witness that you display the patience and good tem- per of a grown man. For if Charlie Cady, here, had picked on me as he has on you, he sure had tasted my rifle-butt before now !" "Neighbors must bear with one another in such times," said I, "and help each other stamp down the earth where the war- axe lies buried." And, "Damn you!" shouts Cady at a halt, "I shall not stir a step more to be insulted. I shall not budge one inch, bell or no bell, call or no call! " SHEEP AND GOATS 71 But Helmer dropped to the rear and got him by the elbow and pulled him forward; and I heard them whispering together be- hind us as we hastened on. Herman Salisbury said: "A pair of real tree-cats, old Tom and little Kit! I'm in half a mind to turn them back!" And he swung his brown rifle from the shoulder and let it drop to the hollow of his left arm — an insult and a menace to any man. "They but answer their nature, which is to nose about and smell out what's a-frying," growled Putman. "Shall we turn them back and be done with them? It will mean civil war in Fonda's Bush." "Watched hens never lay," said I. "Let them come with us. While they remain under our eyes the stale old plan they brood will addle like a cluck-egg." Salisbury nodded meaningly: "So that I can see my enemy," growled he, "I have no care concerning him. But let him out o' sight and I fret like a chained beagle." As he finished speaking we came into Stoner's clearing, which was but a thicket of dead weed-stalks in a fallow field fenced by split rails. Fallow, indeed, lay all the Stoner clearing, save for a patch o' hen-scratched garden at the log-cabin's dooryard; for old Henry Stoner and his forest-running sons were none too fond of dallying with plow and hoe while rifle and fish-pole rested across the stag-horn's crotch above the chimney-piece. And if ever they fed upon anything other than fish and flesh, I do not know; for I never saw aught growing in their garden, save a dozen potato-vines and a stray corn-stalk full o' worms. Around the log house in the clearing already were gathered a dozen or sixteen men, the greater number wearing the tow- cloth rifle-frock of the district militia. Other men began to arrive as we came up. Everywhere great, sinewy hands were extended to greet us; old Henry Stoner, sprawling under an apple tree, saluted us with a harsh pleas- antry; and I saw the gold rings shining in his ears. Nick came over to where I stood, full of that devil's humour which so often urged him into — and led him safely out of — end- less scrapes betwixt sun-up and moon-set every day in the year. "It's Sir John we're to take, I hear," he said to me with a grin. "They say the lying louse of a Baronet has been secretly plotting with Guy Johnson and the Butlers in Canada. What wonder, then, that our Provincial Congress has its beUy full of these same Johnstown Tories and must presently spew them up. And 72 THE LITTLE RED FOOT ttey say we are to march on the Hall at noon and hustle our merry vEaronet into Johnstown jail." I felt myself turning red. "Is it not decent to give Sir John the benefit of doubt until we learn why that beU is ringing ?" said I. "There we gol" cried Nick Stoner. "Just because your father loved Sir William and you may wear gold lace on your hat, you feel an attachment to all quality. Hearken to me, John Drogue: Sir William is dead and the others are as honourable as a pack of Canada wolves." He climbed to the top of the rickety rail fence and squatted there. "The landed gentry of Tryon County are a pack of bloody wolves," said he, lighting his cob pipe; — "Guy Johnson, Colonel Claus, Walter Butler, every one of them — erery one! — only excepting you, John Drogue! Look, now, where they're gathering in the Canadas — Johnsons, Butlers, Mc- Donalds, — the whole Tory pack — with Brant and his Mohawks stole away, and Little Abraham like to follow with every war- rior from the Lower Castle! "And do you suppose that Sir John has no interest in all this Tory treachery? Do you suppose that this poisonous Baronet is not in constant and secret communication with Canada?" I looked elsewhere sullenly. Nick took me by the arm and drew me up to a seat beside him on the rail fence. "Let's view it soberly and fairly, Jack," says he, tapping his palm, with the stem of his pipe, through which smoke oozed. "Let's view it from the start. Begin from the Boston business. Now, then! George the Virginian got the Eed-coats cooped up in Boston. That's the Yankee answer to too much British tyranny. "We, in the Northland, looked to our landed gentry to stand by us, lead us, and face the British King who aims to turn us into slaves. "We called on our own governing class to protect us in our ancient liberties, — to arm us, lead us in our own defense! We begged Guy Johnson to hold back his savages so that the Iro- quois Confederacy should remain passive and take neither the one side nor t'other. "I grant you that Sir William in his day did loyally his ut- termost to quiet the Iroquois and hold his own Mohawks tranquil when Cresap was betrayed by Dunmore, and the first breeze from this storm which is now upon us was already stirring the Six Nations into restlessness." SHEEP AND GOATS 73 "Sir William," said I, "was the greatest and the best of all Americans." He said gravely: "Sir William is dead. May God rest his soul. But this is the situation that confronts us here this day on the frontier: We appealed to the landed gentry of Tryon. They sneered at us, and spoke of us as rebels, and have used us very scornfully — all excepting yourself, John I "They forced Alec White on us as Sheriff, and he broke up our meetings. They strove by colour of law and by illegal force to stamp out in Tryon County the last spark of liberty, of manhood among us. God knows what we have endured these last few years from the landed gentry of Tryon! — what we have put up with and stomached since the first shot was fired at Lex- ington I "And what has become of our natural protectors and leaders? Where is the landed gentry of County Tryon at this very hour? Except you, John Drogue, where are our gentlemen of the North- land?" "Gone," said I soberly. "Gone to Canada with the murderous Indians they were sup- posed to hold neutral! Guy Park stands empty and locked. It is an accursed place! Guy Johnson is fled with every Tory des- perado and every Indian he could muster! May God danm him! "Old John Butler followed; and is brigading malcontents in Canada. Butlersbury stands deserted. May every devil in hell haunt that house! Young Walter Butler is gone with many of our old neighbors of Tryon; and at Niagara he is forming a merciless legion to return and cut our throats. "And Colonel Clans is gone, and McDonald, the bloody thief I — ^with his kilted lunatics and all his Scotch banditti " "But Sir John remains," said I quietly. "Jack! Are you truly so blinded by your caste! Did not you yourself answer the militia call last winter and march with our good General to disarm Sir John's popish Highlanders I And even then they lied — and Sir John lied — for they hid their broad- swords and pikes! and delivered them not when they paraded to ground their muskets!" "Sir John has given his parole," I repeated stubbornly. "Sir John breaks it every hour of the day!" cried Nick. "And he will break it again when we march to take him. Do you think he won't learn of our coming? Do you suppose he will stay at the Hall, which he has pledged his honour to do?" 74 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "His lady 18 still there." "With, his lady I have no quarrel," rejoined Nick. "I know her to be a very young, very wilful, very bitter, and very un- happy Tory; and she treats us plain folk like dirt under her satin shoon. But for that I care nothing. I pity her because she is the wife of that cold, sleek beast, Sir John. I pity her because she is gently bred and frail and lonely and stufied with childish pride o' race. I pity her lot there in the great Hall, with her girl companions and her servants and her slaves. And I pity her because everybody in County Tryon, excepting only herself, knows that Sir John cares nothing for her, and that Claire Putnam of Tribes HiU is Sir John's doxy! — and be damned to him! And you think such a man wiU not break his word? "He broke his vows to wife and mistress alike. Why should he keep his vows to men?" He slid to the ground as he spoke, and I followed, for our three drummers had formed rank and were drawing their sticks from their cross-belts. Our fifers, also, lined up behind them; and Nick and his young brother, John, took places with them. "Fall in! Fall in!" cried Joe Scott, our captain; and every- body ran with their packs and rifles to form in double ranks of sixteen files front while the drums rolled like spring thunder, filling the woods with their hollow sound, and the fifes shrilled like the swish of rain through trees. Standing at ease between Dries Bowman and Baltus Weed, I answered to the roll call. Some among us lighted pipes and leaned on our long rifles, chatting with neighbors; others tight- ened belts and straps, buttoned spatter-dashes, or placed a sprig of hemlock above the black and white cockades on their felt hats. Baity Weed, who lived east of me, a thin fellow with red lims to his eyes and dry, sparse hair tied in a queue with a knot of buckskin, asked me in his stealthy way what I thought about our present business, and if our Provincial Congress had not, perhaps, unjustly misjudged Sir John. I replied cautiously. I had never trusted Baity because he fre- quented taverns where few friends to liberty cared to assemble; and he was far too thick with Philip and John Helmer and with Charlie Cady to suit my taste. We, in the little hamlet of Fonda's Bush, were scarce thirty families, all counted; and yet, even here in this trackless wil- derness, out of which each man had hewed for himself a patch of garden and a stump pasture along the little river Kennyetto, SHEEP AND GOATS 75 the bitter quarrel had long smouldered betwixt Tory and Patriot — King's man and so-called Eebel. And this was the Mohawk country. And the Mohawks stood for the King of England. The road, I say, ended here; but there was a Mohawk path through twenty odd miles of untouched forest to those healing springs called Saratoga. Except for this path and a deep worn war-trail north to the Sacandaga, which was the Iroquois road to Canada, and except for the wood road to Sir William's Mayfield and Pish House set- tlements, we of Fonda's Bush were utterly cut off. Also, save for the new Block House at Mayfield, we were unprotected in a vast wilderness which embodied the very centre of the Mo- hawk country. True, north of us stood that little pleasure house built for his hour of leisure by Sir William, and called "The Summer House." Painted white and green, it stood on a hard ridge ^jutting out into those dismal, drowned lands which we call the Great "Vlaie. But it was not fortified. Also, to the north, lay the Fist House, a hunting lodge of Sir William. But these places were no protection for us. On the other hand, they seemed a menace; for Tories, it had been rumoured, were ever skulking along the Vlaie and the Sacandaga; and for aught we knew, these buildings were already designed to be made into block-houses and to be garrisoned by our enemies as soon as the first rifle-shot cracked out in the cause of liberty. Our company of the Mohawk Eegiment numbered thirty-six rifles — all that now remained of the old company, three-fourths of which had already deserted to the Canadas with Butler. AU our officers had fled; Joe Scott of Maxon, formerly a sergeant, now commanded us; Benjamin de Luysnes was our lieutenant; Dries Bowman and Phil Helmer our sergeants — both already suspected. Well, we got away from Stoner's, marching in double file, and only the little creatures of the forest to hear our drums and fifes. But the old discipline which had obtained in all our Tryon regiments when Sir William was our Major General and the landed gentry our officers seemed gone; a dull sense of bewil- derment reigned, confusing many among us, as when leader- less men begin to realize how they had depended upon a sturdy staff now broken forever. We marched with neither advanced guard nor flankers for 76 THE LITTLE RED FOOT the first half mile; then Joe Scott halted us and made Nick Stoner put away his beloved fife and sent him out on our right flank where the forest was heavy. Me he selected to scout forward on the left — a dirty job where alders and willows grew thick above the bogs. But why in God's name our music played to advertise our com- ing I can not guess, for our men needed no heartening, having courage and resolution, only the lack of officers causing them any anxiety at all. On the left flank of the little column I kept very easily in touch because of this same silly drumming and fifing. And I was glad when we came to high ground and breasted the hills which lead to that higher plateau, over which runs the road to Johnstown. Plodding along in the bush, keeping a keen watch for any enemy who might come in paint or in scarlet coat, and the far rhythm of our drums thumping dully in my ears, I wondered whether other companies of my regiment were marching on Johnstown, and if other Tryon regiments — or what was left of them — were also afoot that day. Was this, then, the beginning of the war in the Northland? And, when we made a prisoner of Sir John, would all the dusky forests glow with scarlet war-paint and scarlet coats? Today birds sang. Tomorrow the terrific panther-slogan of the Iroquois might break out into hell's own uproar among these purple hills. Was this truly the beginning? Would these still, leafy trails where the crested partridge strutted witness bloody combats be- tween old neighbors — all the horrors of a fratricidal war? Would the painted men of the woods hold their hands while Tory and patriot fought it out? Or was this utter and supreme horror to be added to this unnatural conflict? Reflecting very seriously upon these matters, I trotted for- ward, rifle a-trail, and saw nothing living in the woods save a big hare or two in the alders, and the wild brown poultry of the woods, that ran to cover or rose into thunderous flight among the thickets. About four o'clock came to me Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, a private soldier like myself, with news of a halt on the Johns- town road, and orders that I eat a snack and rest in my tracks. He told me that a company of horse from Albany was out scouting along the Mohawk, and that a column of three thousand SHEEP AND GOATS 77 men under Colonel Dayton were marching on Johnstown and had passed Schenectady about noon. Other news he had none, excepting that out company was to remain where we had halted, in order to stop the road to Fonda's Bush and Saratoga, in case Sir John should attempt to retire this way. "Well, Godfrey,'' said I, "if Sir John truly turns out to be without shame and honour, and if he marches this way, there is like to be a lively time for us of the Bush, because Sir John has three hundred Highlanders to thirty odd of ourselves, and enough Borderers and Tory militia to double the count." "We all know that," said Shew calmly, "and are not afraid." "Do you think our people mean to stand?" "Yes," said he simply. A hot thrill of pride tingled my every vein. Suddenly I com- pletely comprehended that these plain folk of Fonda's Bush were my own people; that I was one of them; that, as they meant to stand for the ancient liberties of all Englishmen, now wickedly denied them, so I also meant to stand to the end. And now, at last, I comprehended that I was in actual revolt against that King and against that nobility and gentry who were deserting us when we had so desperate need of them in this coming battle for human freedom in a slave-cursed world. The cleavage had come at last; the Northland was clean split; the red livery of the King's men had suddenly become a target for every honest rifle in Tryon. "Godfrey," I said, "the last chance for truce is passing as you and I stand here, — the last chance for any reconciliation and brotherly understanding between us and our Tory neighbors." "It is better that way," he said, giving me a sombre look. I nodded, but all the horror of civil war lay heavy in my heart and I thought of my many friends in Tryon who would wear the scarlet coat tomorrow, and whom I now must try to murder with my proper hands, lest they do the like for me. Around us, where we were standing, a golden dusk reigned in the forest, into which, through the roof of green above, fell a long sunbeam, lighting the wooded aisle as a single candle on the altar gleams athwart, the gloom of some still cathedral. At five o'clock Godfrey and I had not moved from that silent place where we stood on watch, leaning upon our rifles. Twice soldiers came to bid us keep close guard in these open 78 THE LITTLE RED FOOT woods wliicli, being primeval, were clear of underbrusli and deep with the brown carpet of dead leaves. At last, toward six o'clock, we heard our drums rolling in the distance — signal to scout forward. I ran out among the great trees and started on toward Johnstown, keeping Godfrey in view on my left hand. Very soon I came out of the forest on the edge of cleared land. Against the evening sky I saw the spires of Johnstown, stained crimson in the westering sun which was going down red as a cherry. But what held me in spell was the sight that met my eyes across the open meadows, where moving ranks of musket-barrels glanced redly in the last gleam of sunset and the naked swords and gor- gets of mounted of&cers glittered. Godfrey Shew emerged from the edge of the forest on my left and stood knee deep in last year's wild grass, one hand shad- ing his eyes. "What troops are those?" I shouted to him. "They look like the Continental Line!" "It's a reg'lar rig'ment," he bawled, 'Taut whose I know not!" The clanking of their armament came clearly to my ears; the timing tap of their drum sounded nearer still. "There can be no mistake," I called out to Godfrey; "yonder marches a regiment of the New York line! We're at war!" We moved out across the pasture. I examined my flint and priming, and, finding all tight and bright, waded forward waist high, through last year's ghostly goldenrod, ready for a quick shot if necessary. The sun had gone down; a lilac-tinted dusk veiled the fields, through which the gay evening chirruping of the robins rang incessantly. "There go our people!" shouted Godfrey. I had already caught sight of the Fonda's Bush Company fil- ing between some cattle-bars to the left of us; and knew they must be making straight for Johnson Hall. We shouldered our pieces and ran through the dead weeds to intercept them; but there was no need for haste, because they halted presently in some disorder; and I saw Joe Scott walking to and fro along the files, gesticulating. And then, as Godfrey and I came up with them, we witnessed the first shameful exhibition of disorder that for so many months disgraced the militia of New York — a stupidity partly cowardly, partly treacherous, which at one time so incensed His Excd- SHEEP AND GOATS 79 lency the Virginian that he said they were, as a body, more detri- mental than helpful to the cause, and proposed to disband them. In the light of later events, I now realize that their apparent poltroonery arose not from individual cowardice. But these lev- ies had no faith in their companies because every battalion was still full of Tories, nor had any regiment yet been purged. Also, they had no confidence in their officers, who, for the greater part, were as inexperienced as they themselves. And I think it was because of these things that the New York militia behaved so contemptibly after the battle of Long Island, and in Tryon County, until the terrific trial by fire at Oriskany had burnt the dross out of us and left only the nobler metal. Our Fonda's Bush Company presented a most mortifying spec- tacle as Godfrey and I came up. Joe Scott stood facing the slovenly single rank which he had contrived to parade in the gathering dusk; and he was arguing with the men while they talked back loudly. There was a hubbub of voices, angry arguments, some laugh- ter which sounded more sinister to me than the cursing. Then Charlie Cady and John Howell of Sacandaga left the ranks, refusing to listen to Scott, and withdrew a little distance, where they stood sullenly in their defiance. Elias Cady called out that he would not march to the Hall to take Sir John, and he, also, left the ranks. Then, and despite Joe Scott's pleading, Phil Helmer and his sullen son, John, walked away and joined the Cadys, and called on Andrew Bowman to do the like. Dries wavered; but Baltus Weed and Eugene Grinnis left the company. Which so enraged me that I, also, forgot all discipline and duty, and shook my rifies at the mutineers. "You Tory dogs!" I said, "we're well purged of you, and I for one thank God that we now know you for what you arel" Godfrey, a stark, fierce figure in his blackened buckskins, went out in front of our single rank and called to the malcontents: "Pull foot, you swine, or I'll mark you!" And, "Pull foot!" shouted Nick Stoner, "and be damned to you! Why do you loiter! Do you wait for a volley in your guts!" At that. Baity Weed turned and ran toward the woods; but the others moved more slowly and sullenly, not exactly menacing 80 THE LITTLE RED FOOT us with tteir rifles, but carrying ihem conveniently across tlie hollow of their left arms. In the increasing darkness I heard somebody sob, and saw Joe Scott standing with one hand across his eyes, as though to close from his sight such a scene of deep disgrace. Then I went to him. I was trembling and could scarce com- mand my voice, but gave him a salute and stood at attention until he finally noticed me. "Well, John," said he, "this is like to be the death of me." "Sir; will you order the drums to beat a march?" "Do you think the men will march?" "Yes, sir — what remains of them." He came slowly back, motioning what was left of the com- pany to close up. I could not hear what he said, but the men began to count off, and their voices were resolute enough to hearten all. So presently Nick Stoner, who acted as fife-major, blew lustily into his fife, playing the marching tune, which is called "The Little Red Foot"; and the drums beat it; and we marched in column of fours to take Sir John at hia ancestral Hall, if it chanced to be God's wiU. OHAPTEE IX STOLE AWAT JOHNSON HALL was a blaze of ligtt -with candlea in every window, and great lanterns flaring from both stone forts which, flanked the Hall, and along the new palisades which Sir John had built recently for his defense. All gates and doors stood wide open, and officers in Continen- tal uniform and in the uniform of the Palatine Regiment, were passing in and out with a great clanking of swords and spurs. Everywhere companies of regular infantry from Colonel Day- ton's regiment of the New York Line were making camp, and I saw their baggage waggons drive up from the town below and go into park to the east of the Hall, where cattle were lying in the new grass. An officer of the Palatine Regiment carrying a torch came up to Joe Scott, where our little company stood at ease along the hedge fence. "What troops are these, sir?" he inquired, indicating us with a nervous gesture. And when he was informed: "Oho!" said he, "there should be material for rangers among your farmer-militia. Pick me two men for Colonel Dayton who live by rifle and trap and who know the wilderness from Albany to the Lakes." So our captain told off/Nick Stoner and me, and we stepped out of the ranks into the red torch-glow. "Thank you, sir," said the Palatine officer to our Captain. And to us : "Follow me, lads." He was a brisk, handsome and smartly uniformed officer of militia; and his cheerful demeanor heartened me who had lately witnessed such humiliations and disgrace. We followed him through the stockade gate and into the great house, so perfectly familiar to me in happier days. Excepting for the noise and confusion of officers coming and going, there was no disorder within; the beautiful furniture stood ranged in stately symmetry; the pictures hung on the walls; 81 82 THE LITTLE RED FOOT but I saw no silver anywhere, and all the candlesticks were pewter. As we came to the library, an officer in the uniform of a colonel of the Continental Line turned from a group of men crowded around the centre table, on which lay a map. Nick Stoner and I saluted his epaulettes. He came close to us and searched our faces coolly enough, as a farmer inspects an ofPered horse. "This is young Nick Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, sir," said the Palatine officer. "Oh," said the Colonel drily, "I have heard of the Stoner boys. And what may be your name?" he inquired, fastening his pierc- ing eyes on raine. "John Drogue, six." "I have heard of you, also," he remarked, more drily still. For a full minute, it seemed to me, he scrutinized me from head to foot with a sort of curiosity almost brutal. Then, on his fea- tures a fine smile softened what had seemed insolence. With a glance he dismissed the Palatine, motioned us to follow him, and we three entered the drawing-room across the hall, which was lighted but empty. "Mr. Drogue," said he, "I am Colonel Dayton; and I have in my personal baggage a lieutenant's commission for you from our good Governor, procured, I believe, through the solicitation of our mutual and most excellent friend, Lord Stirling." I stood astonished to learn of my preferment, never dreaming nor even wishing for military rank, but perfectly content to carry the sack of a private soldier in this most just of all wajs. And as for BiEy Alexander remembering to so serve me, I was still more amazed. For Lord Stirling was already a general officer in His Excellency's new army, and I never expected him to remember me amid the desperate anxieties of his new position. "Mr. Drogue," said Dayton, "you, I believe, are the only ex- ample among the gentry of Tryon County who has openly em- braced the cause of our thirteen colonies. I do not include the Albany Patroon; I speak only of the nobility and gentry of this county. . . . And it took courage to turn your back upon your own caste" "It would have taken more to turn against my own country- men, sir." He smiled. "Come, sir, were you not sometime Brent-Meester V> Sir William?" "Yes, sir." STOLE AWAY 83 "Then you should know the forest, Mr. Drogue." "I do know it." "So General Schuyler has informed me." He clasped his gloved hands behind his back and began to pace to and fro, his absent glances on the window candles. Pres- ently he halted: "Sir John is fled. Did you know it?" he said abruptly. I felt the hot shame burn my face to the roots of my hair. "Broke his parole of honour and gone off," added Dayton. "Where do you suppose he is making for with his Tories and Highlanders ?" I could scarcely speak, so mortified was I that a gentleman of my own class could have so foully conducted. But I made out to say that Sir John, no doubt, was traveling toward Canada. "Certainly," said the Colonel; "but which route?" "God knows, sir. By the Sacandaga and the Lakes, no doubt." "Could he go by Saratoga and the top o' the Hudson?" "It is a pathless wilderness." 'Tes. And still I think the rogue went that way. I have rangers out looking for signs of him beyond Ballston. Also, I sent half a battalion toward the Sacandaga. Of course Albany Eoyalists warned him of my coming; I couldn't prevent that, nor could Schuyler, no, nor the very devil himself! "And here am I at the Hall, and the fox stole away to the Canadas. And what now to do I know not. . . . Do youf" He shot the question in my face jxjint blank; and I stood dumb for a minute, striving to collect and marshall any ideas that might bear upon so urgent a matter. "Colonel," said I, "unless the British hold Champlain, Sir John would scarcely risk a flight in that direction. No. He would prefer to plunge into the wilderness and travel by Oa- wegatchi." "Do you so believe, Mr. Drogue?" I considered a moment more; then: 'Tet, if Guy Johnson's Indians have come down toward clie Sacandaga to protect him — ^knowing that he had meant to flee " I looked at Dayton, then turned to Nick. "What think you, Nick?" I demanded. "By God," he blurted out, "I am of that mind too! Only a madman would attempt the wilderness by Oswegatchi; and I wager that Sir John is already beyond the Sacandaga and mak- ing for the Canadas on the old Mohawk war-trail!" 84 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Colonel Dayton laid one hand on my shoulder: "Mr. Drogue," said he, "we have militia and partizans more than sufficient in Tryon. What we need are more regulars, too; but most of all, and in this crisis, we need rangers. God alone knows what is coming upon Tryon County from the North, — what evil is breeding there, — what sinister forces are gathering to overwhelm these defenceless settlements. "We have scarcely a fort on this frontier, scarcely a block house. Every town and village and hamlet north of Albany is unprotected; every lonely settler is now at the mercy of this unknown and monstrous menace which is gathering like a thun- dercloud in the North. "Eegular regiments require time to muster; the militia have yet to prove their worth; partizans, minute men, alarm com- panies — ^the value of all these remains a question still. Damn it, I want rangers! I want them now!" He began to stride about the room again in his perplexity, but presently came back to where we stood. "How many rifles in your company from Eonda's Bush?" he demanded. I blushed to tell him, and further confessed what had oc- curred that very evening in the open fields before Johnstown. "Well," said he coolly, "it is well to be rid of vermin. Now you should pick your men in safety, Mr. Drogue. And if none will volunteer — such as have families or are not fit material for rangers — you are authorized to go out into the wilderness and recruit any forest-running fellow you can persuade." He drove one gloved hand into the palm of the other to em- phasize what he said: "1 want real rangers, not militia! I want young men who laugh at any face old Death can pull at them! I want strong men, keen men, tough men, rough men. "I want men who fear God, if that may be, or who fear the devil, if that may be; but who fear nothing else on earth!" He shot a look at Nick, " — like that boy there I" he exclaimed — ■ "or I am no judge of men! And like yourself, Mr. Drogue, when once they blood you ! Come, sir ; can you find a few such men for me, and take full charge?" "Yes, sir." "A pledge!" he exclaimed, beating his gloved palms. "And when you can collect a dozen — the first full dozen — I want you to stop the Iroquois trail at the Sacandaga. That's where you shall chiefly operate — along the Sacandaga and the mountains STOLE AWAY 85 northward I That's where I expect trouble. There lies this ac- cursed war-trail; and along it there is like to be a very bloody business 1" He turned aside and stood smiting his hands softly together, his preoccupied eyes regarding the candles. "A very bloody business," he repeated absently to himself. "Only rangers can aid us now. . . . Help us a little in this dreadful crisis. . . . Until we can recruit — ^build forts " An officer appeared at the open door and saluted. "Well, sir," inquired Dayton sharply. "Lady Johnson is not to be discovered in the town, sir." "What? Has Lady Johnson run away also? Does the poor, deluded woman imagine that any man in my command would offer insult to her?" "It is reported, sir, that Lady Johnson said some very bitter things concerning us. It is further reported that Lady John- son is gone in a great rage to the hunting lodge of the late Sir William, as there were already family servants there at last accounts." "Where's this place?" demanded Dayton, turning to me. "The summer house on the Vlaie, sir." "Very well. Take what men you can collect and go there in- stantly, Mr. Drogue, and place that foolish woman under ar- rest!" A most painful colour burnt my face, but I saluted in silence. "The little fool," muttered Dayton, "to think we meant to insult her I" And to me: "Let her remain there, Mr. Drogue, if she so desires. Only guard well the house. I shall march a battalion of my regiment thither in the morning, and later I shall order a company of Colonel Livingston's regiment to Fish House. And then we shall see what we shall see," he added grimly to the officer in the doorway, who smiled in return. There ensued a silence through which, very far away, we heard the music of another regiment marching into the town, which lay below us under the calm, high stars. "That's Livingston, now!" said Colonel Dayton, briskly; and went out in a hurry, his sword and spurs ringing loudly in the' hall. And a moment later we heard him ride away at a gallop, and the loud clatter of horsemen at his heels. I pulled a bit of jerked venison from my sack and bit into it. Nick Stoner filled his mouth with cold johnny-cake. And so, munching our supper, we left the Hall, headed for the Drowned Lands to make prisoner an unhappy girl who had gone off in a rage to Summer House Point. CHAPTEK X A NIGHT MAECH THE village of Jolmstown was more brightly lighted than I had ever before seen it. Indeed, as we came out of the Hall the glow of it showed rosy in the sky and the distant bustle in the streets came quite plainly to our ears. Near the hedge fence outside the Hall we came upon rem- nants of our militia company, which had just been dismissed from further duty, and the men permitted to go home. Some already were walking away across the fields toward the Fonda's Bush road, and these all were farmers; but I saw De Luysnes and Johnny Silver, the French trappers, talking to old man Stoner and his younger boy; and Nick and I went over to where they were gathered near a splinter torch, which burned with a clear, straight flame like a candle. Joe Scott, too, was there, and I told him about my commis- sion, whereupon he gave me the officer's salute and we shook hands very gravely. "There is scarce a handful remaining of our company," said he, "and you had best choose from us such as may qualify for rangers, and who are willing to go with you. As for me, I can not go, John, because I have here a letter but just deliv- ered from Honikol Herkimer, calling me to the Canajoharie Eegi- ment." It appeared, also, that old man Stoner had already enlisted with Colonel Livingston's regiment, and his thirteen-year-old boy, also, had been taken into the same command as a drummer. Dries Bowman shook his head when I appealed to him, saying he had a wife and children to look after, and would not leave them alone in the Bush. None could find fault with such an answer, though his surly tone troubled me a little. However, the two French trappers offered to enlist in my company of Rangers, and they instantly began to strap up their packs like men prepared to start on any journey at a mo- ment's notice. A NIGHT MAKCH 87 Then Godfrey Shew, of Fish House, said to me very simply that his conscience and his country weighed more together than did his cabin; and that he was quite ready to go with me at once. At that, Joe de Golyer, of Varick's, fetched a laugh an3 came up in the torch-light and stood there towering six foot eight in his greasy buckskins, and showing every hound's tooth in his boyish head. "Give me my shilling, John," quoth he, "for I, also, am going with you. Tve a grist-mill and a cabin and a glebe fair cleared at Varick's. But my father was all French; I have seen red for many a day; and if the King of England wants my mill I shall take my pay for it where I find it!" Silver began to grin and strut and comb out his scarlet thrums with dirty fingers. "Enfin," said he, with both thumbs in his arm-pits, "we shall be ver* happee familee in our pretee Bush. No more Toree, no more Iroquois! Tryon Bush all belong to us." "All that belongs to us today," remarked Godfrey grimly, "is what we hold over our proper rifles, Johnny Silver!" Old man Stoner nodded: "What you look at over your rifle eight is all that'll ever feed and clothe you now, Silver." "Oh, sure, by gar!" cried Silver with his lively grin. "Deer in blue coat, man in red coat, meme chose, savvy? All good game to Johnee Silver. Ver' fine chasse! Ah, sacre garce!" And he strutted about like a cock-patridge, slapping his hips. Nick Stoner burst into a loud laugh. "Ours is like to be a rough companionship, John!" he said. 'Tor the first shot fired wiU hum in our ears like new ale; and the first screech from the Iroquois will turn us into devils!" "Come," said I with a shiver I could not control. I shook hands with Joe Scott ; Nick took leave of his big, gaunt father. We both looked at Dries Bowman, but he had turned away in pretense of firing the torch. "Good-bye, Brent- Meester !" cried little Johnny Stoner in his childish treble, as we started down the stony way toward the town below. Johnstown streets were full of people and every dwelling, shop, and tavern lighted brightly as we came into the village. Mounted troopers of the Albany Horse guarded every street or clattered to and fro in search, they told us, of hidden arms and supplies. Soldiers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and 88 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Livingston, too, were to be seen everywhere, some guarding the jail, some encamped before the Court House, others occupying suspected dvrellings and taverns notorious as Tory nests. Such inhabitants as were known friends to liberty roame(J about the streets or stood in knots under the trees, whispering together and watching the soldiers. But Tories and their families re- mained indoors, peering sullenly from their windows and some- times scowling upon these soldiers of a new nation, within the confines of which they already were discovering that no place remained for any friend to England or her King. As my little file of riflemen passed on moccasined feet through the swarming streets of JohnstovTn, soldiers and townspeople gazed curiously after us, surmising immediately what might be our errand. And many greeted us or called out pleasantries after us, such as, "Hearkawayl The red fox will fool you yetl" And, "Dig him out, you wolf-hounds 1 He's gone to earth at Sacandaga 1" Many soldiers cheered us, swinging their cocked hats; and ITick Stoner and Johnny Silver swung their coon-tailed caps in return, shouting the wolf-cry of the Ooureur-du-Bois — "Tik- yik-hoo-hoolo — o !" And now we passed the slow-moving baggage waggons of Colonel Livingston's regiment, toiling up from Oaughnawaga, the sleepy teamsters nodding, and armed soldiers drowsing be- hind, who scarce opened one eye as we trotted by them and out into the darkness of the Mayfield road. Now, in this dim and starlit land, we moved more slowly, for the road lay often through woods where all was dark; and among us none had fetched any lantern. It was close to midnight, I think, when we were challenged; and I knew we were near the new Block House, because I heard the creek, very noisy in the dark, and smelled English grass. The sentinel held us very firmly and bawled to his fellow, who arrived presently with a lantern; and we saw the grist-mill close to us, with its dripping wheel and the high flume belching water. When they were satisfied, I asked for news and they told us they had seen none of Sir John's people, but that a carriage carrying two ladies had nigh driven over them, refusing to halt, and that they had been ashamed to fire on women. He informed us, further, that a sergeant and five men of Colonel Dayton's regiment had arrived at the Block House and would remain the night. "Also," said one of the men, "we caught a girl riding a fine A NIGHT MAECH 89 horse this morning, wto gave an account that she came from Fonda's Bush and was servant to Douw Fonda at Oaughnawaga." "Where is the horse?" I asked. "Safe stabled in the new fort." "Where is the girl?" "Well," said he, "she sits yonder eating soupaan in the fort, and all the Continentals making moon-eyes at her." "That's my horse," said I shortly. "Take your lantern and show her to me." One of the militia men picked up the lantern, which had been burning on the grass between us, and I followed along the bank of the creek. Presently I saw the Block House against the stars, but all loops were shuttered and no light came from them. There was a ditch, a bridge of three logs, a stockade not fin- ished; and we passed in between the palings where a gateway was to be made, and where another militia-man sat guard on a chopping block, cradling his firelock between his knees, fast asleep. The stable was but a shed. Kaya turned her head as I went to her and made a soft little noise of welcome, and fell a-lipping me and rubbing her velvet nose against me. "The Scotch girl cared for your mare and fed her, paying four pence," said the militia-man. "But we were ashamed to take pay." I examined Kaya. She had been well cared for. Then I lifted her harness from the wooden peg where it hung and sad- dled her by the lantern light. And when all was snug I passed the bridle over my arm and led her to the door of the Block House. Before I entered, I could hear from within the strains of a fiddle; and then opened the door and went in. The girl, Penelope, sat on a block of wood eating soupaan with a pewter spoon out of a glazed bowl upon her knees. Ten soldiers stood in a ring around her, every man jack o' them a-courting as hard as he could court and ogle — which all was as plain to me as the nose on your face! — and seemed to me a most silly sight. For the sergeant, a dapper man smelling rank of pomatum and his queue smartly floured, was a-wooing her with his fiddle and rolling big eyes at her to kill at twenty paces; and a tall, thin corporal was tying a nosegay made of swamp marigolds for her, which, now and again, he pretended to match against 90 THE LITTLE RED FOOT ter yellow hair and smirked "when she lifted her eyes to see what he was about. Every man jack o' them was up to something, one with a jug o' milk to douse her soupaan withal, another busy with his Barlow earring a basket out of a walnut to please her; — this fellow making pictiires on birch-bark; that one scraping her name on his powder-horn and pricking a heart about it. As for the girl, Penelope, she sat upon her chopping block with downcast eyes and very leisurely eating of her porridge; but I saw her lips traced with that faint smile which I re- membered. What with the noise of the fiddle and the chatter all about her, neither she nor the soldiers heard the door open, nor, in- deed, noticed us at all until my militia-men sings out: "Lieuten- ant Drogue, boys, on duty from Johnstown!" At that the Continentals jumped iip very lively, I warrant you, being troops of some little discipline already; and I spoke civilly to their sergeant and went over to the girl, Penelope, who had risen, bowl in one hand, spoon in t'other, and looking upon me very hard out of her brown eyes. "Come," said I pleasantly, "you have kept your word to me and I mean to keep mine to you. My mare is saddled for you." "You take me to Caughnawaga, sir!" she exclaimed, setting bowl and spoon aside. "Tomorrow. Tonight you shall ride with us to the Summer House, where I promise you a bed." I held out my hand. She placed hers within it, looked shyly at the Continentals where they stood, dropped a curtsey to all, and went out beside me. "Is there news?" she asked as I lifted her to the saddle. "Sir John is gone." "I meant news from Caughnawaga." "Why, yes. All is safe there. A regiment of Continentals passed through Caughnawaga today with their waggons. So, lor the time at least, all is quite secure along the Mohawk." "^'Thank you," she said in a low voice. I led the horse back to the road, where my little squad of men was waiting me, and who fell in behind me, astonished, I think, as I started east by north once more along the Mayfield road. Presently Nick stole to my side through the darkness, not a whit embarrassed by my new military rank. A NIGHT MARCH 91 "Why, John," says he in a guarded voice, "is this not the Scotch girl of Caughnawaga who rides your mare, Kaya?" I told him how she had come to the Bowmans the night he- fore, and how, having stolen my mare, I bargained with her and must send her or guide her myself on the morrow to Caya- dutta. I was conscious of his stifled mirth but paid no heed, for we were entering the pineries now, where all was inky dark, and the trail to be followed only by touch of foot. "Drop your bridle; Kaya will follow me," I called back softly to the girl, Penelope. "Hold to the saddle and be not afraid." "I am not afraid," said she. We were now moving directly toward Fonda's Bush, and not three miles from my own house, but presently we crossed the brook, ascended a hill, and so came out of the pinery and took a wide and starlit waggon-path which bore to the left, running between fields where great stumps stood. This was Sir William's carriage road to the Point; and twice we crossed the Kennyetto by shallow fords. Close beside this carriage path on the north, and following all the way, ran the Iroquois war trail, hard and dean as a sheep walk, worn more than a foot deep by the innumerable mocca- sined feet that had trodden it through the ages. Very soon we passed Nine-Mile Tree, a landmark of Sir Wil- liam's, which was a giant pine left by the road to tower in mel- ancholy majesty all alone. When I rode the hills as Brent- Meester, this pine was like a guide post to me, visible for miles. Now, as I passed, I looked at it in the silvery dusk of the stars and saw some strange object shining on the bark. "What is that shining on Nine-Mile Tree?" said I to Nick. He ran across the road; we marched on, I leading, then the Scotch girl on my mare, then my handful of men trudging dog- gedly with pieces a-trail. A moment later Nick same swiftly to my side and nudged me; and looking around I saw an Indian hatchet in his hand, the blade freshly brightened. "It was sticking in the tree," he breathed. "My God, John, the Iroquois are out!" Chill after chill crawled up my back as I began to under- stand the significance of that freshly polished little war-axe with its limber helve of hickory worn slippery by long usage, and its loop of braided deer-hide blackened by age. 92 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Was there aught else?" I whispered. "Nothing except this Mohawk hatchet struck deep into the bark of Nine-Mile Tree, and sticking there." "Do you know what it means, Nick?" "Aye. Also, it is an old war-axe newly polished. And struck deep into the tallest pine in Tryon. Any fool must know what all this means. Shall you speak of this to the others, John?" "Tes," said I, "they must know at once." I waited for Kaya to come up, laid my hand on the bridle and called back in a low voice to my men: "Boys, an Indian war-axe was left sticking in Nine-Mile Tree. Nick drew it out. The hatchet is an old one, but it is neiuly polished!" "Sacre garce!" whispered Silver fiercely. "Now, grace a dieu, shall I reckon with those dirtee trap-robb'ers who take my pelts like the carcajou ! Ha ! So is it war ? A la bonheur 1 Let them come for my hair then! And if they get Johnny Silver's hair they may paint the Little Eed Foot on the hoop, nom de dieu!" "Get along forward, boys," said I. "Some of you keep an eye on the mountains lest they begin calling to Sir John with fire " "A flame on Maxon!" whispered Nick at my elbow. I jerked my head around as though I had been shot. There it rose, a thin red streak above the blunt headlaxid that towered over the Drowned Lands. Steadily as a candle's flame in a still room, it burned for a few moments, then was shattered into crimson jets. Far to the North, on some invisible mountain, a faint crim- son flare replied. Nobody spoke, but I knew that every eye was fijced on those Indian signal-fires as we moved rapidly forward into the swale country where swampy willows spread away on either hand and little pools of water caught the starlight. The road, too, had become wet, and water stood in the ruts; and every few minutes we crossed corduroy. "Yonder stands the Summer House," whispered Nick. A ridge of hard land ran out into the reed-set water. A hinged gate barred the neck. Nick swung it wide; I led my mare and her rider through it; posted Godfrey and Silver there; posted Luysnes and De Golyer a hundred paces inland near the apple trees; left Nick by the well, and, walking beside my mare, continued on to the little green and white hunting lodge where, through the crescents of closed shutters, rays of light streamed out into the night. A NIGHT MARCH 93 Here I lifted the Scotch girl from her saddle, -walked with her to the kitchen porch, and knocked softly on the kitchen door. After a while I could hear a stirring within, voices, steps. "Nicholas! PontiochI Flora!" I called in guarded tones. Presently I heard Flora's voice inquiring timidly who I might be. "Mr. Drog:ue is arrived to await her ladyship's commands," said I. At that the bolts slid and the door creaked open. Black Flora stood there in her yellow night shift, rolling enormous eyes at me, and behind her I saw Colas with a lighted dip, gaping to see me enter with a strange woman. "Is your mistress here?" I demanded. "Tassuh," answered Flora, "mah lady done gone to baid, suh." "Who else is here? Mistress Swift?" "Tassuh." "Is there a spare bed ?" Flora rolled suspicious eyes at the Scotch girl, but thought there was a bed in Sir William's old gun room. I waited until the^black wench had made sure, then bade Colas look to my mare, said a curt good-night to Penelope Grant, and went out to unroll my blanket on the front porch. When I whistled softly Nick came across the garden from the well. "Lady Johnson is here," said I. "Yonder lies my blanket. I stand first watch. Go you and sleep now while you can " "Sleep first, John. I am not weary ^" "Eemember I am your officer, Nick!" "Oh, hell!" quoth he. "That does not awe me, John. What awes me in you is your kindness — and to remember that your ancestors wore their gold rings upon their fingers." I passed my arm about his shoulders, then released him and went slowly over to the well. And here I primed my rifle with bright, dry powder, shouldered it, and began to walk my post at a brisk pace to cheat the sleep which meddled with my heavy eyes and set me yawning tiU my young jawa crackled. CHAPTEE XI SUMMER HOUSE POINT THE sun in my eyes and the noise of drums awoke me, where, relieved on post by Nick, I had been sleeping on the veranda. Beyond the orchard on the Johnstown road, mounted officers in blue and buff were riding amid undulating ranks of moving muskets; and I knew that the Continental Line had arrived at Summer House Point, and was glad of it. As I shook loose my blanket and stood up, black Flora and Colas came up from their kitchen below ground, and seemed as- tonished to see me still there. "Is your mistress awake?" I demanded. But they did not know; so I bade Flora go inside and awaken Lady Johnson. Then I went down to the well in the orchard, where Nick stood sentry, looking through the blossoming boughs at what was pass- ing on the mainland road beyond the Point. It was a soft, sunny morning, and a pleasant scent from the apple bloom, which I remember was fuU o' bees. Through the orchard, on the small peninsula, now came strid- ing toward us a dozen or more officers of the regiments of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, all laughing together and seem- ing very merry; and some, as they passed under the flowering branches, plucked twigs of white and pink flowers and made themselves nosegays. Their major, who seemed to know me as an officer, though I did not know him, called out in high good humour: "Well, my lord Northesk, did you and your rangers arrive in time to close the cage on our pretty bird?" "Yes, sir," said I, reddening, and not pleased. "Lady Johnson is here then?" "Yes, Major." At that instant the front door opened and Lady Johnson came out quickly and stood on the veranda, the sun striking across her pallid face, which paleness was more due to her condition than to any fear of our soldiery. She was but partly robed, and that hastily; her hair all un- 94 SUMMER HOUSE POINT 95 powdered and undressed, and only a levete of China silk flung about lier girlish figure, and making still more evident her deli- cate physical condition. But in her eyes I saw storms a-brewing, and her lips and features went white as she stood there, clenching and unclench- ing one hand, and still a little blinded by the sun in her face. We all had uncovered before her, bowing very low; and, if she noticed me at first, I am not certain, but she gave our Major such a deadly stare that it checked his speech and put him clean out o' countenance, leaving him a-twiddling his sword- knot and dumb as a fish. "What does this mean?" said she, her lip trembling with in- creasing passion. "Have you come here to arrest me?" And, as nobody replied, she stamped her bare foot in its silken chamber-shoe, like any angry child in petty fury when disobliged. "Is it not enough," she continued, "that you drive my un- happy husband out of his own house, but you must presently follow me here to mock and insult me? What has our family done to merit this outrage?" Our Major, astonished and out o' countenance, attempted a civil word to calm her, but she swept us all with scornful eyes and stamped her foot again in such anger that her shoe fell off and landed on the grass. "Our only crime is loyalty to a merciful and Christian King!" she cried, paying no heed to the shoe. "Our punishment is that we are like to be hunted as they hunt wild beasts 1 By a pack of rebels, too ! Shame, gentlemen 1 Is this worthy even of em- battled shopkeepers ?" "Madame, I beg you " But she had no patience to listen. "You have forced me out of my home in Johnstown," she said bitterly, "and I thought to find refuge under this poor roof. But now you come hunting me here I Very well, gentlemen, 1 leave you in possession and go to Fish House. And if you hunt me out o' Fish House, I shall go on, God knows where! — for I do not choose to endure the insult with which your mere pres- ence here affronts me!" I had picked up her silk shoe and now went to her with it, where she stood on the veranda, biting at her lip, and her eyes all a-glitter with angry tears. "For God's sake, madam," said I, "do not use us so harshly. We mean no insult and no harm " "John Drogue," she said with a great sob, "I have loved you 96 THE LITTLE RED FOOT as a brother, but I had rather see you dead there on this violated threshold than know that the Laird of Worthesk is become a rebel to his King!" I knelt down and drew the shoe over her bare foot. Then I stood up and took her hand, laying it very gently upon my arm. She suffered me to lead her into the house — to the door of her bedroom, where Claudia, already dressed, took her from me. "Oh, John, John," she sobbed, "what is this pack o' rifi-raff doing here with their cobbler majors and carpenter colonels — all these petty shop-keepers in uniform who come from filthy Boston to ride over us?" Claudia's eyes were very bright, but without any trace of fear or anger. "What troops are these. Jack?" she inquired coolly. "And do they really come here to make prisoners of two poor women?" I told her that these soldiers formed a mixed battalion from the commands of Colonels Dayton and Livingston, and that they would encamp for the present within sight of the Summer House. "Do you mean that Polly and I are prisoners?" she repeated incredulously. "I'm afraid I do mean that, Claudia," said I. At the word "prisoner" Lady Johnson flamed: "Are you not ashamed. Jack Drogue, to tell me to my face such barbarous news!" she cried. "You, a gentleman, to con- sort with vulgar bandits who make prisoners of women! What do you think of your Boston friends now? What do you think of your blacksmith generals and 'pothecary colonels " "Polly! Be silent!" entreated Claudia, shaking her arm. "Is this a decent manner to conduct when the fortune of war fails to suit your tastes?" And to me: "No one is like to harm us, I take it. We are not in personal danger, are we?" "Good Lord!" said I, mortified that she should even ask me. "Well, then!" she said in a lively voice to Lady Johnson, who had turned her back on me in sullei* rage, "it will be but a few days at worst, Polly. These rebel officers are not ogres. No! So in Heaven's name let us make the best of this business — until Mr. Washington graciously permits us to go on to Albany or to New York." "I shall not go thither!" stormed Lady Johnson, pacing her chamber like a very child in the tantrums; "I shall not deign to inhabit any city which is held by dirty rebels " SUMMER HOUSE POINT 97 "But we shall drive them out first!" insisted Claudia, -with an impudent look at me. "Surely, dear, Albany will soon be a proper city to reside in; General Howe has said it; — and so we had hest address a polite letter to Mr. Washington, requesting a safe conduct thither and a flag " "I shall not write a syllable to the arch-rebel Washington I" stormed Lady Johnson. "And I tell you plainly. Jack, I expect to have my throat cut before this shameful business is ended!" "You had best conduct sensibly, both of you," said I bluntly; "for I'm tired of your airs and vapours; and Colonel Dayton will stand no nonsense from either of you!" "John!" faltered Lady Johnson, "do — do you, too, mean to use us brutally?" "I merely beg you to consider what you say before you say it, Polly Johnson! You speak to a rebel of 'dirty' rebels and 'arch' rebels; you conduct as though we, who hold another opinion than that entertained by you, were the scum and offscouring of the earth." "I meant it not as far as it concerns you, John Drogue," she said with another sob. "Then be pleased to trim your speech to my brother officers," said I, still hotly vexed by her silly behaviour. "We went to Johnstown to take your husband because we believe he has com- municated with Canada. And it was proper of us to do so. "We came here to detain you until some decent arrangement can be made whereby you shall have every conceivable comfort and every reasonable liberty, save only to do us a harm by communicating with your friends who are our enemies. "Therefore, it would be wise for you to treat us politely and not rail at us like a spoiled child. Our duty here is not of our own choosing, nor is it to our taste. No man desires to play jailer to any woman. But for the present it must be so. There- fore, as I say, it might prove more agreeable for all if you and Claudia observe toward us the ordinary decencies of polite usage !" There was a silence. Lady Johnson's back remained turned toward me; she was weeping. Claudia took her hand and turned and looked at me with all the lively mischief, all the adorable impudence I knew so well: "La, Mr. Drogue," says she mockingly, "some gentlemen are born so and others are made when made officers in armies. And captivity is irksome. So, if your friends desire to pay their re- spects to us poor captives^ I for one shall not be too greatly dis- pleased " 98 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Claudia!" cried Lady Johnson, "do you desire a disH of tea ■with tinkers and tin-peddlars ?" "I hear you, Polly," said she, "but prefer to hear you further after breakfast — which, thank God! I can now smell a-cooking." And, to me: "Jack, will you breakfast with us " She stopped abruptly: the door of Sir William's gun room opened, and the Scottish girl, Penelope Grant, walked out. "Lord!" said Claudia, looking at her in astonishment. "And who may you be, and how have you come here?" "I am Penelope Grant," she answered, "servant to Douw Fonda of Caughnawaga; and I came last night with Mr. Drogue." The perfect candour of her words should have clothed them with innocence. And, I think, did so. Yet, Claudia shot a wicked look at me, which did not please me. But I ignored her and explained the situation briefly to Lady Johnson, who had turned to stare at Penelope, who stood there quite self-possessed in her shabby dress of gingham. There was a silence; then Claudia asked the girl if she would take service with her; and Penelope shook her head. "I pay handsomely, and I need a clever wench to care for me," insisted Claudia; "and by your fine, white hands I see you are well accustomed to ladies' needs. Are you not, Penelope?" "I am servant to Douw Fonda," repeated the girl. "It would not be kind in me to leave him who oifers to adopt me. Nor is it decent to abandon him in times like these." Lady Johnson came forward slowly, her tear-marred eyes clearing. "My brother, Stephen, has spoken of you. I understood him to say that you are the daughter of a Scottish minister. Is this true?" "Yes, my lady." "Then you are no servant wench." "I serve." "Why?" "My parents are dead. I must earn my bread." "Oh. You have no means to maintain you?" "None, madam." "How long have you been left an orphan?" "These three years, my lady." "You came from Scotland?" "From France, my lady." "How so?" "My father preached to the exiled Scots who live in Paris. SUMMER HOUSE POINT 99 WTien he was dying, I promised to take ship and come to Amer- ica, because, he said, only in America is a young girl safe from men." "Safe?" quoth Claudia, smiling. "Tea, madam." "Safe from -what, child?" "From the unlawful machinations of designing men, madam. My father told me that men hunt women as a sport." "Oh, lal" cried Claudia, laughing; "you have it hind end fore- most! Man is the hunted one! Man is the victim! Is it not so. Jack?" — ^looking so impudently at me that I was too vexed to smile in return, but got very red and gazed elsewhere. "And what did you then, Penelope Grant?" inquired Lady Johnson, with a soft sort of interest which was natural and unfeigned, she having a gentle heart and tender under all her jpride and childishness. "I took ship, my lady, and came to New York." "And then?" "I went to Parson Gano in his church, — who was a friend to my father, though a Baptist. I was but a child, and he cared for me for three years. But I could not always live on others' bounty; so he yielded to my desires and placed me as servant to Douw Fonda, who was at that time visiting New York. And so, when Mr. Fonda was ready to go home to Caughnawagaj I accompanied him." "And are his aid and crutch in his old age," said Lady John- son, gently. "What wonder, then, he wishes to adopt you, Penelope Grant." "If you will be my companion," cried Claudia, "I shall dare adopt you, pretty as you are — and risk losing every lover I pos- sess !" The Scottish girl's brown eyes widened at that; but even Lady Johnson laughed, and I saw the loveliest smile begin to glimmer on Penelope's soft lips. "Thank heaven for a better humour in the house," thought I, and was pleased that Claudia had made a gayety of the affair. I went to the window and looked out. Smoke from the camp fires of the Continentals made a haze all along the reedy water- front. I saw their sentries walking their posts; heard the noise of their axes in the bush; caught a glimpse of my own men lying in the orchard on the new grass, and Nick cooking jerked meat at a little fire of coals, which gleamed in the grass like a heap of dusty jewels. 100 THE LITTLE EBD FOOT And, as I stood a-watehing, I felt a touch at my elbow, and turned to face the girl, Penelope. "Tour promise, sir," she said. 'Tou have not forgotten?" "No," I replied, flushing again under Claudia's mocking gaze. "But you should first eat something." "And you, also," said Lady Johnson, coming to me and laying both hands upon my shoulders. She looked into my eyes very earnestly, very sadly. "Forgive me. Jack," she said. I kissed her hands, saying that it was I who needed forgive- ness, to so speak to her in her deep anxiety and unhappiness; but she shook her head and bade me remain and eat breakfast; and went away to her chamber to dress, carrying Claudia to aid her, and leaving me alone there with the girl Penelope. "So," said I civilly, though still annoyed by memory of my horse and how this girl had carried everything with so high a hand, "so you have lived in Prance?" "Yes, sir." "Hum! Well, did you find the people agreeable?" "Yes, sir — the children. I was but fifteen when I left Prance.'' "Then you now own to eighteen years." "Yes, sir." "A venerable age." At that she lifted her brown eyes. I smiled; and that en- chanting, glimmering smile touched her lips again. And I thought of what I had heard concerning her in Caughnawaga, and how, when the old gentleman was enjoying his afternoon nap, she was accustomed to take her knitting to the porch. And I remembered, too, what Nick and others said concerning all the gallants of the countryside, how they swarmed about that porch like flies around a sap-pan. "I have been told," said I, "that all young men in Tryon sit ringed around you when you take your knitting to the porch at Cayadutta Lodge. Nor can I blame them, now that I have seen you smile." At that she blushed so brightly that I was embarrassed and somewhat astonished to see how small a' progress this girl had really made in coquetry. I was to learn that she blushed easily; I did not know it then; but it presently amused me to find her, after all, so unschooled. "Why," said I, "should you show your colours to a passing craft that fires no shot nor even thinks to board you? I am SUMMER HOUSE POINT 101 no pirate, Penelope; like those Johnstown gallants who gather like flies, they say " But I checked my words, not daring to plague her further, for the colour was surging in her cheeks and she seemed unac- customed to such harmless bantering as mine. "Lord!" thought I, "here is a very lie that this maid is any such siren as Nick thinks her, for her pretty thumb is still wet with sucking." Yet I myself had become sensible that there really was about her a something — exactly what I knew not — ^but some seductive quality, some vague enchantment about her, something unusual which compelled men's notice. It was not, I thought, entirely the agreeable contrast of yellow hair and dark eyes ; nor a smooth skin like new snow touched to a rosy hue by the afterglow. She sat near the window, where I stood gazing out across the water, toward the mountains beyond. Her hands, joined, rested flat between her knees; her hair, in the sun, was like maple gold reflected in a ripple. "Lord I" thought I, "small woader that the gay blades of Tryon should come a-meddling to undo so pretty a thing." But the thought did not please me, yet it was no concern o' mine. But I now comprehended how this girl might attract men, and, strangely enough, was sorry ior it. For it seemed plain that here was no coquette by intention or by any knowledge of the art of pleasing men; but she was one, nevertheless, so sweetly her dark eyes regarded you when you spoke; so lovely the glimmer of her smile. £hd it was, no doubt, something of these that men noticed — and her youth and inexperience, which is tender tinder to hard- ened flint that is ever eager to strike fire and start soft stuff blazing. CHAPTEE Xn THE SHAPE IN" WHITE WE breakfasted on soupaan, new milk, johnnycake, and troutlings caught by Colas, who had gone by canoe to the outlet of Hans' Creek by daylight, after I had awakened him. Which showed me how easily one could escape from the Sum- mer House, in spite of guards patrolling the neck and mainland road. We were four at table; Lady Johnson, Claudia, Penelope, and I; and all seemed to be in better humour, for Claudia's bright eyes were ever roaming toward the Continental camp, where smart officers passed and repassed in the bright sunlight; and Lady Johnson did not conceal her increasing conviction that Sir John had got clean away; which, naturally, pleased the poor child mightily; — and Penelope, who had offered very simply to serve us at table, sat silent and contented by the civil usage she re- ceived from Polly Johnson, who told her very sweetly that her place was in a chair and not behind it. "For," said my lady, "a parson's daughter may serve where her heart directs, but is nowise or otherwise to be unclassed." "Were I obliged by circumstances to labour for my bread," said Claudia, "would you still entertain honourable though ardent sentiments toward me. Jack?" Which saucy question I smiled aside, though it irritated me, and oddly, too, because Penelope Grant had heard — though why I should care a farthing for that I myself could not understand. Lady Johnson laid a hand on Penelope's, who looked up at her with that shy, engaging smile I had already noticed. And, "Poiielope," said she, "if rumour does not lie, and if all our young g-allants do truly gather 'round when you take your knit- ting to the porch of Cayadutta Lodge, then you should make it very plain to all that you are a parson's daughter as well as servant to Douw Ponda." "How should I conduct, my lady?" "Firmly, child. And send any light o' love a-packing at the first apropos !" 102 THE SHAPE IN WHITE 103 "Oh, lud !" says Claudia, "would you Hiake a nun of her, Polly ? Sure the child must learn " "Learn to take care of herself," quoth Polly Johnson tartly. "You have been schooled from childhood, Claudia, and heaven knows you have had opportunities enough to study that beast called man!" "I love him, too," said Claudia. "Do you, Penelope?" "Men please me," said the Scotch girl shyly. "I do not think them beasts." "They bite," snapped Lady Johnson. "Slap them," said Claudia, — "and that is all there is to it." "You think any man ever has been tamed and the beast cast out of him, even after marriage?" demanded Lady Johnson. She smiled, but I caught the undertone of bitterness in her gaiety, poor girl! "Before marriage," said Claudia coolly, "man is exactly as treacherous as he is afterward; — no more so, no less. What about it ? You take the creature as he is fashioned by his Maker, or you drive him away and live life like a cloistered nun. What is your choice, Penelope?" "I have no passion for a cloister," replied the girl, so candidly that all laughed, and she blushed prettily. "That is best," nodded Claudia; "accept the creature as he is. We're fools if we're bitten before we're married, and fortu- nate if we're not nipped afterward. Anyway, I love men, and 80 God bless them, for they can't help being what they are and it's our own fault if they play too roughly and hurt us." Lady Johnson laughed and laid her hand lightly on my shoul- der. "Dear Jack," said she, "we do not mean you, of course." "Oho !" cried Claudia, "it's in 'em all and crops out one day. Jack Drogue is no tamer than the next man. Nay, I know the sort — ^meek as a mouse among petticoats " "Claudia!" protested Lady Johnson. "I hear you, Polly. But when I solemnly swear to you that I have been afraid of this young man " "Afraid of what?" said I, smiling at her audacity, but vexed, too. "Afraid you might xmdo me. Jack " "What!" " — And then refuse me an honest name- "What mad nonsense do you chatter!" exclaimed Lady John- son, out of countenance, yet laughing at Claudia's effrontery. 104 THE LITTLE RED FOOT And Penelope, abashed, laughed a little, too. But Claudia's non- sense madded me, though her speech had been no broader than was fashionable among a gentry so closely in touch with Lon- don, where speech, and manners, too, were broader still. Vexed to be made her silly butt, I sat gazing out of the win- dow, over the great Vlaie, where, in the reeds, tall herons stood as stiff as driven stakes, and the painted wood-ducks, gorgeous as tropic birds, breasted Mayfield Greek, or whirred along the water- ways to and fro between the Stacking Eidge and the western bogs, where they nested among trees that sloped low over the water. Beyond, painted blue mountains ringed the vast wilderness of bog and woods and water; and presently I was interested to see, on the blunt nose of Maxon, a stain of smoke. I watched it furtively, paying only a civil heed to the women's chatter around me — watched it with sideway glance as I dipped my spoon into the smoking soupaan and crumbled my johnny- cake. At first, on Maxon's nose there was only a slight blue tint of vapour, like a spot of bloom on a blue plum. But now, above the mountain, a thin streak of s»oke mounted straight up; and presently I saw that it became jetted, rising in rings for a few moments. Suddenly it vanished. Claudia was saying that one must assume all officers of either party to be gentlemen; but Lady Johnson entertained the propo- sition coldly, and seemed unwilling to invite Continental offi- cers to a dish of tea. 'TSTot because they are my captors and have driven my hus- band out of his own home," she said haughtily; "I could over- look that, because it is the fortune of war. But it is said that the Continental officers are a parcel of Yankee shop-keepers, and I have no desire to receive such people on equal footing." "But," said Claudia, "Jack is a rebel officer, and so is BiUy Alexander." "I think Lord Stirling must be crazy," retorted Lady John- son. Then she looked at me, bit her lip and laughed, adding: 'Tou, too. Jack — and every gentleman among you must be mad to flout our King!" "Mad, indeed — and therefore to be pitied, not punished," says Claudia. "Therefore, let us drink tea with our rebel officers, Polly — out of sheer compassion for their common infirmity." "We rebels don't drink tea, you know," said I, smiling. THE SHAPE IN WHITE 105 "OL, la I Wait till -we invite your Continentals yonder. For, if Polly and I are to be imprisoned here, I vow I mean to amuse myself witli the likeliest of these young men in blue and buff, whom I can see yonder, stalking to and fro along the Johnstown Eoad. May I not send them a civil invitation, Polly?" "If you insist. I, however, dealine to meet them," pouted Lady Johnson. "I shall write a little letter to their eommanding officer," quoth Claudia. "Do as you like, Polly, but, as for me, I do not de- sire to perish of dullness witii only women to talk to, and only a swamp to gaze upon!" She sprang to her feet; La^ Johnson and Penelope also rose, as did I. "Is it true. Jack, that you are under promise to take this youi^ girl to Douw Fonda's house in Caughnawaga ?" aslied Lady Johnson. "Yes, madam." She turned to Penelope: 'When do you desire to set out?" "As soon as may be, my lady." "I like you. I wish you would remain and share my loneli- ness." "I would, my lady, only I feel in honour bound to go to Mr. Fonda." daudia passed her arm around the Scottish girl's slim waist. "Come," she coaxed, "be my companion! Be more friend than servant, more sister than friend. For I, also, begin to love you, with your dark eyes and yellow hair, and your fine hands and sweet, fresh skin, like a child from a bath." They both laughed, looking at each other with a gaze shy but friendly, like two who seem to think they are, perhaps, destined to love each other. "I wish I might remain," said the Scottish girl, reluctantly turning toward me. "Are you for Caughnawaga?" I asked bluntly. "Yes, sir." "Very well," said I. "PoUy Johnson, may I take your car- nage «" "It is always at your command. Jack. But I am sorry that our littele Scottish lass must go." However, she gave the order to black Colas, who must drive us, also, because, excepting for Colas and poor Flora, and one slave left in Johnstown, all servants, slaves, tenants, and officers of Sir John's household had fled with the treacherous Baronet 106 THE LITTLE RED FOOT and were now God knows where in the terrific wilderness and making, without doubt, for the Oanadas. For personal reasons I was glad that the dishonoured man was gone. I should have been ashamed to take him prisoner. But I was deeply troubled on other accounts; for this man had gone northward with hundreds of my old neighbors, for the pur- pose of forming an army of white men and Indians, with which he promised to return and cut our throats and lay our beautiful countryside in ashes. We had scarce any force to oppose Sir John; no good forts except Stanwrx and a few block-housen ; our newly-organized civil government was chaotic; our militia untried, unreliable, poorly armed, and still rotten with toryism. To defend all this immense Tryon County frontier, including the river as far as Albany, only one regular regiment had been sent to help us; for what remained of the State Line was needed below, where His Excellency was busy massing an army to face the impending thunder-clap from England. As I stood by the window, looking out across the Vlaie at Maxon Eidge, where I felt very sure that hostile eyes were watch- ing the Sacandaga and this very house, a hand touched my arm, and, turning, I saw Penelope Grant beside me. "May I have a word alone with you, Mr. Drogue?" she asked in her serious and graver way — a way as winning as her lighter mood, I thought So we went out to the veranda and walked a little way among the apple trees, slowly, I waiting to hear what she had for my ear alone. Beyond, by the well, I saw my Hangers squatting cross-legged on the grass in a little circle, playing at stick-knife. Beyond them a Continental soldier paced his beat in front of the gate which closed the mainland road. Birds sang, sunshine glimmered on the water, the sky was softly blue. The girl had paused under a fruit tree. Now, she pulled down an apple branch and set her nose to the blossoms, breathing their fresh scent. "Well," said I, quietly. Her level eyes met mine across the flowering branch. "I am sorry to disturb you," said she. "How disturb me?" THE SHAPE IN WHITE 107 "By obliging you to take me to Caughnawaga. It inconven- iences you." !'I promised to see you safely there, and that is all about it," said I drily. "Yes, sir. But I ask your pardon for exacting your prom- ise. . . . And — I ask pardon for — for stealing your horse." There seemed to ensue a longer silence than I intended, and I realized that I had been looking at her without other thought than of her dark, young eyes under her yeUow hair. "What did you say?" I asked absently. She hesitated, then: "Tou do not like me, Mr. Drogue." 'ODid I say so ?" said I, startled. "No. ... I feel that you do not like me. Is it because I used you ■without decency when I stole your horse?" "Perhaps some trifling chagrin remains. But it is now over — because you say you are sorry." "I am so." "Then — I am friendly — if you so desire, Penelope Grant." "Yes, sir, I do desire your countenance." I smiled at her gravity, and saw, dawning in return, that lovely, child's smile I already knew and waited for. "I wish to whisper to you," said she, bending the flowering bough lower. So I inclined my ear across it, and felt her delicate breath against my cheek. "I wish to make known to you that I am of your party, Mr. Drogue," she whispered. I nodded approval. "I wished you to know that I am a friend to liberty," she con- tinued. "My sentiment is very ardent, Mr. Drogue: I bum with desire to serve this land, to which my father's wish has committed me. I am young, strong, not afraid. I can load and shoot a pistol " "Good Lord!" I exclaimed, laughing, "do you wish to enlist and go for a soldier?" "Yes, sir." I drew back in amazement and looked at her, and she blushed but made me a firm countenance. And so sweetly solemn a face did this maid puU at me that I could not forbear to laugh again. "But how about Mr. Fonda?" I demanded, "if you don jack- boots and hanger and go for a dragoon?" "I shall ask his permission to serve my country." "A-horse, Penelope? Or do you march with fire-lock and knaj)- 108 THE LITTLE RED FOOT sack and a well-floured queue?" I had meant to turn it lightly but not to ridicule; but her lip quivered, though she still found courage to sustain my laughing gaze. "Come/' said I, "we Tryon County men have as yet no need to call upon our loyal women to shoulder rifle and fill out our ranks." "No need of me, sir?" "Surely, surely, but not yet to such a pass that we strap a bayonet on your thigh. Sew for us. Knit for us " "Sir, for three years I have done so, foreseeing this hour. I have knitted many, many score o' stockings; sewed many a shirt against this day that is now arrived. I have them in Mr. Fonda's house, against my country's needs. All, or a part, are at your requisition, Mr. Drogue." But I ranained mute, astonished that this girl had seen so clearly what so few saw at all — that war must one day come between us and our King. This foreseeing of hers amazed me even more than her practical provision for the day of wrath — now breaking red on our horizon — that she had seen so clearly what must happen — a poor refugee — a child. "Sir," says she, "have you any use for the stockings and shirts among your men?" She stood resting both arms on the bent bough, her face among the flowers. And I don't know how I thought of it, or remem- bered that in Scotland there are some who have the gift of clear vision and who see events before they arrive — ^nay, even foretell and forewarn. And, looking at her, I asked her if that were true of her. And saw the tint of pink apple bloom stain her face; and her dark eyes grow shy and troubled. "Is it that way with you?" I repeated. "Do you see more clearly than ordinary folk?" "Yes, sir — sometimes." "Not always?" "No, sir." "But if you desire to penetrate the future and strive to do 80 " "No, sir, I can not if I try. Visions come unsought — even undesired." "Is effort useless?" "Yes, sir." "Then this strange knowledge of the future comes of itselt Tinbidden?" THE SHAPE IN WHITE 109 "TJnbiddeii — when it comes at aU. It is like a flash — ^then darkness. But the glimpse has convinced me, and I am fore- warned." I pondered this for a space, then: "Could you teU me anything concerning how this war i3 to end?" "I do not know, Mr. Drogue." I considered. Then, again: "Have you any knowledge of what Fate intends concerning yourself?" "No, sir." "Nothing regarding your own future? That is strange." She shook her head, watching me. And then I laughed lightly: "Nothing, by any chance, concerning me, Penelope?" "Yes." I was so startled that I found no word to question her. "There is to be a battle," she said in a low voice. "Men will fight in the North. I do not know when. But there will be strange uniforms in the woods — ^not British redcoats. . . . And I know you, also, are to be there." Her voice sank to a whis- per. . . . "And there," she breathed, "you shall meet Death . . . or Love." When presently my composure returned to me, and I saw her still regarding me across the apple-bough, I felt inclined to laugh. "When did this strange knowledge come to you ?" I asked, smil- ing my unbelief. "The day I first heard your voice at my cousin Bowman's — waking me in my bed — and I came out and saw you in the eye oi the rising sun. And you were not alone. And instantly I saw a strange battle that is not yet fought — and I saw you — the way you stood — there — dark and straight in a blinding sheet of yellow light made by cannon! . . . The world was aflame, and I saw you, tall and dark, shadowed against the blaze — ^but you did not fall. "Then I came to my senses, and heard the bell ringing, and aeked you what it meant. Do you remember?" "Yes." She released the apple-bough and came under it toward me, through a snow of falling blossoms. "It will surely happen — this battle," she said. "I knew it when I saw you, and that other figure near you, where I sat your stolen horse and heard you shout at me in anger, and turned to look at you — ^then, also, I caught a glimpse of that other figure near you." 110 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "What other figure?" The one which was wrapped in white — ^like a winding sheet — and veiled. . . . Like Death. ... Or a bride, perhaps." A slight chill went over me, even in the warmth of the sun. But I laughed and said I knew not which would be the less welcome, having no stomach for Master Death, and even less, perhaps, for Mistress Bride. "Doubtless," said I, "you saw some ghost of the morning mist afloat from the wet earth where I stood." She made no answer. Now, as the carriage still tarried, though I had seen Colas taking out the horses, I asked her indulgence for a few moments, and walked over to the well, where my men still sat at stick-knife. And here I called Nick aside and laid one hand on his shoulder: "There was Indian smoke on Maxon an hour ago," said I. "Take Johnny Silver and travel the war trail north, but do not cross the creek to the east. I go as armed escort for a traveller to Caughnawaga, and shall return as soon as may be. Leam what you can and meet me here by sunrise tomorrow." Nick grinned and cast a sidelong glance at Penelope Grant, where she stood in the orchard, watching us. "Scotched by the Scotch," said he. "Adam fell; and so I knew you'd fall one day, John — in an apple orchard! Lord Harry! but she's a pretty baggage, too! Only take care, John! for she's soft and young and likes to be courted, and there's plenty to oblige her when you're away!" "Let them oblige her then," said I, vexed, though I knew not why. "She stole my horse and would not surrender him until I pledged my word to give her escort back to Caughnawaga. And that is all my story — if it interests you." "It does so," said he, his tongue in his cheek. At which I turned away in a temper, and encountered an officer, in militia regimentals of the Caughnawaga Regiment, coming through the orchard toward me. "HaUo, Jack!" he called out to me, and I saw he was a friend of mine. Major JeUes Fonda, and hastened to offer him his of- ficer's salute. When he had rendered it, he gave me his honest hand, and we linked arms and walked together toward the house, exchanging gossip concerning how it went with our cause in Johnstown and Caughnawaga. For the Fonda clan was respectable and strong among the landed gentry of Tryon, and it meant much to the cause of liberty that all the Fondas, I think without exception. THE SHAPE IN WHITE 111 had stood sturdily for their own people at a time when the vast majority of the influential and well-to-do had stood for their King. 'When we drew near the house. Major Fonda perceived Penelope and went at once to her. She dropped him a curtsey, but he took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks. "I heard you were here," said he. "We sent old Douw Ponda to Albany for safety, not knowing what is like to come upon us out o' that damned Canada. And, knowing you had gone to your cousin Bowman's, I rode over to my Bush, got news of you through a Mayfield militia man, and trailed you here. And now, my girl, you may take your choice; go to Albany and sit snug with the Patroon until this tempest breaks and blows over, or go to Johnstown Fort with me." "Does not Douw Fonda need me?" she asked. "Only your pretty face and sweet presence to amuse him. But, until we are certain that Sir John and Guy Johnson do not mean to return and murder us in our beds, Douw Fonda will not live in Oaughnawaga, and so needs no housekeeper." "Why not remain here with Lady Johnson and Mistress Swift," said I, "until we learn what to expect from Sir John and his friends in Canada? These ladies are alone and in great anxiety and sorrow. And you could be of aid and service and comfort." What made me say this I do not know. But, somehow, I did not seem to wish this girl to go to Albany, where there were many gay young men and much profligacy. To sit on Douw Fonda's porch with her knitting was one thing, and the sap-pan gallants had little opportunity to turn the head of this inexperienced girl; but Albany was a very dif- ferent matter; and this maid, who said that she liked men, alone there with only an aged man to stand between her and idle, fashionable youth, -might very easily be led into indiscretions. The mere thought of which caused me so lively a vexation that I was surprised at myself. And now I perceived the carriage, with horses harnessed, and Colas in a red waistcoat and a red and green cockade on his beaver. We walked together to the Summer House. Lady Johnson came out on the veranda, and Claudia followed her. When they saw Major Fonda, they bowed to him very coolly, and he made them both a stately salute, shrugged his epaulettes, and took snuff. 112 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Lady Johnson said to Penelope: "Are you decided on aban- doning two lonely women to their own devices, Penelope?" "Do you really mean to leave me, who could love you very dearly ?" demanded Claudia, coming down and taking the girl by both hands. "If you wish it, I am now at liberty to remain with you till Mr. Fonda sends for me," replied Penelope. "But I have no clothes." Claudia embraced her with rapture. "Come to my room, darling!" she cried, "and you shall divide with me every stitch I own! And then we shall dress each other's hair! Shall we not? And we shall be very fine to drink a dish of tea with our friends, the enemy, yonder!" She flung her arm around Penelope. Going, the girl looked around at me. "Thank you for great kindness, my lord," she called back softly. Lady Johnson said in a cold voice to Major Ponda: "If our misfortunes have not made us contemptible to you, sir, we are at home to receive any enemy officer who, like yourself. Major, chances to be also a gentleman." "Damnation, Polly!" says he with a short laugh, "don't treat an old beau to such stifE-neck language! Tou know cursed well I'd go down on both knees and kiss your shoes, though I'd kick the King's shins if I met him!" He passed his arm through mine; we both bowed very low, then went away together, arm in arm, the Major fuming under his breath. "Silly baggage," he muttered, "to treat an old friend so high and mighty. Dash it, what's come over these Johnstown gen- tlemen and ladies. Can't we fight one another politely but they must affect to treat us as dirt beneath their feet, who once were welcome at their tables?" At the well I called to my men, who got up from the grass and greeted Major Ponda with unmilitary familiarity. "Major," said I, "we're ofi to scout the Sacandaga trail and learn what we can. It's cold sniffing, now, on Sir John's heels, but there was Iroquois smoke on old .Maxon this morning, and I should like at least to poke the dead ashes of that same fire before moonrise." "Certainly," said the Major, gravely; and we shook hands. "Now, Nick," said I briskly. "Ready," said he; and "Ready!" repeated every man. So, rifle a-trail, I led the way out into the Pish House road. CHAPTER XTTT THE DROWNED LANDS FOR two weeks my amaH patrol of six remained in the vi- cinity of the Sacandaga, scouting even as far as Stony Creek, Silver Lake, and West River, covering Maxon, too, and the Drowned Lands, but ever hovering about the Sacandaga, where the great Iroquois War Trail runs through the dusk of primeval woods. But never a glimpse of Sir John did we obtain. Which was scarcely strange, inasmuch as the scent was already stone cold when we first struck it. And though we could trace the Baronet's headlong flight for three days' journey, by his dead fires and stinking camp debris, and, plainer stiU, by the trampled path made by his men and horses and by the wheel-marks of at least one cannon, our orders, which were to stop the War Trail from Northern enemies, permitted no further pursuit. Yet, given permission, I think I could have come up with him and his motley forces, though what my six scouts could have ac- complished against nearly two hundred people is but idle sur- mise. And whether, indeed, we could have contrived to surprise and capture Sir John, and bring him back to justice, is a matter now fit only for idlest speculation. At the end of the first week I sent Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew into Johnstown to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what we had seen and what we guessed concerning Sir John's probable route. DeLuysnes and Johnny Silver I stationed on Maxon's honest nose, where the valley of the Sacandaga and the Drowned Lands lay like a vast map at their feet, while Nick Stoner and I prowled the silent Iroquois trail or slid like a pair of otters through the immense desolation of the Drowned Lands, from the jungle-like recesses of which we could see the distant glit- ter of muskets where our garrison was drilling at Pish House, and a white speck to the southward, which marked the little white and green lodge at Summer House Point. We had found a damaged birch canoe near the Stacking Ridge, and I think it was the property of John Howell, who lived on the 113 114 THE LITTLE RED FOOT opposite side of tlie creek a mile above. But his log house stood bolted and empty; and, as he was a very rabid Tory, we helped ourselves to his old canoe, and Nick patched it with gum and made two paddles. In this leaky craft we threaded the spectral Drowned Lands, penetrating every hidden water-lead, every concealed creek, every lost pond which glimmered unseen amid cranberry bogs, vast wastes of stunted willow, pinxter shrubs in bloom, and the endless wil- derness of reeds. Nesting black-ducks rose on clattering wings \ in scores and scores at our stealthy invasion ; herons and bitterns flapped heavily skyward; great chain-pike, as long as a young boy, slid like shadows under our dipping paddles. But we saw no Indians. Nor was there a sign of any canoe amid the Drovmed Lands; not a moccasin print in swamp-moss or mud; no trace of Iro- quois on the Stacking Eidge, where already wild pigeons were flying among the beech and oak trees, busy with courtship and nesting. It was now near the middle of June, but Nick thought that Sir John had not yet reached Canada, nor was like to accomplish that terrible journey through a pathless wilderness under a full month. We know now that he did accomplish it in nineteen days, and arrived with his starving people in a terrible plight.* But no- body then supposed it possible that he could travel so quickly. Even his own Mohawks never dreamed he was already so far advanced on his flight; and this was their vital mistake; for there had been sent from Canada a war party to meet and aid Sir John; and, by hazard, I was to learn of this alarming busi- ness in a manner I had neither expected nor desired. I was sitting on a great, smooth bowlder, where the little trout stream, which tumbles down Maxon from the east, falls into Hans Creek. It was a still afternoon and very warm in the sun, but pleasant there, where the confluence of the waters made a cool and silvery clashing-noise among the trees in full new leaf. Nick had cooked dinner — parched corn and trout, which wo caught in the brook with one of my fish hooks and a red wampum bead from my moccasins tied above the barb. And now, dinner ended, Nick lay asleep with a mat of moss • Ono of his abandoned brass cannon is — or recently was— lying cm- bedded in a swajnp in tbe North Woods. ^ THE DROWNED LANDS 115 crer his face to keep oS black flies, and I mounted guard, not because I apprehended danger, but desired not to break a mili- tary rule which had become already a habit among my hand- ful of men. I was seated, as I say, on a bowlder, with my legs hanging over the swirling water and my rifle across both knees. And I was thinking those vague and dreamy thoughts which float ghost-like through young men's minds when skies are blue in early summer and life seems but an endless vista through un- numbered asons to come. Through a pleasant and reflective haze which possessed my mind moved figures of those I knew or had known — my hon- oured father, grave, dark-eyed, deliberate in all things, living for intellectual pleasure alone; — ^my dear mother, ardent yet timid, thrilled ever by what was most beautiful and best in the world, and loving aU things made by God. I thought, too, of my silly kinsman in Paris, Lord Stormont, and how I had declined his iwmpous patronage, to carve for myself a career, aided by the slender means afforded me; and how Billy Alexander did use me very kindly — a raw youth in a New York school, left suddenly orphaned and alone. I thought of Stevie Watts, of Polly, of the DeLancys, Crugers, and other King's people who had made me welcome, doubtless for the sake of my Lord Stormont. And how I finally came to know Sir William Johnson, and his great kindnees to me. All these things I thought of in the golden afternoon, seated by Hans Creek, my eyes on duty, my thoughts a-gypsying far afield, where I saw, in my mind's eye, my log house in Fonda's Bush, my new-cleared land, my neighbors' houses, the dark walls of the forest. Tet, drifting between each separate memory, glided ever a slender shape with yellow hair, and young, unfathomed eyes as dark as the velvet on the wings of that earliest of all our but- terflies, which we call the Beauty of Camberwell. Think of whom I might, or of what scenes, always this slim phantom drifted in between the sequences of thought, and vaguely I seemed to see her yellow hair, and that glimmer which sometimes came into her eyes, and which was the lovely dawning of her smile. War seemed very far away, death but a fireside story haK for- gotten. For my thoughts were growing faintly fragrant with the scent of apple blossoms— white and pink bloom — sweet as her breath when she had whispered to me. 116 THE LITTLE RED FOOT A strange young tting to haunt me -with ter fragrance — this girl Penelope — her smooth hands and snowy skin — and her little naked feet, like whitest silver there in the dew at Bow- man's Suddenly, thought froze; from the foliage across the creek, scarce twenty feet from where I sat, and without the slightest sound, stepped an Indian in his paint. Like a shot squirrel I dropped behind my bowlder and lay flat among the shore ferns, my heart eo wild that my levelled rifle shook with the shock of palsy. The roar of the waters was loud in my ears, but his calm voice came through it distinctly: "Peace, brother!" he said in the soft, Oneida dialect, and lifted hie right hand high in the sunshine, the open palm turned toward me. "Don't move!" I called across the stream. "Lay your blanket on the ground and place your gun across it!" Calmly he obeyed, then straightened up and stood there empty handed, naked in his paint, except for the beaded breadth of deer-skin that fell from belt to knea "Nick!" I called cautiously. "I am awake and I have laid him over my rifle-sight/' came Nick's voice from the woods behind me. "Look sharp, John, that there be not others ambuscaded along the bank." "He could have killed me," said I, "without showing himseK. By his paint I take him for an Oneida." "That's Oneida paint," replied Nick, cautiously, "but it's war paint, all the same. Shall I let him have it?" "Not yet. The Oneidas, so far, have been friendly. Por God's sake, be careful what you do." "Best parley quick then," returned Nick, "for I trust no Iro- quois. You know his lingo. Speak to him." I called across the stream to the Indian: "Who are you, brother? What is your nation and what is your elan, and what are you doing on the Sacandaga, with your face painted in black and yellow bars, and fresh oil on your limbs and lock?" He said, in his quiet but distinct voice: "My nation is Oneida; my elan is the Tortoise; I am Tahioni. I am a young and inexx)erienced warrior. No scalp yet hangs from my girdle. I come as a friend. I come as my brother's ally. This is the reason that I seek my brother on the Sacandaga. Hiero ! Tahioni has spoken." And he quietly folded his arms. THE DROWNED LANDS 117 He was a magnificent youth, quite perfect in limb and body, and as light of skin as the Mohawks, who are often nearly white, eren when pure breed. He stood unarmed, except for the knife and war-ase swinging from crimson-beaded sheaths at his cincture. StiU, I did not lise or show myself, and my rifle lay level with his belly. I said, in as good Oneida as I could muster: "Young Oneida warrior, I have listened to what you have had to say. I have heard you patiently, oh Tahioni, my brother of the great Oneida nation who wears an Onondaga name!" For Tahioni means The Wolf in Onondaga dialect. There was a silence, broken by Nick's low voice from some- where behind me: "Shall I shoot the Onondaga dog?" "Will you mind your business?" I retorted sharply. The Oneida had smiled slightly at my sarcasm concerning his name; his eyes rested on the rock behind which I lay snug, stock against cheek. "I am Tahioni," he repeated simply. "My mother's clan is ♦he Onondaga Tortoise." Which explained his clan and name, of course, if his father ■was Oneida. "I continue to listen," said I warily. "Tahioni has spoken," he said; and calmly seated himself. !For a moment I remained silent, yet still dared not show my- ■elf. "Is my brother alone?" I asked at last. "Two Oneida youths and my adopted sister are with me, brother." "Where are they ?" "They are here." "Let them show themselves," said I, instantly bitten by sus- picion. Two young men and a girl came calmly from the thicket and stood on the bank. AU carried blanket and rifle. At a sign from Tahioni, all three laid their blankets at their feet and placed their rifles across them. One, a stocky, powerful youth, spoke first: "I am Kwiyeh.* My clan is the Oneida Tortoise." The other young fellow said: "Brother, I am Hanatoh,t of the Oneida Tortoise." Then they calmly seated themselves. • The Screecli-Owl. f The Water-Snake. 118 THE LITTLE RED FOOT I rose from my cover, my rifle in the hollow of my left arm. Nick came from his hed of juniper and stood looking very hard at the Oneidas across the stream. Save for the girl, all were naked except for breech-clout, spor- ran, and ankle moccasins; all were oiled and in their paint, and their heads shaven, leaving only the lock. There could be no doubt that this was a war party. No doubt, also, that they could have slain me very easily where I sat, had they wished to do so. There was, just below us, a string of rocks crossing the stream. I sprang from one to another and came out on their bank of the creek; and Nick followed, leaping the boulders like a lithe tree-cat. The Oneidas, who had been seated, rose as I came up to them. I gave my hand to each of them in turn, until I faced the girL And then I hesitated. For never anywhere, among any nation of the Iroquois Con- federacy, had 1 seen any woman so costumed, painted, and ac- coutred. For this girl looked more like a warrior than a woman; and, save for her slim, and hard yoimg body's shape, and her fuU hair, must have i^ssed for an adolescent wearing his first hatchet and his first touch of war paint. She, also, was naked to the waist, her breasts scarce formed. Two braids of hair lay on her shoulders, and her skin was palely bronzed and smooth in its oil, as amber without a flaw. But she wore leggins of doe-skin, deeply fringed with pale green and cinctured in at her waist, where war-axe and knife hung on her left thigh, and powder horn and bullet pouch on her right. And over these she wore knee moccasins of green snake-skin, the feet of which were deer-hide sewn thick with scarlet, purple, and greenish wampum, which glistened like a humming-bird's throat. I said, wondering: "Who is this girl in a young warrior's dress, who wears a disk of blue war-paint on her forehead?" But Nick pulled my arm and said in my ear: "Have you heard of the little maid of Askalege? Yonder she stands, thank God! For the Oneida follow their prophetess; and the Oneida are with us in this war if she becomes our friend!" I had heard of the little Athabasca girl, found in the forest by Skenandoa and Spencer, and how she grew up like a boy at Askalege, with the brave half-breed interpreter, Thomas Spencer; and how it was her delight to roam the forests and talk — they THE DROWNED LANDS 119 said — to trees and beasts by moonliglit ; how sbe knew the lan- guage of all things living, and could hear the tiny voices of the growing grass 1 Legends and fairy tales, but by many believed. Yet, Sir "William had seen the child at Askalege dancing in the stream of sparks that poured from Spencer's smithy when the Oneida blacksmith pumped his home-made bellows or struck fire-flakes from the cherry-red iron. I said: "Are you sure, Nick? For never have I seen an In- dian maid play boy in earnest." "She is the little witch-maid of Askalege — their prophetess," he repeated. "I saw her once at Oneida Lake, dancing on the shore amid a whirl of yellow butterflies at their strawberry feast. God send she favours our party, for the Oneidas will follow her." I turned to the girl, who was standing quietly beside a young silver birch-tree. "Who are you, my sister, who wear a little blue moon on your brow, and the dress and weaiwns of an adolescent?" "Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan of the Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,* and my privilege is Oyaneh.f Brother, I come as a friend 1o liberty, and to help you fight your great war against your King. "Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes. Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, but not knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, and offered her my hand. She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly and intelligently in the face, and said in English: "My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneida interpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the great war-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And are now become your brothers in this new war." "Tour words make our hearts light, my sister." "Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother." Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni: "Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded. At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and • The River-reed. tThe noble or honourable one. The feminine of Boyaneh, or Sachem, in the Algonauin. 120 THE LITTLE RED FOOT burn; and Tahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with a quick, fierce gesture. "Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even a tree has a name." And I flushed at this mer- ited rebuke. "My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers," said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, and first sergeant in my little com- pany." "Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring from, the North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iro- quois trail, looking for Sir John to guide them to the Canadas!" Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, tkea, recoTering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me. Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf: "Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, stiU scarce con- vinced. "At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "They have taken scalps." 'Why — why, then, it is war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what people are these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Oaniengas?" "Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendly Iroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous word seemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their rifles and crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes. "How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though I had long foreseen the probability. "Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she had been translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue. Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, and must act as instantly. I had two good men on Maxon, the French trapper, Johnny Silver and Benjamin De Luysnes; Nick and I counted two more. With four Oneida, and perhaps Joe de Golyer and Godfrey Shew — if we could pick them up on the Vlaie — we would be ten stout men to stop this Mohawk war-party until the garrisons at Sum- mer House Point and Fish House could drive the impudent ma- rauders North again. Turning to Thiohero, I said as much in English. She nodded THE DROWNED LANDS 121 and spoke to the others in Oneida; and I saw their eager and brilliant eyes begin to glitter. Now, I carried always with me in the bosom of my buckskin shirt a carnet, or tablet of good paper, and a i)encil given me years ago by Sir William. And now I seated myself on a rock and took my instruments and wrote: "Hans Creek, near Maxon Brook, June 13th, 1776. "To the Officer comm^'ng yo Garrison at y® Summer House on Vlaie, "Sir: "I am to acquaint you that this day, about two o'clock, after- noon, arrived in my camp four Oneidas who give an account that a Mohawk War Party is now at y^ Big Eddy on West River, headed south. "By the same intelligence I am to understand that this War Party has taken scalps. "Sir, anybody familiar with the laws and customs of the Iro- quois Confederacy understands what this means. "Murder, or mere slaying, when not accompanied by such mutilation, need not constitute an act of war involving nation and Confederacy in formal declaration. "But the taking of a single scalp means only one thing: that the nation whose warrior scalps an enemy approves the trophy and declares itself at war with the nation of the victim. "I am aware, sir, that General Schuyler and Mr. Kirkland and others are striving mightily in Albany to placate the Iro- quois, and that they stiU entertain such hope, although the upper Mohawks are gone o£E with Brant, and Guy Johnson holds in his grasp the fighting men of the Confederacy, save only the Oneida, and also in spite of news, known to be certain, that Mohawk In- dians were in battle-paint at St. John's. "Now, therefore, conscious of my responsibility, and asking God's guidance in this supreme moment, lest I commit error or permit hot blood to confuse my clearer mind, I propose to travel instantly to the West River with my scout of four Rangers, and four Oneidas, and ask of this Mohawk War Party an explanation in the name of the Continental Congress and His Excellency, our Com'n'ier in Chief. 122 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Sir, I doubt not that you -will order your two garrisons to prepare for immediate defense, and also to support my scout on the Sacandaga; and to send an express to Johnstown as soon as may be, to acquaint Colonel Dayton of what measures I pro- pose to take to carry out my orders which are to stop the Sacan- daga trail. "This, sir, it is my present endeavour to do. "I am, sir, with all respect, "T'' most obedient "John Drogue, L'eut Eangers." When I finished, I discovered that Nick and the Oneidas had fastened on their blanket-packs and were gathered a little dis- tance away in animated conversation, the little maid of Askalege translating. Nick had fetched my pack; I strapped it, picked up my rifle, and walked swiftly into the woods; and without any word from, me they fell into file at my heels, headed west for Fish House and the fateful river. My scout of six moved very swiftly and without noise; and it was not an hour before I caught sight of a Continental soldier on bullock guard, and saw cattle among low willows. The soldier was scared and bawled lustily for his mates; but among them was one of the Sammons, -rcho knew me; and they let us through with little delay. Fish House was full o' soldiers a-sunning in every window, and under them, on the grass; and here headquarters guards stopped us until the captain in command could be found, whilst the gaping Continentals crowded around us for news, and stared at our Oneidas, whose quiet dignity and war paint astonished our men, I think. To the west and south, and along the river, I saw many soldiers in their shirts, a-digging to make an earth- work; and presently from this redoubt came a Continental Caj)- tain, out o' breath, who listened anxiously to what news I had gathered, and who took my letter and promised to send it b-^ an express to Summer House Point. A quartermaster's sergeant asked very civilly if I desired to draw rations for my scout; and I drew parched corn, salt, dried fish, jerked venison, and pork from the brine, for ten men; and Nick' and I and my Oneidas did divide between us the burthen. "The dogs!" he kept repeating in a confused way — "the dirty dogs, to take our scalps! And I pray God your painted Oneidas yonder may do the like for them!" THE DROWNED LANDS 123 I saw a horse saddled and a soldier mount and gallop off with my letter. That was sufficient for me; I gave the Continental Captain the officers' salute, and looked around at my men, who had made a green fire for me on the grass in front of the house. It was smoking thickly, now, so I took a soldier's watch-coat by the skirts, glanced up at Maxon Eidge, then, flinging wide the garment above the fije, kept it a-flutter there and moved it up and down till the jetted smoke mounted upward in great clots, three together, then one, then three, then one. Presently, high on Maxon, I saw smoke, and knew that Johnny Silver understood. So I flung the watch-coat to the soldier, turned, and walked swiftly along the river bank, where sheep grazed, then entered the forest with Nick at my heels and the four Oneidas a-padding in his tracks. OHAPTEK XrV THE LITTLE BED FOOT BY dusk we were ten rifles; for an hour after we left Fish House Johnny Silver and Luysnes joined us on the Sacan- daga trail; and, just as the sun set behind the Majrfield moun- tains, comes rushing down stream a canoe with Godfrey SheVs bow-paddle flashing red in the last rays and Joe de Golyer steer- ing amid the rattling rapids, nigh buried in a mountain of sil- very spray. And here, by the river, we ate, but lighted no fire, though it seemed safe to do so. I sent Godfrey Shew and the Water-snake far up the Iroquois trail to watch it. The others gathered in a friendly circle to munch their corn and jerked meat, and the Frenchmen were merry, laughing and jesting and casting sly, amorous eyes toward Thiohero, who laughed, too, in friendly fashion and was at her ease and plainly not displeased with gallantry. It had proved a svsdft comradery between us and our young Oneidas, and I marvelled at the rapid accomplishment of such friendly accord in so brief a time, yet understood it came through the perfect faith of these Oneidas in their young Athabasca witch; and that what their prophetess found good they did not even think of questioning. Her voice was soft, her smile bewitching; she ate with the healthy appetite of an animal, yet was polite to those who offered meat. And her sweet "neah-wennah" * never failed any courtesy offered by these rough Forest Runners, who now, for the first time in their reckless lives, I think, were aiiorded a glimpse of the forest Indian as he really is when at his ease and among friends. For it is not true that the Iroquois live perpetually in their paint; that they are cruel by nature, brutal, stern, and masters of silence; or that they stalk gloomily through life with hatchet ever loosened and no pursuit except war in their ferocious minds. White men who have mistreated them see them so; but the • Thank you. 124 THE LITTLE RED FOOT 125 real Iroquis, except the Senecas, who are different, are naturally a kindly, merry, and trustful people among themselves, not quar- relsome, not fierce, but like children, loving laughter and aU things gay and bright and mischievous. Their women, though sometimes broad in speech and jests, are more truly chaste in conduct than the women of any nation I ever heard of, except the Irish. They have their fixed and honourable places in clan, nation, and Federal affairs. Bank follows the female line; the son of a chief does not suc- ceed to the antlers, but any of his mother's relatives may. And in the Great Rite of the Iroquois, which is as sacred to them as is our religion to us, and couched in poetry as beautiful as ever Homer sang, the most moving part of the ceremony con- cerns the Iroquois women, — the women of the Six Nations of the Long House, respected, honoured, and beloved. We ate leisurely, feeling perfectly secure there in the starlight of the soft June night. The Iroquois war-trail ran at our elbows, trodden a foot deep, hard as a sheep path, and from eighteen inches to two feet in width — a clean, firm, unbroken trail through a primeval wilder- ness, running mile after mile, mile after mile, over mountains, through valleys, by lonely lakes, along lost rivers, to the dis- tant Canadas in the North. On this trail, above us, two of my men lay watching, as I have said, which was merely a customary precaution, for we were far out of earshot of the Big Eddy, and even of our own sentries. We were like one family eating together, and Silver and Luysnes jested and played pranks on each other, and de Golyer and Nick entered into gayest conversation with the Oneidas through their interpreter, the River-reed. As for Nick, I saw him making calf's eyes at the lithe young sorceress, which I perceived displeased her not at all; yet she gaily divided herself between translating for the others and keep- ing up a lively repartee with Nick. The Oneidas, now, had begun to shine up their war-hatchets, sitting cross-legged and contentedly rubbing up knife, axe, and rifle; and I was glad to see them so at home and so confident of our friendship. Oldor men might not have been so easily won, but these untried youmg warriors seemed very children, and possessing the lovable 126 THE LITTLE RED FOOT qualities of children, being alternately grave and gay, serious and laughing, frank and impatient, yet caressing in speech and gesture. From Zwiyeh, the Screech-owl, I had an account of how, burn- ing for glory, these four youngsters had stolen away from Oneida Lake, and, painting themselves, had gone North of their own ac- cord, to win fame for the Oneida nation, which for the greater part had espoused our cause. He told me that they had seen Sir John pass, floundering madly northward and dragging three brass cannon; but explained naively that four Oneidas considered it unsafe to give battle to two hundred white men. For a week, however, it appeared, they had hung on Sir John's flanks, skulking for a stray scalp; but it was evident that the Baronet's people were thoroughly frightened, and the heavy flank guards and the triple line of sentries by night made any hope of a stray scalp futile. Then, it appeared, these four Oneidas gave up the quest and struck out for the Iroquois trail. And suddenly came upon nearly two score Mohawks, silently passing southward, painted for war, oiled, shaved, and stripped, and evidently searching for Sir John, to aid and guide him in his flight to Canada. Which proved to me the Baronet's baseness, because his flight was plainly a premeditated one, and the Mohawks could not have known of it unless Sir John had been in constant communica- tion with Canada— a thing he had pledged his honour not to do. Others around me, now, were listening to the burly young Oneida's account of their first war-path; and presently their young sorceress took up the tale in English and in Oneida, ex- plaining with lively gestures to both red men and white. "Not one of the Mohawks saw us," she said scornfully, "and when they made a camp and had sent their hunters out to kiU game, we came so near that we could see their warriors curing and hooping the scalps they had taken and painting on every scalp the Little Red Foot * — even on the scalps of two little boys." Nick turned pale, but said nothing. A sickness came to my stomach and I spoke with difficulty. "What were these scalps, little sister, which you saw the Mo- hawks curing?" "White people's. Three were of men, — one very thin and gray; two were the glossy hair of women; and two the scalps of children " • To show that the late owner of the sca'p had died fighting bravely. THE LITTLE RED FOOT 127 She flung back her blanket with a peculiarly graceful gesture: "Be honoured, O white brothers, that these Mohawk dogs were forced to paint upon every scalp the Little Eed Foot!" After a silence: "Some poor settler's family," muttered Nick; and fell a-fiddling with his hatchet. "All died fighting," I added in a dull voice. Thiohero snapped her fingers and her dark eyes flamed. "What are the Mohawks, after all!" she said in a tense voice. "Who are they, to paint for war without fire-right given them at Onondaga? What do they amount to, these Keepers of the Eastern Gate, since Sir William died? "They have become outlaws and there is no honour among them! "Their clan-right is destroyed and neither Wolf, Bear, nor Tortoise know them any longer. Nor does any ensign of my own clan of the Heron know these mad yellow wolves that howl and tear the Long House with their teeth to destroy it ! Like carcajoux, they defile the Iroquois League and smother its fire in their filth! Dig up the ashes of Onondaga for any living ember, O you Oneidas! You shall find not one live spark! And this is what the Canienga have done to the Great Confederacy!" Tahioni said, looking straight ahead of him : "The Great League of the Iroquois is broken. Skenandoa has said it, and he has painted his face scarlet! The Long House crumbles slowly to its fall. "Those who should have guarded the Eastern Gate have broken it down. Death to the Canienga!" Kwiyeh lifted his right hand high in the starlight: "Death to the Canienga! They have defiled Thendara. Spen- cer has said it. They have spat upon the Eire at the Wood's Edge. They have hewn down the Great Tree. They have uncov- ered the war-axe which lay deep buried under the roots. "Death to the Canienga!" I turned to Thiohero: "O Eiver-reed, my little sister! Oyaneh! Is it true that your great chief, Skenandoa, has put on red paint?" She said calmly: "It is true, my brother. Skenandoa has painted himseK in red. And when your General Herkimer rides into battle, on his right hand rides Skenandoa; and on his left hand rides Thomas Spencer, the Oneida interpreter !" * Tahioni said solemnly: "And before them rides the Holder of Heaven. We Oneidas can not doubt it. Is it true, my sister?" The girl answered: "The Holder of Heaven has flung a red • This was a true prophecy for it happened later at Oriakany. 128 THE LITTLE RED FOOT •wampum belt between Oneida and Canienga! Five more red belts remain in his hand. They are so brightly red that even the Senecas can see the colour of these belts from the Western Gate of the Long House." There was a silence; then I chose De Luysnes and Kwiyeh to relieve our sentinels, and went north with them along the star- lit trail. When I returned with Hanoteh and Godfrey Shew, the Oneidas were still sitting up in their blankets, and the Frenchmen lay on theirs, listening to Nick, who had pulled his fife from his hunting shirt and was trilling the air of the Little Red Foot while Joe de Golyer sang the words of the endless and dreary ballad — old-time verses, concerning bloody deeds of the Shawa- nese. Western Lenape, and French in '56, when blood ran from every creek and man, woman and child went down to death fighting. I hated the words, but the song had ever haunted me with its quaint and sad refrain: "Lord Loudon he weareth a fine red coat. And red is his ladye's foot-mantelle; Red flyeth ye flagge from his pleasure-boat. And red is the wine he loves so well: But, oh! for the dead at Minden Town, — Naked and bloody and black with soot, Where the Lenni-Lenape and the French came down To paint them all with the Little Eed Foot!" "For God's sake, quit thy piping, Nick," said I, "and let us sleep while we may, for we move again at dawn." At which Nick obediently tucked away his fife, and de Golyer, who had a thin voice like a tree-cat, held his songful tongue; and presently we aU lay flat and rolled us in our blankets. The night was still, save for a love-sick panther somewhere on the mountain, a-caterwauling under the June stars. But the distant and melancholy love-song and the golden melody of the stream pouring through its bowlders blended not unpleasantly in my ears, and presently conspired to lull me into slumber. The movmtain peaks were red when I awoke and spoke aloud to rouse my people. One by one they sat up, owlish with sleep, yet soon clearing their eyes and minds with remembering the busi- ness that lay before us. THE LITTLE RED FOOT 129 I sent Joe de Golyer and Tahioni to relieve our sentinels, Luysnes and the Screech-owl. When these came in -with report that all was stiU as death on the Iroquois trail, we ate breakfast and dranlc at the river, where some among us also washed our bodies, — among others the Eiver-reed, who stripped unabashed, innocent of any shame, and cleansed herself knee-deep in a crystal green pool under the Indian willows. When she came back, the disk of blue paint was gone from her brow, and I saw her a-fishing in her beaded wallet and pres- ently bring forth blue and red paint and a trader's mirror about two inches in diameter. Then the little maid of Askalege sat down cross-legged and began to paint herself for battle. At the root of her hair, where it made a point above her fore- head, she painted a little crescent moon in blue. And touched no more her face; but on her belly she made a blue picture of a heron — her clan being the Heron, which is an ensign unknown among Iroquois. Now she took red paint, and upon her chest she made a tiny human foot. I was surprised, for neither for war nor for any ceremony I ever heard of had I seen that dread symbol on any Indian. The Oneidas, also, were looking at her in curiosity and aston- ishment, pausing in their own painting to discover what she was about. Then, as it struck me, so, apparently, it came to them at the same instant what their sorceress meant, — what pledge to friend and foe alike this tiny red foot embodied, shining above her breast. And the two young warriors who had painted the tor- toise in blue upon their bellies, now made eac>- a little red foot upon their chests. "By gar!" exclaimed Silver, "ees it onlee ze gens-du-bois who shall made a boast to die fighting? Nom de dieu, non!" And he unrolled his blanket and pulled out a packet of red cloth and thread and needle — which is like a Prenchro^n, who lacks for nothing, even in the wilderness. He made a pattern very deftly out of his cloth, using the keen point of his hunting knife; and, as we all, now, wished to sew a little red foot upon the breasts of our buckskin shirts, and as he had cloth enough for all, and for Joe de Golyer, too, when we should come up with him, I and my men were presently 130 THE LITTLE RED FOOT marked witli the dread device, whicli was our pledge and our defiance. The sun had painted scarlet the lower Adirondack peaks when we started north on the Sacandaga trail. When we came up with our sentinels, I gave Joe time to sew on his symbol, and the Oneida time to paint it upon his person. Then we examined flint and priming, tightened girth and cinc- ture, tested knife, hatchet, and the stoppers of our powder horns; and I went from one to another to inspect all, and to make my dispositions for the march to the Big Eddy on West Eiver. We marched in the following fashion: Tahioni and Nick as left flankers, two hundred yards in advance of us, and in sight of the trail. On the right flank, the Water-snake and Johnny Silver at the same intervals. Then, on the trail itself, I leading, Luysnes next, then the Eiver-reed. Then a hundred yards interval, and Joe de Golyer on the left rear, Kwiyeh on the right rear, and Godfrey on the trail. ■+■ t 1 Tahioni Nicl< Stoner 200 jis. 200 fib. Page from ipy came). John Silver The Water Snake --0 Joe De Golyer o-_ 150 yds. 200 yds. Myself B. De Luysnes Thiohero 200 yh. Godfrey Shew Kwiyeh Tsoytk. THE LITTLE RED FOOT 131 "And," I said, "if you catch a roving Tree-eater, slay him not, but bring him to me, for if there be any of these wild rovers, the Montagnais, in our vicinity, they should know something of what is now happening in the Canadas, and they shall tell us what they know, or I'm a Tory I Forward 1 Our alarm signal is the long call-note of the Canada sparrow I" CHAPTEE XV WEST EIVER THE Water-snake caugtt an Adirondack just before ten o'clock, and was holding him on the trail as I came up, fol- lowed by Luysnes and Thiohero. The Indian was a poor, starved-looking creature in ragged buckskins and long hair, from which a few wild-turkey quills fell to his scrawny neck. He wore no paint, had been armed with a trade-rifle, the hammer of which was badly loosened and mended with copper wire, and otherwise he carried arrows in a quiver and a greasy bow. Like a fierce, lean forest thing, made abject by fear, the Adirondack's sloe-black eyes now flickered at me, now avoided my gaze. I looked down at the rags which served him for a blanket, and on which lay his wretched arms, including knife and hatchet. "Let him loose," said I to the Water-snake; "here is no Mengwe but a poor brother, who sees us armed and in our paint and is afraid." And I went to the man and offered my hand. Which lie touched as though I were- a rattlesnake. "Brother," said I, "we white men and Oneidas have no quar- rel with any Saguenay that I know about. Our quarrel is with the Canienga, and that is the reason we wear paint on this trail. And we have stopped our Saguenay brother in the forest on liis lawful journey, to say to him, and to all Saguenays, that we mean them no harm." There was an absolute silence; Luysnes and Thiohero drew closer around the Tree-eater; the Water-snake gazed at his cap- tive in slight disgust, yet, I noticed, held his rifle in a position for instant use. The Saguenay's slitted eyes travelled from one to another, then he looked at me. "Brother," I said, "how many Maquas are there camped near the Big Eddy 2" 132 WEST RIVER 133 His low, thick voice answered in a dialect or lan^age I did not comprehend. "Can you speak Iroquois?" I demanded. He muttered something in his jargon. Thiohero touched my arm: "The Saguenay says he understands the Iroquois tongue, hut can speak it only with difficulty. He says that he is a hunter and not a warrior." "Ask him to answer me concerning the Maqua." A burst of volubility spurted from the prisoner. Again the girl translated the guttural reply : "He says he saw painted Mohawks fishing in the Big Eddy, and others watching the trail. He does not know how many, because he can not count above five nuctnbers. He says the Mohawks stoned him and mocked him, calling him Tree-eater and Wood- pecker; and they drove him away from the Big Eddy, saying that no Saguenay was at liberty to fish in Canienga territory until permitted by the Canienga; and that unless he started back to Canada, where he belonged, the Iroquois women would catch him and beat him with nettles." As Thiohero uttered the dread name, Canienga, I could see our captive shrink with the deep fear that the name inspired. And I think any Iroquois terrified him, for it seemed as though he dared not sustain the half-contemptuous, half-indifierent glances of my Oneidas, but his eyes shifted to mine in dumb appeal for refuge. 'What is my brother's name?" I asked. "TeUow Leaf," translated the girl. "His clan?" "The Hawk," she saia, shrugging her shoulders. "Nevertheless," said I, very quietly, "my Saguenay brother is a man, and not an animal to be mocked by the Maqua!" And I stooped and picked up his blanket and weapons, and gave them to him. "The Saguenays are free people," said I. "The Tellow Leaf is free as is his clan ensign, the Hawk. Brother, go in peace !" And I motioned my people forward. Our flankers, who, keeping stations, had waited, now started on again, the Water-snake running swiftly to his post on the extreme right flank. After ten minutes' silent and swift advance, Thiohero came lightly to my side on the trail. "Brother," she whispered, "was it well considered to let loose that Tree-eating rover in our rear ?" 134 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Would the Oneida take such a wretclied trophy as that poor hunter's tangled scalp?" "Neah. Yet, I ask again, was it wisdom to let him loose, who, for a mouthful of parched corn, might betray us to the Mengwe?" "Poor devil, he means no harm to anybody." "Then why does he shulk after us?" Startled, I turned and caught a glimpse of something slinking on the ridge between our flankers; but was instantly reassured because no living thing could dog us without discovery from the rear. And presently I did see the Screech-owl run forward and hurl a clod of moss into the thicket; and the Saguenay broke cover like a scared dog, running perdue so that he came close to Hanatoh, who flung a stick at him. That was too much for me; and, as the Tree-eater bolted past me, I seized him. "Come," said I, dragging him along, "what the devil do you want of us ? Did I not bid you go in peace ?" Thiohero caught him by the other arm, and he panted some jargon at her. "Kouel" she exclaimed, and her long, sweet whistle of the Canada sparrow instantly halted us in our tracks, flankers, rear- guard, and all. Thiohero, still holding the Saguenay by his lean, muscular arm, spoke sharply to him in his jargon; then, at his reply, looked up at me with the flaming eyes of a lynx. "Brother," said she, "this Montagnais hunter has given an account that the Maquas have prepared an ambuscade, knowing we are on the Great Trail." I said, coolly : "What reason does the Saguenay give for re- turning to us with such a tale?" "He says," she replied, "that we only, of all Iroquois or white men he has ever encountered, have treated him like a man and not as an unclean beast. "He says that my white brother has told him he is a man, and that if this is true he will act as real men act. "He says he desires to be painted upon the breast with a little red foot, and wishes to go into battle with us. And," she added naively, "to an Oneida this seems very strange that a Saguenay can be a real man!" "Paint him," said I, smiling at the Saguenay. But no Oneida wovJd touch him. So, while he stripped to the clout and began to oil himself from the flask of gun-oil I offered, I got from him, through Thiohero, all he had noticed of tha WEST RIVER 135 ambuscade prepared for us, and into which he himself had nm headlong in his flight from the stones and insults of the Mohawks at the Big Eddy. While he was thus oiling himself, Luysnes shaved his head with his hunting blade, leaving a lock to be' braided. Then, very quickly, I took blue paint from Thiohero and made on the fellow's chest a hawk. And, with red paint, under this I made a little red foot, then painted his fierce, thin features as the girl directed, moving a dainty finger hither and thither but never touching the Saguenay. To me she said disdainfully, in English: "My brother John, this is a wild wolf you take hunting with you, and not a hound. The Saguenays are real wolves and not to be tamed by white men or Iroquois. And like a lone wolf he will run away in battle. Tou shall see, brother John." "I hope not, little sister." "Tou shall see," she repeated, her pretty lip curling as Luysnes began to braid the man's scalp-lock. "You think him a warrior, now, because he is oiled and wears war paint and lock. But I tell you he is only a wild Montagnais hunter. Warriors are not made with a word." "Sometimes men are," said I pleasantly. The girl came closer to me, looked up into my face with un- feigned curiosity. "What manner of white man are you, John?" she asked. "For you speak like a preacher, yet you wear no skirt and cross, as do the priests of the Praying Indians." "Little sister," said I, taking both her hands, "I am only a young man going into battle for the first time; and I have yet to fire my first shot in anger. If my white and red brothers — and if you, little sister — do full duty this day, then we shall be happy, living or dead. Eor only those who do their best can look the Holder of Heaven in the face." She gave me a strange glance; our hands parted. I gave the Canada-sparrow call in the minor key — as often the bird whistles — and, at the signal, all my scouts came creeping in. "We cross West Eiver here," said I, "and go by the left bank in the same order of march, crossing the shoulder of the mountain by the Big Eddy, then fording the river once more, so as to take their ambuscade from the north and in the rear." They seemed to understand. The Montagnis, in his new paint, came around behind me like some savage dog that trusts only his owner. And I saw my Oneidas eyeing him as though of two 136 THE LITTLE RED FOOT minds wtether to ignore him or sink a hatchet into his narrow skull. "Who first sights a Mohawk," said I, "shall not fire or try to take a scalp to satisfy his own vanity and his desire for glory. No. He shall return to me and report what he sees. For it is my business to order the conduct of this battle. . . . March 1" We had forded West Eiver, crept over the mountain's shoulder, recrossed the river roaring between its rounded and giant bowl- ders, and now were creeping southward toward the Big Eddy. Already I saw ahead of me the brook that dashes into that great crystal-green pool, where, in happier days, I have angled for those huge trout that always lurk there. And now I caught a glimpse of the pool itself, spreading out be- tween forested shores. But the place was still as death; not a living thing nor any sign of one was to be seen there — not a trace of a fire, nor of any camp filth, nor a canoe, nor even a broken fern. Moment after moment, I studied the place, shore and slope and hollow. Tahioni, flat on his belly in the Great Trail, lay listening and looking up the slope, where our Saguenay had warned us Death lay waiting. The Water-snake slowly shook his head and cast a glance of fierce suspicion at the Montagnais, who lay beside me, grasping his sorry trade-rifle, his slitted gaze of a snake fixed on the forest depths ahead. Suddenly, Nick caught my arm in a nervous grasp, and "My Godl" says he, "what is that in the tree — in the great hemlock yonder ?" And now we began to see their sharpshooters as we crawled forward, standing upright on limbs amid the foliage of great evergreens, to scan the trail ahead and the forest aisles below — these Mohawk panthers that would slay from above. Under them, hidden close to the ground, lay their comrades on either side of the little ravine, through which the trail ran. We could not see them, but we never doubted they were there. Pour of their tree-cat scouts were visible: I made the sign; our rifles crashed out. And, thump! slap! thud! crash! down came their dead a-sprawling and bouncing on the dead leaves. And up rose their astounded comrades from every hollow, bush and windfall, only to drop flat at our rifles' crack, and no knowing if we had hit any among them. WEST RIVER 137 A veil of smoke lay low among the ferns in front of us. There was a terrible silence in the forest, then screech on screech rent the air, as the panther slogan rang out from our unseen foes; and, like a dreadful echo, my Oneidas hurled their war cry hack at them; and we all sprang to our feet and moved swiftly for- ward, crouching low in our own rifle smoke. There came a shot, and a cloud spread among the boughs of a tall hemlock; but the fellow left his tree and slid down on t'other side, like a squirrel, and my wild Saguenay was after him in a flash. I saw the Oneidas looking on as though stupefied; saw the Saguenay, shoulder deep in witch-hopple, seize something, heard the mad struggle, and ran forward with Tahioni, only to hear the yelping scalp-cry of the Montagnais, and see him in the tangle of witch-hopple, both knees on his victim's shoulders, ripping ofE the scalp, his arms and body spattered with blood. The stupefaction of the Oneidas lasted but a second, then their battle yell burst out in jealous fury indescribable. I saw Tahioni chasing a strange Indian through a little hollow full of ferns; saw Godfrey Shew raise his rifle and kill the fugitive as coolly as though he were a running buck. Nick, his shoulder against a beech tree, stood firing with great deliberation at something I could not see. The three Frenchmen, de Golyer, Luysnes, and Johnny, had gone around, as though deer driving, and were converging upon a little wooded knoll, from which a hard-wood hogback ran east Over this distant ridge, like shadows, I could see somebody's light feet running, checkered against the sunshine beyond, and I fired, judging a man's height, if stooping. And saw something dark fall and roll down into a gully full o' last year's damp and rotting leaves. Ee-charging my rifle, I strove to realize that I had slain, but could not, so fierce the flame in me was burning at the thought of the children's scalps these Iroquois had taken. "Is he down, Johnny Silver?" I bawled. "Fairly pauncEed!" shouted Luysnes. "Tell your Oneidas they can take his hair, for I shan't touch it." But Johnny Silver, in no wise averse, did that office very cheerfully. "Nom de Dieu I" he panted, tugging at the oiled lock and wrench- ing free the scalp; "I have one veree fine jou-jou, sacre garcel I take two ; mek for me one fine wallet !" Down by the river the rifles were cracking fast and a emoke 138 THE LITTLE BED FOOT mist filled the woods. Ranging widely eastward we had turned their left flank — now their right — and were forcing them to a choice between the Sacandaga trail southward or the bee-line back to Canada by the loft bank of West Eiver. How many there were of them I never have truly learned; but that scarcely matters to the bravest Indian, when ambuscaded and taken so completely by surprise from the rear. No Indians can stand that, and but few •^hite men are able to rally under such circumstances. The Screech-owl, locked in a death struggle with a young Mo- hawk, broke his arm, stabbed him, and took his scalp before I could run to his aid. And there on the ground lay four other scalps, two of white children, with the Little Red Foot painted on all. I looked down at the dead murderer. He was a handsome boy, not twenty, and wore a white mask of war paint and two bars of scarlet on his chin, I thought — then realized that they were two thick streaks of running blood. "May his clan bewail him I" shouted the burly Screech-owl "Let the Mohawk women mourn their dead who died this day at West River! The Oneida mock them I Koue!" And his terrific scalp-yell pierced the racket of the rifles. I heard a gruffling sound and thick breathing from behind a pine, where the Water-snake was scalping one of the tree-cat scouts — grunting and panting as he tugged at the tough and shaven skin, which he had grasped in his teeth, plying his knife at the same time because the circular incision had not been continuous. Suddenly I felt sick, and leaned against a tree, fighting nausea and a great dizziness. And was aware of an arm around my shoulder. Whereupon I straightened up and saw the little maid of Askalege beside me, looking at me very strangely. At the same instant I heard a great roaring and cursing and a crash among the river-side willows, and was horrified to se» Nick down on his back a-clawing and tearing and cuffing a Mohawk warrior, who was clinging to him and striving to uae his hatchet. We made but a dozen leaps of it, Thiohero and I, and were in a wasp-nest of Mohawks ere we knew it. I heard Nick roar again with pain and fury, but had my hands too full to succor him, for a wild beast painted yellow was chok- ing me and wrestling me off my feet, and little Thiohero was fighting like a demon with her knife, on the water's edge. WEST RIVER 133 The naked warrior I clutched -was so vilely oiled that my flugera slipped over him as though it were an eel I plucked at, and his foul and stinking breath in my face was like a full fed bear's. Then, as he strangled me, out of darkening eyes I saw his arm lifted — glimpsed the hatchet's sparkle — saw an arm seize his, saw a broad knife pass into his belly as though it had been butter — pass thrice, slowly, ripping upward so that he stood there, already gralloched, yet still breathing horribly and no bowels in him. . . . His falling hatchet clinked among the stones. Then he sank like a stricken bull, bellowed, and died. And, as he fell, I heard my Saguenay gabbling, "Brother I brother 1" in my ears, and felt his hand timidly seeking mine. Breath came back, and eyesight, too, in time to see Nick and his Mohawk enemy on their feet again, and the Indian strike my comrade with clubbed rifle, turn, and dart into the willows. My God, what a crack I And down went Nick, like a felled pine in the thicket. But now in my ears rang a distressful crying, like a gentle wild thing wounded to the death; and I saw two Mohawks had got the little maid of Askalege between them, and were drowning her in the Big Eddy. I ran out into the water, but Tahioni, her brother, came in a flying leap from the bank above me, and all four went down under water as I reached them. They came up blinded, staggering, one by one, and I got Thiohero by the hair, where she lay in shallow water, and dragged her ashore behind me. Then I saw her brother clear his eyes of water and swing his hatchet like swift lightning, and heard the smashing skull stroke. The other Mohawk dived like an otter between us, and I strove to spear him with my knife, but only slashed him and saw the long, thin string of blood follow where he swam under water. My powder-pan was wet and flashed when I tried to shoot him, where I stood shoulder deep in the Big Eddy. Then came a thrashing, splashing roar like a deer herd cross- ing a marshy creek, and, below us, I saw a dozen Mohawks leap into the water and thrash their way over. And not a rifle among us that was dry enough to take a toll of our enemies crossing the West Eiver plain in sight I Lord, what a day I And not fought as I had pictured battles. No! Eor it was blind combat, and neither managed as planned nor in any kind of order or discipline. Nor did we ever, as I have said, discover how many enemies were opposed to us. And 140 THE LITTLE EED FOOT I am certain they believed that a full regiment had struck their rear; otherwise, I think it had proven a very bloody business for me and my people. Because the Mohawks are brave war- riors, and only the volley at their backs and the stupefying down-crash of their tree-scouts demoralized them and left them capable only of fighting like cornered wild things in a maddened effort to get away. Lord, Lord! What a battle! For all were filthy with blood, and there were brains and hair and guts sticking to knives and hatchets, and bodies and limbs all smeared. Good God! Was this war? And the green flies already whirling around us in the sunshine, and settling on the faces of the dead! — The little maid of Askalege, leaning on her brother's shoulder, yraa coughing up water she had swallowed. Nick, with a bloody sconce, but no worse damage, sat upon a rock and washed out his clotted hair. "Hell!" quoth he, when he beheld me. "Here be I with a broken poll, and yonder goes the Indian who gave it me." "Sit still, idiot !" said I, and set the ranger's whistle to my lips. White and red, my men came running from their ferocious hunting. Not a man was missing, which was another lesson in war to me, for I thought always that death dealt hard with both sides, and I could not understand how so many guns could be fired with no corpse to mourn among us. We had taken ten scalps; and, as only Johnny Silver among my white people fancied such trophies, my Oneidas skinned the noddte of our quarry, and, like aE Indians, counted any scalp a glory, no matter whose knife or bullet dropped the game. We all bore scratches, and some among us were stifi, so that the scratch might, perhaps, be called a wound. A bullet had barked de Golyer, another had burned Tahioni; Silver proudly wore a knife wound; the Screech-owl had been beaten and some- what badly bitten. As for Nick, his head was cracked, and the little maid of Askalege still spewed water. As for me, my throat was so swollen and bruised I could scarce speak or swallow. However, there was work still to be done, so I took Godfrey and Luysnes, the Screech-owl, and the Water-snake; motioned Yellow Leaf, the Montagnais to follow, and set off across West Eiver, determined to drive our enemies so deep into the wilderness that they would never forget the Big Eddy as long as they survived on earth. CHAPTEE XVI A TROUBLED MIND THAT was a wild brant chase indeed! And although there were good trackers among us, the fleeing Canienga took to the mountain streams and travelled so, wading northward mile after mile, which very perfectly covered their tracks, and finally left us travelling in circles near Silver Lake. I now think St. Sacrament must have mirrored their canoes — God and they alone know the truth! — for I never heard of any other Mohawks, or any Englishmen at all, or Frenchmen for that matter, who ever have heard of this Mohawk war party coming south to meet and rescue Sir John.* Nor do our own records, except generally, mention our measures taken to stop the Sacandaga trail, or speak of the fight at the Big Eddy as a separate and distinct combat. It may be that this fight at the Big Eddy remained unnoticed because we sustained no losses. Also, we were losing our people all along the wilderness, from the ashes of Falmouth to the Ohio. I do not know. But my chiefest concern, then and later, was that the survivors among these Caniengas got clean away, which misfortune troubled my mind, although my Oneidas had a Dutch dozen of their scalps, all hooped and curing, when we limped into the Drowned Lands from our wild brant chase above. Now, my orders being to stop the Sacandaga Trail, there seemed no better way than to cut this same trail with a ditch and plant in it a chevaux-de-frise; and then so dispose my men that even a scout might remain in touch by signal and be pre- pared to fall back behind this barrier if Sir John crept upon our settlements by stealth. Fish House could provision us, or the Point, if necessary; and any scout of ours in the Drowned Lands ought to see smoke by day or fire by night from Maxon's nose to Mayfield. • Tears later, Thayendenegea made a reference to this attempt, bnt the Inference was that he himself led the war party, which la not true, because Brant was then in England. 141 142 THE LITTLE RED FOOT My scout of four and I passed in wearily between tlie rougt, low redoubts at Fish House, after sunset, and gave an account to Peter Wayland, tbe captain commanding tbe post, tbat tbe northward war-trail was now clean as far as Silver Lake, and that I proposed to block it and watch it above and below. Twilight was deepening when we came to John Howell's de- serted log-house on the Vlaie, and heard the owls very mournful in the tamarack forests eastward. A few rods farther on the hard ridge and one of my men challenged smartly. In thick darkness he led us over hard ground along the vast wastes of bushes and reeds, to where a new ditch had been dug down to the Vlaie Water. Thence he guided us through our chevaux-de-f rise ; and I saw my own people lying in the shadowy gleam of a watch-fire ; and an Oneida slowly moving around the smouldering coals, chanting the refrain of his first scalp-dance: SCALP SONG "Chiefs in your white plumes! When your Tall Cloud glooms. And we Oneidas wonder To hear your thunder — And the moon pales. And the Seven Dancers wear veils, Is it your rain that wails? Is it the noise of hail? Is it the rush of frightened deer That we Oneidas hear?" And the others chanted in sombre answer: "It is the weeping of the Mohawk Nation, Mourning amid their desolation, For the scalpless head Of each young warrior dead. A Voice from the Dark "It is the cry of their women, who bewail Their warriors dead, Not the eaat wind we hear! It is the noise of their women, who rail At those who fled, Not whistling hail we hear! It is the rush of feet that are afraid, Not the swift flight of deer!" A TROUBLED MIND 143 Another Voice "Let them flee, — the East Gate Keepers— Whose dead lie still as sleepers! Let the Canienga fly before our wrath. Scatter like chaff, When we Oneidas laugh! Kou6!" Tahioni "Holder of Heav^ And every Chief named in the Great Bite! Dancers Seven! And the Eight Thunders plumed in white I At dawn I was a young man, Who had seen no enemy die. But my foe was a deer who ran. And I struck; and let him lie." The Screech-owl Dances "The Mohawk Nation has fled. But my war-axe sticks in its head! Koufil" The Water-snake Dances "Let the Wild Goose keep to the skies t Where the Brant alights, he dies! Kou6!" Thiohero, their Prophetess "The Lodge poles crack in the East! The Long House falls. Who calls the Condolence Feast t Who calls?" She Dances Very Slowly "Who calls the EoU of the Dead? Who opens the door? The Fire in the West burns red. But our fire-place bums no morel Thendara — Thendara no morel" 144 THE LITTLE RED FOOT _ It -was plain to me that my Indians meant to make a night of it even those who, dog weary, had but now returned with me from the futile brant chase and sat eating their samp. The French trappers squatted in a row, smoking their pipes and looking on with that odd sympathy for any savage rite, which, 1 think, partly explains French success among all Indians. -birelight glimmered red on their weather-ravaged faces, on their gaudy fringes and moccasins. -Near them, lolling in the warm young grass, sprawled Nick and Godfrey. I sat down by them, my back against a log. My Saguenay crept to my side. I gave him to eat, and, for my own supper, ate slowly a handful of parched com, watching my young Oneidas around the fire, where they moved in their slow dance, smging and boasting of their first scalps taken. The Httle maid of Askalege came and seated herself close to me on my right. "I am weary," she murmured, letting her head fall back against the log. "Tell me," said I in English, "is there any reason why this Saguenay, who has proved himself a real man and no wolf, should not sing his own scalp-song among our Oneidas?" "Xone," she repeated. "The Yellow Leaf is a real man." "Tell him so." The girl turned her head and spoke to the Saguenay in his own gutturals. I also watched to see what effect such praise might have. For a few minutes he sat motionless and without any ex- pression upon his narrow visage, yet I knew he must be bursting with pride. "Tahioni!" I called out. "Here, also, is a real man who has taken scalps in battle. Shall not our brother. Yellow Leaf, of the Montagnais, sing his first scalp-song at an Oneida fire?" There was a pause, then every Oneida hatchet flashed high in the fire-light. "Kouel" they shouted. "We give fire light to our brother of the Montagnais, who is a real man and no wolf!" At that the Saguenay hunter, who, in a single day, had be- came a warrior, leaped lightly to his feet, and began to trot like a timber wolf around the fire, running hither and thither as an eager, wild thing runs when searching. Then he shouted something I did not understand; but Thiohero interpreted, watching him : "He looks in vain for the tracks of a poor Saguenay hunter, which once he was, but he can find only A TROUBLED MIND 145 the footprints of a proud Saguenay warrior, wliicli now he has become 1" Now, in dumb show, this fierce and homeless rover enacted all that had passed, — ^how he had encountered the Canienga, how they had mocked and stoned him, how we had captured him, proved kind to him, released him; how he had returned to warn us of ambuscade. He drew his war-axe and shouted his snarling battle-cry; and all the Oneidas became excited and answered like panthers on a dark mountain. Then Yellow Leaf began to dance an erratic, weird dance — and, somehow, I thought of dead leaves eddying in a raw wind as he whirled around the fire, singing his first scalp-song: "Who are the Yanyengi,* that a Saguenay should fear them? They are but Mowaks.t and Real men jeer them! I am a warrior; I wear the lock! I am brother to the People of the Hock! $ Eed 13 my hatchet; my knife is red; Woe to the Mengwe, who wail their dead! I wear the Little Eed Foot and the Hawk; Death to the Maquas who stone and mocki Kou6I Hal!" 'An Oneida "Hah! Hawasahaai ! Hah!" The Saguenay "Who are the Yanyengi, that Real men should obey theml We People of the Dawn were Born to slay them! I eat twigs in winter when there is no game; What does he eat, the Maqua? What means his name? To each of us a Little Red Foot! To each his clan! Let the Mengwe flee when they scent a Man! Koue! Hai!" • The Hnron for Canienga. t A Mohican term of insult, but generallj nsed to express contempt for the Canienga. t Oneida. 146 THE LITTLE RED FOOT And "Hah! Hawaaahsai!" chanted the Oneidas, trotting to and fro in the uncertain red light, while we white men sat, chin on fist, a-watching them; and the little sorceress of Askalege beat her palms softly together, timing the rhythm for lack of a drum. An hour passed : my Indians still danced and sang and bragged of deeds done and deeds to be accomplished; my young sorceress sat asleep, her head fallen back against me, her lips just parted. At her feet a toad, attracted by the insects which came into the fire-ring, jumped heavily from time to time and snapped them up. An intense silence brooded over that vast wilderness called the Drowned Lands; not a bittern croaked, not a wild duck stirred among the reeds. Very far away in the mist of the tamaracks I heard owls faintly halooing, and it is a melancholy sound which ever renders me uneasy. I was weary to the bones, yet did not desire sleep. A vague presentiment, like a mist on some young peak, seemed to possess my senses, making me feel as lonely as a mountain after the sun has set. I had never before suffered from solitude, unless missing the beloved dead means that. I missed them now, — parents who seemed ages long absent, — or was it I, their only son, who tarried here below too long, and beyond a reasonable time ? I was lonely. I looked at the scalps, all curing on their hoops, hanging in a row near th» fire. I glanced at Nick. He lay on his blanket, sleeping. . . . The head of the little Athabasca Sorceress lay heavy on my shoulder; she made no sound of breathing in her quiet sleep. Both her hands were doubled into childish fists, thumbs inside. Johnny Silver smoked and smoked, his keen, tireless eyes on the Scalp Dancers; Luysnes, also, blinked at them in the ruddy glare, his powerful hands clasping his knees; de Golyer was on guard. I caught Godfrey's eye, motioned him to relieve Joe, then dropped my head once more in sombre meditation, lonely, rest- less, weary, and unsatisfied. . . . And now, again, — as it had been for perhaps a longer period of time than I entirely comprehended, — ^I seemed to see darkly. A TROUBLED MIND 147 and mirrored against darkness, the face of the Scottish girl. . . . And her yellow hair and dark eyes; . . . and that little warning glimmer from which dawned that faint smile of hers. . . . That I was lonely for lack of her I never dreamed then. I was content to see her face grow vaguely; sweetly take shape from the darkness under my absent gaze; — content to evoke the silent phantom out of the stuff that ghosts are made of — those frail phantoms which haunt the secret recesses of men's minds. I was asleep when Nick touched ma Thiohero still slept against my shoulder; the Yellow Leaf and the Oneidas still danced and vaunted their prowess, and they had set a post in the soft earth near the shore, and had painted it red; and now all their hatchets were sticking in it, while they trotted tirelessly in their scalping dance, and carved the flame-shot darkness with naked knives. Wearily I rose, took my rifle, re-primed it, and stumbled away to take my turn on guard, relieving Nick, who, in turn, had re- placed Godfrey, whom I had sent after Joe de Golyer. Th^ had dug our ditch so well that the Vlaie water filled it, making, with the pointed staves, an excellent abattis against any who came by stealth along the Sacandaga trail. Behind this I walked my post, watching the eastern stars, which seemed paler, yet stiU remained clearly twinkling. And no birds had yet awakened, though the owls had become quiet in the tamaracks, and neither insect nor frog now chanted their endless runes of night. Shouldering my rifle, I walked to and fro, listening, scanning the darkness ahead. . . . And, presently, not lonely; for a slim phantom kept silent pace with me as I walked my post — so near, at times, that my nostrils seemed sweet with the scent of apple bloom. . . . And I felt her breath against my cheek and heard her low whisper. Which presently became louder among the reeds — a little breeze which stirs before dawn and makes a thin ripple around each (lender stem. Tahioni came to relieve me, grave, not seeming fatigued, and, in his eyes, the shining fire of triumph still unquenched. I went back to the fire and lay down on my blanket, where now all were asleep save my Saguenay. When he saw me he came and squatted at my feet. 148 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Sleep you, also, brother," said I. "Day dawns and the sunset is far away." But the last time I looked before I slept I saw him still squat- ting at my feet like a fierce, lean dog, and staring straight before liim. And I remember that the fresh, joyous chorus of waking birds was like the loud singing of spirit-children. And to the sweet sound of that blessed choir I surrendered mind and body, and so was borne on wings of song into the halls of slumber-land. The sun was high when our sentinel hailed a detail from Fish House, bringing us a sheep, three sacks of com, and a keg of fresh milk. I had bathed me in the Vlaie Water, had eaten soupaan, turned over my command to Nick, and now was ready to report in person to the Commandant at Summer House Point. My Saguenay had slain a gorgeous wood-duck with his ar- rows; and now, brave in fresh paint and brilliant plumage, he sat awaiting me in the patched canoe which had belonged, no doubt, to John Howell. I went down among the pinxter bushes and tall reeds to the shore; and so we paddled away on the cahn, deep current which makes a hundred snake-like curls and bends to every mile, so that the mile itself becomes doubled, — ^nay, tripled! — ere one attains his destination. It was strange how I was not yet rid of that vague sense of impending trouble, nor could account for the foreboding in any manner, being full of health and now rested. lly mind, occupied by my report, which I was now reading where I had written it in my carnet, nevertheless seemed crowded vjith other thoughts, — ^how we would seem each to the other when we met again, — ^Penelope Grant and I. And if she would seem to take a pleasure in my return . . . perhaps say as much . smile, perhaps. . . . And we might walk a little on the new grass under the apple bloom. . . . A troubled mind! And knew not the why and wherefore of its own restlessness and apprehension. For the sky was softly blue, and the water, too; and a gentle wind aided our paddles, which pierced the stream so silently that scarce a diamond-drop fell from the sunlit blades. I could see the Summer House, and a striped jack flying in the sun. The green and white lodge seemed very near across the marshes, yet it was some little time before I first smelled A TROUBLED MIND 149 the smoke of camp fires, and then saw it rising above the bushes. Presently a Continental on guard hailed our canoe. We landed. A corporal came, then a sergeant, — one Caspar Quant, whom I knew, — and so we were passed on, my Indian and I, until the gate-guard at the Point halted us and an officer came from the roadside, — one Captain Van Pelt, whom I knew in Albany. Saluted, and the officer's salute rendered, he became curious to see the fresh scalps flapping at my Saguenay's girdle, and the new war-paint and the oil smelling rank in the sweet air. But I told him nothing, asking only for the Commandant, who, he gave account, was a certain Major Westfall, lodging at the Summer House, and lately transferred from the Massachusetts Line, along with other Yankee officers — ^why? — God and Massa- chusetts knew, perhaps. So I passed the gate and walked toward the lodge. Sir John's blooded cattle were grazing ahead, and I saw Flora at the well, and Colas busy among beds of garden flowers, spading and weeding under the south porch. And I saw something else that halted me. For, seated upon a low limb of an apple tree, her two little feet hanging down, and garbed in pink-flowered chintz and snowy fichu, I beheld Penelope Grant, a-knitting. And by all the pagan gods! — there in a ring around her strolled and loUed a dozen Continental officers in buff and blue and gold ! There was no reason why, but the scene chilled me. One o' these dandies had her ball of wool, and was a-winding of it as he sat cross-legged on the turf, a silly, happy look on his beardless face. Another was busy writing on a large sheet of paper, — ^verses, no doubt! — ^for he seemed vastly pleased with his progress, and I ■ saw her look at him shyly under her dark lashes, and could have slain him for the smirk he rendered. Also, it did not please me that her petticoat was short and revealed her ankles and slim feet in silver-buckled shoon. I was near; I could hear their voices, their light laughter; and, rarely, her voice in reply to some pointed gallantry or jest. None had perceived me advancing among the trees, nor now noticed me where I was halted there in the checkered sunshine. But, as I stirred and moved forward, the girl turned her head, caught a glimpse of me and my painted Indian, stared in silence, then slid from her perch and stood up on the grass, her needles motioDless. 150 THE LITTLE RED FOOT All the young popinjays got to their feet, and all stared as I offered them the salute of rank; but all rendered it politely. "Lieutenant of Rangers Drogue to report to Major Westfall," said I bluntly, in reply to a Continental Captain's inquiry. "Yonder, sir, on the porch with Lady Johnson," said he. I bared my head, then, and walked to Penelope. She curtsied: I bent to her hand. "Are you well, my lord?" she asked in a colourless voice, which chilled me again for its seeming lack of warmth. "And you, Penelope?" "I am well, I thank you." "I am happy to learn so." That was all. I bowed again. She curtsied. I replaced my mole-skin cap, saluted the popinjays, and marched forward. My Indian stalked at my heels. God knew why, but mine had become a trouble mind that sunny morning. CHAPTER XVn DEEPER TROUBLE I HAD been welcomed like a brother by Polly Johnson. Claudia, too, made a little fete of my return, unscathed from my first war-trail. And after I had completed my report to the Continental Major, who proved complacent to the verge of flattery, I was free to spend the day at the Summer House — or, rather, I was at liberty to remain as long a time as it took a well-mounted express to ride to Johnstown with my report and return with further orders from Colonel Dayton for me and my small command. A Continental battalion still garrisoned the Point; their of- ficers as I had been forced to notice in the orchard, were received decently by Lady Johnson. And, at that crisis in her career, I think I admired Polly Johnson as entirely as I ever had admired any woman I ever knew. Por she was still only a child, and had been petted and spoiled always by flattery and attentions: and she was not very well — her delicate condition having now become touchingly apparent. She was all alone, — save for Claudia, — among the soldiery of a new and hostile nation; she was a fugitive from her own manor; and she must have been constantly a prey to the most poignant anxieties concerning her husband, whom she loved, — whatever were his fishy sentiments regarding her! — and who, she knew, was now somewhere in the Northern and trackless wilderness and fighting nature herself for his very life. Her handsome and beloved brother, also, was roaming the woods, somewhere, with Walter Butler and McDonald and a bloody horde of Iroquois in their paint, — and, worse still, a horde of painted white men, brutes in man's guise and Mohawk war-paint and feathers, who already were known by the terri- fying name of Blue-eyed Indians. Yet this young girl, having resolved to face conditions with courage and composure, after her first bitter and natural out- burst, never whimpered, never faltered. 151 152 THE LITTLE RED FOOT Enemy officers, if gentlemen, she received witli quiet, dignified civility, and no mention of politics or war was suffered to embar- rass anybody at her table. All, I noticed, paid lier a deference both protective and tender, which, in gentlemen, is instinctive when a woman is in so delicate a condition and in straits so melancholy. Claudia, however, I soon perceived, had been nothing tamed, and even less daunted by the errant arrows of adversity; for her bright eyes were ever on duty, and had plainly made a havoc of the Continental Major's heart, to judge by his sheep's eyes and clumsy assiduities. For when he left the veranda and went away noisily in his big spurs, she whispered me that he had already ofEered himself thrice, and that she meant to make it a round half-dozen ere he received his final quietus. "A widower," quoth she, "and bald; and with seven hungry children in Boston I Oh, Lord. Am I come to that? Only that it passes time to play with men, I'd not trouble to glance askance at your Yankee gentlemen. Jack Drogue." "Some among them have not yet glanced askance at you," re- marked Lady Johnson, placid above her sewing. "Do you mean those suckling babes in the orchard yonder? Oh, la! When the Major leaves, I shall choose the likeliest among 'em to amuse me. Not that I would cross Penelope," she added gaily, "or flout her. No. But these boys perplex her. They are too ardent, and she too kind." "What!" I exclaimed, feeling my face turn hot. "Why, it is true enough," remarked Lady Johnson. "Yonder child has no experience, and is too tender at heart to resent a gallantry over-bold. Which is why I keep my eye upon these yoimgsters that they make not a fool of a girl who is easily confused by flattery, and who remains silent when dusk and the fleeting moment oifer opportunities to impudent young men, which they seldom fail to embrace." "And seldom fail to embrace the lady, also," added Claudia, laughing. "You were diilerent. Jack." "I saw that ensign, Dudley, kiss her behind the lilacs," added Lady Johnson, "and the girl seemed dumb, and never even up- braided the little beast. Had she complained to me I should have made him certain observations, but could not while she herself remained mute. Because I do not choose to have amybody think I go about eavesdropping." "Pendc^e Grant appears to find their company agreeable," DEEPER TROUBLE 153 said I, in a voice not like my own, but a dry and sullen voice such as I never before heard issue out o' my own mouth. "Penelope likes men," observed Lady Johnson, sewing steadily upon her baby's garments of fine linen. "Penelope is not too averse to a stolen kiss, I fear," said Claudia, smiling. "Lord! Nor is any pretty woman, if only she admit the truth ! No I However, there is a certain shock in a kiss which silences maiden inexperience and sadly confuses the unaccustomed. Wait till the girl gains confidence to box some impertinent's ear!" I knew not why, yet never, I think, had any news sounded in my ears so distastefully as the news I now had of this girl, I remembered Nick's comment, — "Like flies around a sap-pan." And it added nothing to my pleasure or content of mind to turn and gaze upon that disquieting scene in the orchard yonder. For here, it seemed, was another Claudia in the making, — still unlearned in woman's wiles; not yet equipped for those subtle coquetries and polished cruelties which destroy, yet naturally and innocently an enchantress of men. And some day to be conscious of her power, and certain to employ it ! Flora came, wearing a blue and orange bandanna, and the great gold hoops in her ears glittering in the sun. Each day, now, it appeared. Lady Johnson retired for an hour's repose whilst Claudia read to her; and that hour had arrived. "Tou dine with us, of course," said Lady Johnson, going, and looking at me earnestly. Then there was a sudden flash of tears; but none fell. "My dear, dear Jack," she murmured, as I laid my lips against both her hands. . . . And so she went into the house, Claudia lingering, having shamelessly pressed my hand, and a devil laughing at me out of her two eyes. "Is there news of Sir John to comfort us?" she whispered, making a caress of her voice as she knew so well how to do. "And if I have any, I may not tell you, Claudia," said I. "Oh, la! Aid and comfort to the enemy? Is it that. Jack? And if you but wink me news that Sir John is safe?" "I may not even wink," said I, smiling forlornly. "Aye? So! That's it, is it! A wink from you at me, and pouf! — a courtmartial I Bang! A squad of execution! Is that it. Jack?" "I should deserve it." 154 THE LITTLE EED FOOT "Lord! If men really got their deserts, procreation -would cease, and the world, depopulated, revert to the forest beasts. Well, then — so Sir John is got away?" "I did not say so." "You wear upon your honest countenance all the news you contain, dear Jack," said she gaily. "It was always so; any woman may read you like a printed page — if she trouble to do it. . . . And sol Sir John is safe at last! Well, thank God for that. . - . You may kiss my cheek if you ask me." She drew too near me, but I had no mind for more trouble than now possessed me, so let her pretty hand lie lightly on my arm, and endured the melting danger of her gaze. She said, while the smile died on her lips, "I jest with you. Jack. But you are dear to me." "Dear as any trophy," said I. "No woman ever willingly iet3 any victim entirely escape." "You do not guess what you could do with me — if you would," she said. "No. But I guess what you could do to me, again, if you had an opportunity." "Jackl" she sighed, looking up at me. But the gentle protest alarmed me. And she was too near me; and the fresh scent of her hair and skin were troubling me. And, more than that, there persisted a dull soreness in my breast, — something that had hurt me unperceived — an unease which was not pain, yet, at times, seemed to start a faint, sick throbbing like a wound. Perhaps I assumed that it came from some old memory of her unkindness; I do not remember now, only that I seemed to have no mind to stir up dying embers. And so, looked at her without any belief in my gaze. There was a silence, then a bright flush stained her face, and she laughed, but as though unnerved, and drew her hand from my arm. "If you think all the peril between us twain is yours alone. Jack Drogue," she said, "you are a very dolt. And I think you ore one!" And turned her back and walked swiftly into the house. I took my rifle from where it stood against a ver«.nda post, settled my war-belt, with its sheathed knife and natchet, re- adjusted powder-horn and bullet pouch, and, picking up my cap of silver moleskin, went out into the orchard. Behind me padded my Saguenay in his new paint, his hooped DEEPER TROUBLE 155 scalps swinging from liis cincture, and the old trade-rifle covered carefully by his blanket, except the battered muzzle which stuck out. I walked leisurely; my heart was unsteady, my mind confused, my features, unless perhaps expressionless, were very likely grim. I went straight to the group around the twisted apple-tree, where Penelope sat knitting, and politely made myself a part of that same group, giving courteous notice by my attitude and presence, that I, also, had a right to be there as well as they. All were monstrous civil; some offered snufE; some a pipe and pouch; and a friendly captain man engaged me in conversa- tion — gossip of Johnstown and the Valley — so that, without any awkwardness, the gay and general chatter around the girl suf- fered but a moment's pause. The young officer who had writ verses, now read them aloud amid lively approbation and some sly jesting: IN PRAISE "Flavilla's hair, Beyond compare, Like sunshine brightens all the eartk! Old Sol, beware! She cheats you, there. And robs your rays of all their worth I "Impotent blaze! I shall not praise Your brazen ways. Nor dare compare Your flaming gaze To those sweet rays Which play aroimd Flavilla's hair. "For lo, behold! No sunshine bold Can hope to gild or make more fair The living gold. Where, fold on fold. In glory shines Flavilla's hair!" There was a merry tumult of praise for the poet, and some rallied him, but he seemed complacent enough, and Penelope looked shyly at him over lagging needles, — a smile her acknowledg- ment and thanks. 156 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Sir," says a cornet of horse, in helmet and jack-boots — ^though I perceived none of his company about, and wondered where he came from, — "will you consent to entertain our merry Council with some account of the scout which, from your appearance, sir, I guess you have but recently accomplished." To this stilted and somewhat pompous speech I inclined my head with civility, but replied that I did not yet feel at liberty to discuss any journey I may have accomplished until my com- manding officer gave me permission. Which mild rebuke turned young Jack-boots red, and raised a titter. An oiEcer said: "The dry blood on your hunting shirt, sir, and the somewhat amazing appearance of your tame Indian, who squats yonder, devouring the back of your head with his eyes, must plead excuse for our natural curiosity. Also, we have not yet smelled powder, and it is plain that you have had your nostrils full." I laughed, feeling no mirth, however, but sensible of my dull pain and my restlessness. "Sir," said I, "if I have smelled gun-powder, I shall know that same perfume again; and if I have not yet snified it, neverthe- less I shall know it when I come to scent it. So, gentlemen, I can not see that you are any worse ofE in experience than I." A subaltern, smiling, ventured to ask me what kind of Indian was that who esquired me. "Of Algonquin stock," said I, "but speaks an odd lingo, partly Huron-Iroquois, partly the Loup tongue, I think. He is a Saguenay." "One of those fierce wanderers of the mountains," nodded an older officer. "I thought they were not to be tamed." "I owned a tame tree-cat once," remarked another officer. My friend. Jack-boots, now pulls out a bull's-eye watch with two fobs, and tells the time with a sort of sulky satisfaction. Por many of the company arose, and made their several and gal- lant adieux to Penelope, who suffered their salute on one little hand, while she held yarn and needles in t'other. But when half the plague of suitors and gallants had taken themselves off to their several duties, there remained still too many to suit young Jack-boots. Too many to suit me, either ; and scarce knowing what I did or why, I moved forward to the tree where she was seated on a low swinging limb. "Penelope," said I, "it is long since I have seen you. And if these gentlemen will understand and pardon the desire of an DEEPER TROUBLE 157' old friend to speak privately with you, and if you, also, are so inclined, give me a little time witli you alone before I leave." "Tes," slie said, "I am so inclined — if it seem agreeable to all." I am sure it was not, but they conducted civilly enough, save young Jack-boots, who got redder than ever ai;d spoke not a word with his bow, but clanked away pouting. And there were also two militia officers, wrapped in great watch cloaks over their Canajoharie regimentals, and who took their leave in silence. One wore boots, the other black spatter-dashes that came above the knee in French fashion, and were fastened imder it, too, with leather straps. Their faces were averted when they passed me, yet something about them both seemed vaguely familiar to me. No wonder, either, for I should know, by sight at least, many officers in our Tryon militia. Whether they were careless, or unmannerly by reason of taking offense at what I had done, I could not guess. I looked after them, puzzled, almost sure I had seen them both before; but where I could not recollect, nor what their names might be. "Shall we stroll, Penelope?" I said. "If it please you, sir." Sir William had cut the alders all around the point, and a pretty lawn of English grass spread down to the water north and west, and pleasant shade trees grew there. While she rolled her knitting and placed it in her silken reti- cule, I, glancing around, noticed that all the apple bloom had fallen, and the tiny green fruit-buds dotted every twig. Then, as she was ready, and stood prettily awaiting me in her pink chintz gown, and her kerchief and buckled shoon, I gave her my hand and we walked slowly across the grass and down to the water. Here was a great silvery iron-wood tree a-growing and spread- ing pleasant shade; and here we sat us down. But now that I had got this maid Penelope away from the pest of suitors, it came suddenly to me that my pretenses were false, and I really had nothing to say to her which might not be discussed in company with others. This knowledge presently embarrassed me to the point of feeling my face grow hot But when I ventured to glance at her she smiled. "Have you been in battle?" she asked. 158 THE LITTLE RED FOOT "Yes." After a silence: "I am most happy that you returned in safety." "Did you ever — ever think of me?" I asked. "Why, yes," she replied in surprise. "I thought," said I, "that being occupied — and so greatly sought after by so many gallants — that you might easily have forgotten me." She laughed and plucked a grass-blade. "I did not forget you," she said. "That is amazing," said I, " — a maid so run after and so courted." She plucked another blade of grass, and so sat, pulling at the tender verdure, her head bent so that I could not see what her eyes were thinking, but her lips seemed graver. "Well," said I, "is there news of Mr. Fonda?" "None, sir." "Tell me," said I, smiling, "why, when I speak, do you answer ever with a 'sir' ?" At that she looked up: "Are you not Lord Stormont, Mr. Drogue?" she asked innocently. "Why, no! That is, nobody believes it any more than did the Lords in their House so many years ago. Is that why you sometimes say "my lord,' and sometimes call me 'sir ?' " "But you still are the Laird of Northesk." "Lord 1" said I, laughing. "Is it that Scottish title bothers you ? Pay it no attention and call me John Drogue — or John. ... Or Jack, if you wiU. . . . Will you do so?" "If it — pleases you." She was still busy with the grass, and I watched her, waiting to see her dark eyes lift again — and see that little tremor of her lips which presaged the dawning smile. It dawned, presently; and all the unrest left my breast — all that heavy dullness which seemed like the flitting shadow of a pain. "Tell me," said I, "are you happy?" "I am contented. I love my Mistress Swift. I love and pity Lady Johnson. . . . Yes, I am happy." "I know they both love you," said I. "So you should be happy here. . . . And admired as you are by all men. . . ." Again she laughed in her enchanting little way, and bent her bright head. And, presently: "John Drogue?" "I hear you, Penelope." DEEPER TROUBLE 159 "Do you wish ■warm woolen stockings for your men?" "Why— yes." "I sent to Caydutta Lodge for the garments. They are in the house. Tou shall choose for yourself and your men before the Continentals take their share." I -was touched, and thanked her. And now, it being near the noon hour, we walked together to the house. The partition which Sir John had made for a gun-room, and which now served to enclose Penelope's chamber, was all hung with stout woolen stockings of her own knitting; and others lay on her trundle-bed. So I admired and handled and praised these sober fruits of her diligence and foresight, and we corded up some dozen pair for my white people; and I stuffed them into my soldier's leather sack. Then I took her hands and said my thanks; and she looked at me and answered, "You are welcome, John Drogue." I do not know what possessed me to put my arm around her. She flushed deeply. I kissed her; and it went to my head. The girl was dumb and scarlet, not resisting, nor defending her lips; but there came a clatter of china dishes, and I released her as Flora and Colas appeared from below, with dinner smoking, and clattering platters. And presently Lady Johnson's door opened, and she stepped out in her silk levete, followed by Claudia. "I invited no one else," said Lady Johnson, " — if that suits you. Jack." I protested that it suited me, and that I desired to spend my few hours from duty with them alone. As we were seated, I ventured a side glance at Penelope and perceived that she seemed nothing ruffled, though her colour was still high. For she gave me that faint, enchanting smile that now began to send a thrill through me, and she answered without confusion any remarks addressed to her. Remembering my Indian outside, I told Flora, and Colas took food to him on the veranda. And so we spent a very happy hour there — three old friends together once more, and a young girl stranger whom we loved already. And I did not know in what degree I loved her, but that I did love her now seemed somewhat clear to my confused senses and excited mind, — though to love, I knew, was one thing, and to be in love was still another. Or so it seemed to me. My animation was presently noticed by Claudia; and she rested her eyes on me. For I talked much and laughed more, 160 THE LITTLE RED FOOT and challenged ter gay conceits witli a wit whicli seemed to me not wliolly contemptible. "One might tliink you had been drinking of good newa," quoth she; "so pray you share the draught. Jack, for we have none of our own to quench our thirst." "Unless none be good news, as they say," said Lady Johnson, wistfully. "News!" said I. "Nennil But the sun shines, Claudia, and life is young, and 'tis a pretty world we live in after all." "If you admire a marsh," says she, "there's a world o' mud and rushes to admire out yonder." "Or if you admire a cabinful o' lonely ladies," added Lady Johnson, "you may gaze your fiU upon us." "I should never be done or have my fill of beauty if I sat here a thousand years, Polly," said I. "A thousand years and a dead fish outshines our beauty,'' smiled Lady Johnson. "If you truly admire our beauty. Jack, best prove it now." "To which of us the Golden Apple?" inquired Claudia, offering one of the winter russets which had been picked at the Point. "Ho !" said I, "you think to perplex and frighten me ? Non, p