HERBERT STRANG
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Donated by the
Grand Rapwls Publrc Lrbrary
The May G Qmgley
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of Chrldren s Llterature
December 2001
The Umverslty of Mlchlgan Dearborn
Mardlglan Llbrary
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ROB THE RANGER








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ROB THE RANGER
A STORT OF THE FIGHT FOR CANADA
By
HERBERT STRANG
Author of
Jack Hardy, In Clive's Command
On the Trail of the Arabs
Fighting on the Congo
WITH ILLUSTRATIO NS BY
W. H. MARGETSON
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS


COPYRIGHT 1907
Tm: BOBBS-MERRILL Counmv
OCTOBER
ROBERT DRUMMOND COMPANY, PRINTERS, NEW YORK
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CONTENTS
cumvrzn
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
Ron AND Hrs Fnnmns . .
BELEAGUERED . . . .
Rnnwmds RACE Acmnsr Tun: .
TH: FIGHT oN “rm: Mouun .
A RAID FROM THE Norm .
ON ‘nu: TRAIL . . . .
FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS .
Tm: Goncn or ‘rm: Oswzsxrcanz
Ron Rzscvas AN ENEMY . .
Ar FRONTENAC . . .
A Nxcrrr RAID . . . .
L1: Lom>'s LANDLORD . .
A FACE /vr nu: Wnmow . .
Tm: CLOCK oN THE STAIRS .
REDWING'S WINTER QUARTERIS .
Tm: ST. LOUIS GATE . . .
Foncnn Lonzs . .
A Rumzmc FIGHT . . .
BACK To Covnn . . . .
T1-m Lo6 HUT . . . . .
A PARLEY . . . . .
Lomz PETE . . . . .
Romans‘ Rzmcxns . . . .
TICONDEROGA . . . .
T1-uz HEIGHTS OF Anxnmm .
REUNITED . . . . .
TIME’S Rzvzuczs . .
PAGI
1
9
21
32
44
58
74
9°
107
1 18
137
I46
16:
176
193
207
224
235
252
264
276
291
302
313
331
345
355





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
Rob threw himself forward, caught the uplifted arm . Frontiapiece
See page 1 1 I
He caught him beneath the arms and pushed forward more
rapidly . . . . . . . .
A slim figure bounded into the circle . . \ . .
The leader made of? among the trees, calling upon his com-
rades to follow . . . . . .
He vaulted through the unglazed space into the room .
"I call upon you to surrender” . . . .
He was just in time to catch the form of Lord Howe .
“Monsieur le Chirurgien," she began . . . .
I2
62
'44
226
282
322
356





ROB THE RANGER





ROB THE RANGER
CHAPTER I
ROB AND ms FRIENDS
Somewhere about noon, on a hot August day in the
year 1757, a party of three was seated on a small
pebbly beach at the bend of a little rivulet flowing from
a spur of the Alleghanies into the Hudson River. It was
a spot that, serving them now for shade, might have
served equally well for concealment. Two huge elms
spread leafy arms over the little bay, itself not a dozen
yards across, and all around stretched the mighty forest,
which, a hundred and fifty years ago, extended almost
unbroken from the Hudson to the Ohio and the Missouri.
The stream rippled musically over the pebbles, shining
white in the sunlight: but the sward at the edge was
shaded by the canopy of foliage, and there the three men
lazily reposed.
They had just finished a meal, washed down by the
limpid water of the brook. One sat up, his hands clasped
about his knees; the other two lay on their backs, resting
their heads on their hands and gazing up into the mass
of green. Now and again one would address the other
in low tones, but their conversation was disjointed and
1


ROB THE RANGER
fitful, and it never included the sitting man, who re-
mained silent, motionless, like a figure of wood.
“Seems to me,” said the elder at length, “we might
just as well lie snug to-night and fetch Edward in the
morning.”
There was the hint of a question in the remark, but
his companion merely grunted. The speaker, it was
clear, was not so much asking for an opinion as avoiding
the appearance of discourtesy. They lay in the easy
attitude of men who have traveled far and are accus-
tomed to make the most of casual opportunities of repose.
Side by side they presented a strange contrast. The
elder man was thin, wiry, somewhat undersized, clad in
a garb half Indian, half backwoods——-a fringed frock of
buckskin, scarlet leggings, and beaded moccasins. His
face was almost hidden by a thick and ragged growth of
black hair streaked with gray; shaggy eyebrows formed
dark arches above his blue eyes. He might have been
any age from forty to fifty-five. His companion was
much younger—a thin, tall youth of perhaps seventeen,
his clean-cut, hairless face bronzed by sun and wind,
alive with the alert and self-reliant look that comes to
those who have dwelt much in the backwoods, trusting
to the protection of a quick eye and a ready hand.
Different as these two were, the third member of the
party differed still more markedly from either. His skin
was red with the redness of nature; his high cheek-bones,
arched nose, and black scalp-tuft decorated with plumes
proclaimed him an Indian. About his loins a half-yard
of broadcloth was fastened by a girdle; his legs from
the knee down were covered with tight leggings of leather
ornamented with embroidery and porcupine quills curi-
ously colored; on his feet he wore moccasins of undressed
buffalo hide. A hunting-knife was stuck into his girdle,
a bullet-pouch hung from his waist, and heavy ornaments
2


ROB THE RANGER
we couldn’t get through ‘em. Ain’t that the common
sense of it ?”
“I don’t know about common sense. Dad’s in Wil-
liam Henry: and if there’s fighting I ought to be there,
too. Risk or no risk, I ought to get in if it’s at all pos-
sible. Can it be done, Pete ?”
“That’s accordin’. I’ve knowed the country all my
life; the redskin or Frencher as could keep me out would
have to ha’ bin born very early in the mornin’. And
Redwing, too; he knows his way about. Me by myself,
him by himself, course we could. But three together-
no, it ain’t common sense to think we could do it arm
in arm, so to say; and you by yourself--”
“Oh, come now, Pete, you’ve often told me I’m a pretty
good backwoodsman—thanks to you and Redwing. Why
shouldn’t you and I chance it? If we must part, Red-
wing can make his way to Edward and then back to his
village.”
Hitherto the Indian, without relaxing his attitude of
attention, had listened in stolid silence to the whispered
conversation. Now he interposed.
“Where my brother goes, I go,” he said. “That was
my brother’s word; will he break it ?”
“He’s right, Pete. We arranged to stick together,
before we started. I’m not going back on it.”
“Jest like a pig; pull his tail and he goes for’ard!
Wal, two’s company and three’s fun, as Caleb Blodget
used to say, and if you will—but I warn you thar’s no
common sense in it.”
While this conversation was proceeding, the travelers
had been packing into their wallets the remnants of their
meal and the tin cans from which they had drunk. This
done, they obliterated all traces of their sojourn, and
resumed their journey. Pete led the way; the others
followed him in single file, Redwing bringing up the rear.
4


ROB AND HIS FRIENDS
A spectator, had any been present, could not have
witnessed their march without admiration. He might
also have been surprised at the change in the mien and
bearing of the men. The laxness of their siesta had
given place to a keen alertness which nothing could es-
cape. Bending forward, they trod so lightly on their
moccasined feet that no sound betrayed their movements.
As they cut into the undergrowth, and then into the
thick woods, they avoided unerringly the innumerable
twigs that beset their path, choosing soft places where
there was nothing to creak or crackle beneath their tread.
Pete dodged in and out among the trees, with a rapidity
only possible to the practised woodsman; and his two
companions copied him with mathematical exactness,
planting their feet where his had fallen, so accurately
that none but the acutest Indian could have discovered
that three men, not one, had passed.
Rather more than half an hour after they left the
brookside they came almost unawares upon a long, nar-
row clearing, made, not by the careful axes of woodmen,
but by the passage of a tornado. Uprooted trees lay
here and there, felled, as it were, recklessly by the mighty
blast, some crossing the path that seemed to have been
cut clean out of the mass of green, others piled con-
fusedly on either side. True to the woodsman’s instinct
Pete was just about to turn off and skirt the opening,
so as to lessen the chance of being observed, when sud-
denly he raised his hand as in warning, and in the twink-
ling of an eye dropped down before a huge trunk that
obstructed the path.
Rob Somers, three feet behind, was but a second in
following Pete’s example. Yet, quick as he was, he had
been anticipated by Redwing, whose sharp ears had
caught, at the same moment as his leader’s, the faint
sound which had so suddenly arrested his progress.
5


ROB THE RANGER
“What is it?” whispered Rob, wriggling noiselessly
to Pete’s side.
“Hush! Listen!”
And then Rob, the least experienced of the three, heard
a slight crackling ahead, and knew that some living
creature, man or animal, was moving rapidly over dry
twigs. Pete ventured to raise his head and peep over
the tree trunk in the direction of the sound. He saw a
man threading his way with all speed through the spar-
ser trees on the farther side of the clearing. Almost at
the same instant the runner swerved abruptly to the left,
as though he, too, like the trapper, was loath to cross
the open space. But even as he did so a shot rang out
through the silence of the wood, behind him, and also, it
seemed, somewhat to his left, for he again changed his
course, and now came, running fleetly as a deer, straight
across the glade toward the party in ambush.
“Scuppered, for sure!” whispered Pete; and Rob, cau-
tiously lifting his head, saw that the shot had indeed
taken effect; the man stumbled as he ran, recovered him-
self with an elfort, then after two paces, and before he
had come half-way across the glade, pitched helplessly
forward on to his face.
Once more the silence was broken. A yell of triumph
hailed his fall, and the watchers saw several dusky figures
emerging from various directions toward the fugitive.
Pete heard an exclamation at his right, and, flinging out
his hand, was just in time to grip Rob’s shoulder and
prevent him from springing to the hapless man’s assist-
ance.
“Wait!” murmured the elder man; and Rob, recog-
nizing that his movement had been imprudent, allowed
himself to be drawn back.
The figures of the actors in this rapid drama could
now be clearly distinguished. The fugitive was a white
6


ROB AND HIS FRIENDS
man, or at least a half-breed; he was clad in the semi-
barbarous costume common with backwoodsmen, and
but for his shaven face and a dash of bright color in his
coat might have been a copy of Pete himself. The pur-
suers, now emerging into full view, were Indians; but
even Pete’s keen eyes were as yet unable to distinguish,
at the distance, the tribal marks upon their skin, or the
tribal arrangement of their feathers. But Redwing, who
had looked on hitherto with his habitual gravity, an-
swered in a whisper the trapper’s unspoken question.
“Abenakis l”
Pete nodded, and Rob, casting a swift glance round,
saw the fire of race hatred in the Indian’s fierce eyes;
the Abenakis and the Mohawks were hereditary foes.
It was but a moment since the wounded man had fall-
en. Redwing had scarcely whispered the name of his
pursuers’ tribe when he struggled to his feet and stag-
gered forward; well he knew the deadly peril in which
he lay! Hard hit as he was, he put forth amazing efforts;
and, crouching low toward the ground, taking what
cover it afforded, he gave no target to his enemy, and
succeeded in reaching the tree behind which the three
onlookers lay hidden before his strength again failed, and
he once more fell forward upon his face. Scarcely
twenty yards behind him six fierce Abenakis were bound-
ing forward, emulous for his scalp.
“First Injun’s yourn!” whispered Pete to Rob. “Sec-
ond yourn,” he added to Redwing on the other side.
“When you’ve fired, load as quick as winkin’.”
Rob felt a passing wonder as to what Pete himself
intended to do; but he had no time to think about it.
“Now!” whispered the trapper.
Two shots rang out as one; the two foremost Indians
fell almost on the spot where the fugitive had first stum-
bledf The others halted in their tracks, and in an instant
7


ROB THE RANGER
were gone. It was almost as if they had sunk into the
earth, so swiftly did they disappear among the trees and
bushes that lay on either side of the glade. But Pete
was as quick as they. The moment after his companions
fired, he leaped with extraordinary agility over the fallen
trunk, and, lifting the almost inanimate form of the
fugitive in his arms, tumbled back with him into safety,
narrowly escaping half a dozen bullets which struck the
tree with sharp thuds.
Then he coolly took up the musket which he had
placed against the tree, ready to his hand, and by the
time the other two had reloaded, Pete was kneeling by
the trunk, resting on it his own weapon in readiness for
the next move.
All this had happened within a few seconds; indeed,
hardly a minute had passed since Redwing whispered
the word “Abenakis.” Pete had but just resumed his
position by the tree when the Indians, now fully recov-
ered from their panic, fired from their concealment a
second ragged volley that pattered against the trunk,
nipping the bark and scattering splinters in all directions.
One of the redskins incautiously peeped from behind a
sapling to learn the effect of the shots. Pete’s musket
flashed; an instant after, the too curious Indian swayed,
tottered, and fell forward.
“Surprisin’ want of common sense,” murmured Pete
as he quickly reloaded.
Learning caution from the fate of their companion,
the Abenakis made no further movement. Except the
pungent smell of gunpowder, and a faint smoke that
hung in the still air above the tree-tops, there was no sign
of hostilities. Only at Pete’s feet the wounded man lay
groaning.


CHAPTER II
BELEAGUERED
Pete flung a glance at the man he had rescued, then
resumed his former position by the tree.
“Uncommon awkward fix,” he muttered, as his quick
eye swept the glade. “Jest so,” he added, not in con-
firmation of his former remark, but in approval of a
rapid and stealthy movement on the part of Redwing.
Without saying a word the Mohawk had broken off a
small twig, and, pushing it between the branches of the
fallen tree, a couple of feet from where Pete had posted
himself, had drawn back with it a small white object,
oblong in shape. This he laid on the ground beside the
the trapper, who was, however, too much concerned with
their immediate danger to devote any attention to it.
Rob on the other side had seen nothing of the Mohawk’s
action.
“In ten minutes, or less, the varmints will be all about
us,” said Pete, in a musing voice. The words were
scarcely out of his mouth when, with a rapidity of move-
ment that curiously contrasted with his slow deliberate
utterance, he raised his long musket to his shoulder and
fired. Fifty yards up the glade a dark form sprang into
the air, fell and lay motionless.
“Thought so,” said Pete, proceeding coolly to reload.
“Jest a little bit too near. ’Twill be higher up or lower
down next time, but cross they will, and we can’t keep
’em from it, the reptiles.”
“How many are there, Pete ?” asked Rob, who knelt,
fingering his musket in some agitation.
9


ROB THE RANGER
ll
More’n enough fur a scalp apiece, though they don’t
stand all of a row to be counted.” He glanced again at
the man who had unwittingly brought them into this
predicament. “Say, friend,” he said, “d’ye think as you
could make a kind o’ push for it ?”
The man, rousing himself from a state of semi-stupor,
answered feebly.
“I can try.”
Though they made no remark, both the trapper and his
white companion were conscious of a strangeness of
accent in the man’s speech. But it did not surprise them,
for among the colonists of Albany there were many Dutch
and Germans as well as several families of French ex-
traction. Keeping a wary eye on the glade the trapper
continued:
“Five minutes is all I want. You boys can keep
’em off fur that amount of time; then follow in our
tracks—hard as you can. Redwing’ll lead the way.
Five minutes by your chronometer.”
As Rob took a big watch from his fob and laid it on
the ground, Pete began to creep toward a clump of elder
bushes some three yards to their left, his movements
being screened from the Indians by the bushy portion of
the tree. The wounded man, understanding with the
readiness of a backwoodsman what was expected of him,
crawled after him on hands and knees. Both went so
quickly that the two left on guard were unable to
follow their movements.
Side by side the Mohawk and the white boy kept a
close watch on the ground beyond their lurking-place.
The air was very still; the brooding silence, indeed,
seemed ominous, for both knew that somewhere among
the trees, men of the wildest and most ferocious tribe
in Canada were worming their way furtively towards
them. It was foreign to the habits of the Abenakis, as of
IO


BELEAGUERED
any other Red Indian warriors, to risk the perils of a
direct attack in the open when they could gain their ob-
ject with a little patience by working round the enemy.
By this time, no doubt, several of them, under cover
of the fallen trees dotted in the track of the storm,
had crossed the glade to right or left, and were stealing
through the wood to take the defenders in the rear.
Not a word passed between Rob and his Mohawk
friend. Each was alert and ready. If Redwing knew
better the ways of the Indian, Rob was his equal in native
courage, and had not been for nothing Lone Pete’s
pupil in the woods; and as they waited in silent watch-
fulness, their thoughts followed pretty much the same
lines.”
“They can’t come fast,” Rob was thinking. “They
don’t know how many we are, nor exactly where we
are, but they know enough about our marksmanship to
make ’em wary. What notion has old Pete got in his
noddle? Something spry, no doubt. Hang it! I wish
I could see the varmints; it’s like stalking a deer, with
all the fun on the other side!”
He glanced at his watch.
“Time’s up, Redwing; lead the way.” .
Crawling as the others had done towards the alder
bush, the Mohawk disappeared without a sound. Rob
followed him closely, and in a few seconds both men
were running at full speed through the wood, Rob find-
ing it difficult to keep up with the other, who, neverthe-
less, bent almost double as he traced the trail of the
trapper and the wounded man.
In spite of their five minutes’ start, the forms of the
two leading fugitives were soon descried among the
trees. Pete was half supporting, half dragging, the
other man.
“Good! I said five,” remarked the trapper as Rob
11


ROB THE RANGER
and the Mohawk came up with him. “We may cheat
’em yet. Redwing, take my gun and Rob’s.”
Signing to Rob to lift the wounded man’s legs, he
caught him beneath the arms, and pushed forward more
rapidly through the wood, the Mohawk with the three
guns bringing up the rear. They had gone but a few
paces when a shrill yell behind announced that the
flight had been discovered.
“’Tis des’prate shaky to the bones,” said Pete grimly,
“and I’m main sorry for it, stranger; but thar’ ain’t no
common sense in goin’ easy when thar’s scalp-hunters
have got their fingers in your hair.”
The only answer was a groan. So they stumbled on
for another two or three hundred yards, Redwing every
now and then glancing back to see if the enemy had
come into view. All .was again silent. To find the
trail would be the work of an instant, and all four fugi-
tives knew that behind them, somewhere among the
trees, the ruthless Abenakis were coming swiftly in
pursuit.
“Knowed I was right,” exclaimed Pete at last. They
had emerged almost suddenly on a fiat expanse, thinly
covered with reeds—a stretch of marshland draining into
Lake George, but at this time dried up by the heat of
summer. It was less than half a mile across, and mid-
way rose a steep grassy mound, some twenty feet above
the fiat, forming in the rainy season a little island in
the midst of the swamp. Pete stopped and lowered his
burden gently to the ground.
“Stranger, thar’s your fort,” he whispered. “Run
or crawl. Do your best; we’ll do our’n. Win to the top
of yon promontory, and you’ll be safe, leastways for a
time.”
The man staggered forward, half dazed, but alive to
the necessities of the moment. Taking his musket from
12


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BELEAGUERED
Redwing’s hand, Pete signed to the boys to seek cover
among the osiers fringing the marsh. Here they would
be secure from the observation of the enemy until these
had come within a comparatively short range. Only a
few seconds after they had posted themselves, a dusky
form emerged from the trees and looked cautiously
around. He was in a moment joined by a second and a
third; and, peering through the rushes, the fugitives
saw more of the enemy at some distance to the right and
left.
Mute signals passed between the three parties of
Abenakis. One in the center, apparently the leader,
extended his hand towards the fringe of osiers, pointing
by accident exactly at the spot where the trapper lay.
Pete glanced at Redwing to make sure that the young
Mohawk’s plume was not in sight. Redwing caught his
look, and for a moment his grave features relaxed in a
smile, as if to say: “Be at ease; a Mohawk is a match
in wariness for any Abenaki.” "
The enemy halted for a few moments at the edge of
the wood, suspecting an ambuscade in the osiers. Their
quarry, meanwhile, the man they had pursued and
wounded, was making the best of his painful way to
the hillock. One of the Abenakis, more venturesome
than the rest in his eagerness, stepped out from among
the trees and tried a long shot at the fugitive. But the
smoke had hardly cleared away when he fell like a log;
Pete’s musket had made account of him and his rash-
ness. His companions instantly darted back within the
shelter of the trees, and the hidden three saw them
flitting from trunk to trunk, some going to the left, others
to the right, in pursuance of their plan of surrounding
the little party.
Lone Pete glanced over his shoulder anxiously, meas-
uring the progress of the wounded stranger. He had
13


ROB THE RANGER
now covered half the distance to the grassy eminence,
and was still in full view of his pursuers, though, as the
futile shot of the Abenakis proved, he was beyond range
of their rifles. To all seeming, Pete was as cool and
unperturbed as though engaged in no more dangerous
occupation than rabbit shooting; in reality he was cal-
culating to a nicety, with real anxiety, the chances of one
of the most diflicult situations in which, practised woods-
man as he was, he had ever been placed. At any
moment the wings of the attacking party might break
from the forest above and below, and then he with his
two companions would certainly be cut ofi before they
could rejoin the stranger on the mound. On the other
hand, if they left the security of the osiers too soon,
they must overtake the fugitive while he was still at some
distance from the mound; then, burdened by the dis-
abled man, they must inevitably be surrounded before
they could gain such shelter as the hillock afforded. Rob,
indeed, for his part wondered what object the trapper
could have in making for a bare eminence, exposed on
all sides to attack; but he had such faith in the wisdom
and experience of his old friend that he did not worry
about seeking a solution to what puzzled him, content
to wait for the word which, he knew well, would indicate
the best, the only course.
The waiting was not long. All at once Pete began to
crawl backwards with infinite caution towards the fur-
ther border of the osier bed, Rob and the Mohawk
keeping pace with him. A moment’s pause; then, at a
sign from Pete, all three rose to their feet, turned about,
and dashed at their topmost speed towards the grassy
knoll. The wounded man, laboring and far spent, had
just reached the base of the acclivity when the three came
up with him. They carried him bodily with a rush up the
slope, and had barely topped the crest when a chorus
14


BELEAGUERED
of yells broke out behind them, and the crack of a dozen
muskets, discharged almost simultaneously, cut viciously
through the air.
Pete gave a little chuckle, and Rob understood at a
glance why the trapper had chosen this spot for their
stand. The summit was about thirty yards across, but,
as is frequently the case with isolated hillocks of this
kind, it dipped somewhat deeply in the center, forming
a kind of cup. Neither Rob nor Pete knew anything
of geology, and, indeed, the explanation of the phenome-
non that was to serve them so well did not trouble them.
By some fault in the rock, the drainage from the top of
the mound escaped, not down the sides, but through the
center, and the slow percolation of water during un-
counted years, carrying with it small particles of the
softer soil, had formed a crater, the bottom of which
was perhaps five feet below the edge.
“Now, stranger,” said Pete, when they reached the
top, “lay down in this hollow; you’ll be as safe thar’ as in
your bed. Duck a bit, Rob; your bein’ so well growed,
your head’s above the sky-line, and one of the venture-
some varmints may get your range. Redwing, my son,
I speak to you as man to man, knowin’ you well enough
to be sure you’ll act accordin’. You’re the spryest of us,
’cos ’tis your nature. Fort Edward, thar’s no need to
tell you, is ten mile or so away; are you ready to go and
bring help ?”
The Indian gravely nodded in assent, his fine face
absolutely inexpressive.
“Now, Rob, what did I tell you ?” broke in Pete. The
boy was walking towards the edge of the mound.
“Well, to please you, Pete,” he said, smiling, as he
dropped on all fours. “But you needn’t be uneasy.
Lookl”
I5
I I


ROB THE RANGER
More cautious than his young companion, Pete crawled
up the slope and peeped over.
“That’s sense !” he ejaculated with a quiet chuckle.
The Indians who had entered the osier bed in pursuit
of the fugitives, had halted when they came to the edge
and were now scuttling back to cover. They recognized
from the sudden disappearance of their quarry that they
had been outwitted, and knew full well that before they
could reach the top of the mound some of their number
must fall to the muskets of determined men so strongly
posted. A direct attack was hopeless, and whatever their
motive in pursuing the stranger, it was clearly not
strong enough to overcome their natural reluctance to
face certain death for at least three of them.
As they disappeared, Pete took a long shot at the
rearmost just as he was entering the sedge.
“ ’Tis against common sense, not to say argyment, to
waste good powder and shot,” he remarked, as he saw
the bullet fall short, “and in a general way I’d be the
last to do it, but they reptiles understand the bark of a
rifle better’n most ways of speechifyin’, and I reckon
’twill keep ’em quiet, long enough for us to do a bit of
consideration.”
Pete had a trick of ending his little speeches now and
then, with a long word, which seemed to stretch beyond
its natural length through his very precise and deliberate
manner of utterance.
“Now, my son,” he went on, tuming to Redwing, “you
are goin’ to make tracks for Edward. I’ll take charge
of your gun. For why? ’Cos t’ud only get in the way of
your shanks, and thar’s no time to undo tangles. ’Tis to
be the hardest bit o’ runnin’ ever you did in your born
days. And you must start at once, afore they varmints
yonder make a ring o’ roses round this promontory.”
The Mohawk laid down his musket, saw that the
16


BELEAGUERED
fastenings of his moccasins were in order, and rose to his
feet.
“And though I guess ’twill give a pang to your feel-
ings, I’ll ax you to leave your feather, too. ’Tis like
axin’ Minna Koop to go to chapel o’ Sundays without
her best flappers, but I know you’d do what I ax you,
Redwing, special as you’ve got a sort of notion, I reckon,
of my reasons for wantin’ the bit of ornamentation.”
There was in truth a hint of reluctance in Redwing’s
manner as he slowly removed the drooping plume from
his scalp-tuft. He handed it to Pete, addressed a gut-
tural word of farewell in his own tongue to Rob, then,
crawling to the farther edge of the knoll, he cautiously
took a rapid glance at the features of the surrounding
country.
The marshland extended for some distance on this side,
dotted with clumps of bush, which grew more thickly
as the swamp merged into forest, like that which the
travelers had previously traversed. The grass was
parched and shriveled by the midsummer heat, except
where a narrow line of luxuriant green meandered across
the plain, one of its bends approaching within a dozen
yards of the foot of the mound. Though the long
grass and reeds hid the water from his view, Redwing
knew that the greenness indicated the course of a rivulet.
His inspection lasted but a moment; then he crawled
for a few yards down the slope until he judged that, if
he stood erect, his head would be below the level of the
summit. He then rose, turned round, and, stepping
cautiously backward, descended until he reached the
brink of the stream, where he bent low to avoid observa-
tion by flanking parties of the Abenakis who might al-
ready be making their way round the knoll, and stepped
into the water.
His movements had been watched by the two above,
17
Q ,. ;


ROB THE RANGER
stretched on their faces. Pete gave a grunt of satisfac-
tion.
“Trust an Injin for ’cuteness,” he said to Rob. “If the
varmints come on his tracks, which is as sure as to-
morrow’s sun, they’ll be puzzled in their heathen minds,
long enough for Redwing to get out o’ reach. Maybe
they’ll think one of us had gone down to fetch water,
and afore they find out their mistake the boy’ll have got
too far for any of them Abenakis to run him down.”
“D’you think we’d better get some water for the
stranger ?” asked Rob. The wounded man had lain dur-
ing these few minutes motionless in the spot where Pete
had placed him.
“N ot by no manner of means, though I declar’ I’d well-
nigh forgot the critter. Give him a drop out of this
gourd of mine, lad, and look to his hurt, while I keep an
eye liftin’ around for the Injins.”
Rob went to the man. He was lying on his side, his
eyes closed.
“Take a sip of this, stranger,” said Rob, putting the
gourd to his lips.
The man opened his eyes, gulped a mouthful of the
spruce beer, and groaned. Rob saw that his head was
covered with blood, and, lifting his matted hair with
careful fingers, discovered an ugly scalp wound. But the
man was in no apparent danger, and it seemed to Rob
that his exhaustion must be due rather to the chase than
to his injury. To dress the wound was impossible
without water, and the boy went back to Pete and asked
again whether he should run down the slope and moisten
his handkerchief at the stream.
“No,” replied the trapper decisively. “’Tis onsafe. I
caught a glimpse of a redskin in among the trees yonder.
The critter must bide. Has he got his senses ?”
“I think so, though he didn’t speak.”
18


BELEAGUERED
ll
Well, he must do something to lend a hand in his-
defense. He’s too shaky, I reckon, to shoulder a musket,
but he can load ’em when the shootin’ begins. Tell him
to crawl up here. He can load mine while I’m firing
Redwing’s, and t’otherways about.”
“Have you seen any more of Redwing ?”
“Not a bit. He’s gone along the bed o’ the stream,
and by this time is safe in the woods. Inside of three
hours we ought to get help from Edward. The ques-
tion is, whether we can hold on here till the reinforce-
ments come up.”
“We’ll do our best, Pete. There they are, look!”
He pointed to the woods south of the mound, towards
the spot where the Mohawk had disappeared. Several
dusky forms were skirmishing stealthily among the trees.
“I see the reptiles. Go to t’other side, old boy, and
keep a sharp eye on them osier patches. They won’t all
be on this side, you may be sure. And send up the
stranger.”
He hastened away. In response to his message, the
wounded man crawled towards Pete. None of the
Abenakis was visible from the northern edge of the
mound, and Rob, glancing back to see whether the
stranger had done his bidding, knew why the trapper
had asked the Indian to leave his feather behind him.
Pete had stuck it in the muzzle of his musket, which
he was holding so that it rose an inch or two above
the crest of the hillock. Unless the enemy had already
discovered the truth, they would suppose that the Mohawk
was still with the party. Rob was smiling at the ruse,
when a shot from the neighborhood of the rivulet, the
most accessible side of the mound, caused the feather
to quiver in the still air.
“Thar’s a good shot among ’em, that’s clear,” the
trapper called‘ softly to Rob, “and I reckon they think our
IS"


ROB THE RANGER
Mohawk friend is a poor hand at the game to show his
topknot like this. ’Tis like ticklin’ trout, for sure. Let’s
give ’em another enticement.”
He gently raised the musket until the feather pro-
jected slightly from the grassy mound. But this time
no shot followed the movement. All was silent. There
was not so much breeze as even to set the osier weeds
a-rustling. Pete looked almost shamefaced as he lowered
his weapon.
“That’s bad,” he muttered, “’tarnal bad. Thar’s
more’n ticklin’ fur some afore sundown. And what
beats me through it all is, where on airth have I seen
this stranger previous !”
I.


CHAPTER III
J
REDWINGS RACE AGAINST TIME
Meanwhile, what of Redwing?
For half a mile or more, the young Mohawk followed
the course of the rivulet, although its direction scarcely
favored his mission. The little stream took its rise in a
spur of the rugged hills between Lake Champlain and
the Hudson, and to ascend it carried the runner many
points out of his straight course. But it was important
to conceal his track until all danger of immediate pursuit
was past, even though his pace was retarded by the
care he took to avoid a splash which might bring the
enemy upon his heels.
As soon, however, as he reached the shelter of the
woods, he quitted the stream at a stony portion of its
bank where his soft moccasins left no trace that would
not soon be evaporated by the summer heat, and broke
into a long loping stride that carried him over the
ground at the speed of a racer. Moving, it would seem,
rather by the instinct of locality than by observation, he
held his course almost in a bee-line, through all the
changing features of the rough countryside. Up hill
and down dale, through spurs of the forest, across
natural clearings, over little streams, many of them
almost dry in this season of torrid heat, he pounded
along almost without a break in his gait. He had the
sure-footedness of a mountain goat, and the lightness of
an antelope; and his spare, sinewy form moved with the
easy grace of a woodland creature.
' 21


REDWING’S RACE AGAINST TIME
friend, Lone Pete, and his almost broth-er, Rob Somers,
nerved him to put forth all his strength on their behalf.
Rob and he had been playmates ever since their baby-
hood. The “castle” of his father, chief of a Mohawk
clan, lay but a few miles from Rob’s home. Twenty
years before, George Somers, emigrating with his young
wife from the Hampshire village of Durley, had settled
on land granted him by Sir Peter Warren, in the New
York colony, beyond Fort Johnson on the Oswego road,
the fortified house where William Johnson, Sir Peter’s
bluff Irish nephew and manager of his estates, lived with
his Dutch wife. Like ]ohnson, himself, Mr. Somers,
from the first, maintained pleasant relations with the
Mohawks of the district. His log house, named Durley,
after his English home, had been the center of peaceful
labor, undisturbed by the alarms of war. The farm-
lands, cut out of the surrounding forest, were brought
by incessant toil to yield plentiful crops of beans, maize,
wheat and other produce, which supplied the needs of
the household and its dependents, and a considerable
surplus that fetched good prices in the markets of Albany.
But Mr. Somers had not been content to remain merely
a farmer. His proximity to Oswego and Lake Ontario
had enabled him to become a fur trader on a somewhat
large scale. It was in the course of trade that he became
acquainted with Peter Tull, a skilful trapper, who, in the
course of an adventurous life, had gained a knowledge of
almost all parts of the English territories from the south-
ern States to Acadia. Lone Pete, as he was generally
known, had by and by settled down at Durley—so far as
a man of his roving temperament could ever settle—as
Mr. Somers’ right-hand man. This was about the time
when the New England colonies found it necessary to
undertake serious operations of defense against the
aggression of the French in Canada. The presence of
23


ROB THE RANGER
military forces from England and the maintenance of
colonial levies gave Mr. Somers an opportunity of ex-
tending his trade by contracting for supplies of food
and of skins for the soldiers’ equipment, and in this year,
1757, he was a man of substance, respected by English,
colonists and Indians alike for honesty and fair dealing.
Though his wealth increased, he kept to the same
simple style of living. His log house remained as he
had first built it, though his outbuildings had to be en-
larged to accommodate the increasing staff of workers.
His wife was now buried in the forest; his household con-
sisted at this time of his two sons, Robert and William,
and a .square-built, plain, good-tempered, old Dutch
woman, who had entered his service when he passed
westward through Albany, and had during twenty years,
fulfilled the duties of nurse, housemaid, cook and house-
keeper. Rob, the elder son, had remained at home
until, when he was ten, his mother died. Then he was
sent to a school kept by a Huguenot lady in Albany,
where, among other accomplishments, he acquired a cer-
tain facility in reading and speaking French. At the
age of fourteen he left school, and under the tutelage
of Lone Pete learned to shoot and hunt, to follow the
trails of animals, to find his way through the woods by
the aid of the sun and the stars and the blaze marks
on trees. Will, seven years his junior, had never left
home.
Troublous times had fallen upon the New England
provinces. Penned in between the Alleghanies and the
sea, they were taught that all the vast unexplored lands
north, west and south belonged to France. Of late years,
indeed, not only was the means of natural expansion
denied them, but there were signs that France intended
to make herself mistress of the whole country, from the
wastes of northern Canada to the plains of Louisiana.
24


REDWING’S RACE AGAINST TIME
Instead of presenting a united front against this aggres-
sion, the various colonies, differing widely in origin,
in people, in religion, and in mode of government, were
constantly bickering among themselves, quarreling with
their English governors, and alienating the neighboring
Indian tribes, which might have proved invaluable al-
lies against the enemy. The French settlers, on the
other hand, were one in race and religion; they knew
how to conciliate the red men, many of whose tribes
were nominally converted to Christianity by devoted
Jesuit priests. For some reason the tide of success had
flowed in favor of the French. In I755, General Brad-
dock suffered a disastrous defeat at the hands of French
Indians at Monongahela._ The next year, when war was
formally declared between Britain and France, and the
Marquis de Montcalm was sent by King Louis as com-
mander-in-chief to Canada, he signalized his arrival by
the capture of Oswego. Now, taking advantage of the
withdrawal of British troops by the English commander,
Lord Loudoun, from the New England frontier on an
expedition against Louisburg, Montcalm had brought a
large army of Canadians and Indians up Lakes Cham-
plain and George, and was at this moment investing the
weakly-defended Fort William Henry, erected at the
head of the latter lake a few years previously, and named
by Johnson, after one of the grandsons of the English
king.
The advance of the French had not been unheralded.
Reconnoitering parties from William Henry had fallen
into the hands of Indian bands, and those who escaped
returned with horrid tales of butchery and torture.
Colonel Monro, commanding in the fort, sent urgent
messages to General Daniel Webb in Fort Edward,
fourteen miles south, pleading for reinforcements; but
Webb, dilatory and irresolute, like so many of the gen-
25 I


ROB THE RANGER
erals sent in command of regulars from England, was
afraid of moving until he himself was reinforced by
levies of the New England militia, and contented him-
self with the despatch of two hundred men, which
brought the total of Monro’s force little above two
thousand.
With the reinforcements went Mr. Somers and his son
Rob, in pursuit of their business of provisioning the
forces. From what he learned in William Henry, the
far-sighted farmer foresaw the possibility of Indian raids
over all the surrounding country, and sent Rob back to
Durley with instructions to convey all his stores to Fort
Edward, and then to return. He did not anticipate im-
mediate danger; the advance of the French would prob-
ably be slow, allowing time for Colonel Monro to be
reinforced, even yet in suflicient strength to beat back the
enemy. He relied upon his friendship with the Mohawks
and the sagacity of Lone Pete, for the safety of his
farm.
Rob accomplished his mission; but when he was about
to return to William Henry, Pete announced that he
would accompany him.
“Seems to me,” he said, “from what you tell me,
thar’s goin’ to be red work at William Henry afore
long, and I reckon, if your dad stays thar’ and you with
him, ’tis only common sense, not to say dooty, for me
to be thar’ likewise.”
Redwing happened to visit the farm that morning.
Hearing what was afoot, he raced back to his father’s
“castle” in the forest to ask leave to go with Rob. The
two boys had hunted together from the time that Rob
had been allowed to use a musket and roam afield.
They were the closest of friends, each gaining something
from the other. Companionship with Rob had softened
the Mohawk’s savage instincts; Rob had acquired an
26


REDWING’S RACE AGAINST TIME
insight into Indian character, a knowledge of the Mohawk
language, and a familiarity with the secrets of wood-
craft exceptional in a white man. Redwing was his
father's favorite son, and obtained the permission he
asked, though not without some difficulty, for the chief
had taken offense at .some real or imaginary slights
recently put upon him, and was maintaining an attitude
of sullen reserve towards all English people. But he
gave Redwing leave to accompany Rob. Thus it was
that, when on that August day peril came to his friends,
Redwing was at hand to use his strength and speed in
their service.
Sustained by his indomitable spirit and by his deep-
seated loyalty, the young Mohawk ran doggedly on,
though his breath now came and went in quick pants,
his body streamed with sweat, and his legs trembled
under him. At last, coming to another bend of the river,
he saw in midstream the island on which barracks had
been erected for the British soldiers, and beyond, on the
farther bank, the ramparts and bastions of Fort Edward.
He knew that, to reach the only direct entrance to the
fort, he would have to make a long detour and cross by
the bridge of boats. His eagerness could not brook such
a delay. He plunged into the river. A shout from the
barracks greeted him as he rose to the surface. He was
for making past the head of the island and swimming on
to the farther bank; but a redcoat cried that he would
shoot if he did not instantly turn his head towards the
shore. In a few moments, gasping, utterly spent, he
was stumbling up the bank, stretching forth his hands
to the soldier as if in mute appeal. Other soldiers
joined the first.
“What be it, Injin? Where be coom from?” said one
from far off Devonshire in the service of his king.
“The chief !—Yengeese chief!” gasped Redwing.
27


ROB THE RANGER
“He means the general,” said a soldier in the uniform
of the jersey Blues. “Put him in a canoe, Giles; we’ll
paddle him to the fort.”
A few minutes later they were admitted to the busy
inclosure. The news of the arrival of an Indian runner
had already been carried to General Webb, and he stood
awaiting the messenger among a group of his oflicers.
Redwing’s trembling limbs gave way at last when he
stood before the general. He sank to the ground, but
managed to gasp out his story, though in tones so low
that the Englishman had to bend towards him to catch
his words. Redwing’s stock of English was scanty, and
his distress was pitiful to witness as he strove with his
weakness and his limited powers of expression. But,
eking out his vocabulary with emphasis and gesture, he
succeeded in making his meaning clear, and when he had
finished he closed his eyes and lay like a tired dog at
the general’s feet.
“Give him a mouthful of cordial,” said Webb, turning
to one of his officers. “I don’t see what we can do for
them,” he added, with a perturbed air. “In an hour or
so it will be dark. ’TwouId be merely sending men into
a trap to attempt to bring them off. Besides, he may be
a decoy. We know too much of their tricks already.
Does any one know the fellow?”
“That do I,” cried a voice from the crowd of colonial
volunteers who, with a freedom unknown in the regular
army, had gathered round. “He’s Redwing, sure enough,
and a decent lad.”
“Ay, and a bosom friend of young Rob Somers,” said
another. “ ’Tis a desperate fix for old Geordie’s son to
be in.”
Webb looked still more worried: his manner hinted a
hope that his suggestion of a trick might excuse him
from further action. Hesitancy was his besetting sin,
28


REDWING’S RACE AGAINST TIME
and already there was much murmuring among the
colonial portion of his force at his delay in moving up to
the support of the gallant Monro in William Henry.
“Mark you,” said the general to the officer next him,
“the place where they are said to be surrounded is closer
to the French camp than to us: and I’d give long odds
the twenty or thirty redskins who’re attacking ’em have
now been reinforced by hundreds more. The woods are
simply swarming with the reptiles, and the sound of
firing will of a surety have brought ’em up from all
points of the compass. ’Tis not in accordance with my
duty to risk the lives of good men in a wild goose chase.
I can’t ask the regulars to do it—”
“Some of us would do it without asking, sir,” inter-
rupted the officer.
“Can’t allow it, Gadsby, can’t allow it; and what I
can’t ask the regulars to do I won’t ask the Rangers.”
“ ’Tis Somers’ boy, sir; one would stretch a point for
the old man’s sake.”
“We can’t lose an army for one man, Gadsby, whoever
he is. Besides, the Indian says that scout fellow is with
the boy; if he’s as cunning as our New York friends
would have us believe, he’ll probably be able to slip away
in the darkness—if they can hold out so long. If they
can’t, nothing we can do will save ’em. No: I’m sorry
for ’em, and there’s an end. Look after the boy, Gadsby:
we’ll give him a trinket or two, and he’ll be perfectly
happy-”
Thus discussing the matter he was about to return to
his quarters when Redwing sprang to his feet and con-
fronted the general.
“White man say no help white brother ?” he asked, his
voice resonant with emotion. »
“The general says no,” said Colonel Gadsby gently,
Webb appearing too much surprised to speak.
B9


ROB THE RANGER
“Redwing hears the evil bird scream,” said the Indian.
“Redwing goes into the black cloud.”
And turning on his heel, he made towards the gate
by which he had entered.
“What does the fellow mean ?” asked the amazed gen-
eral. '
“Says he don’t think much of your decision, General,”
replied the blunt New Yorker who had already spoken;
“and if you don’t do nothing, he’s going back to die with
his friends.”
“He’s mad,” ejaculated Webb. “Stop him, some one l”
Redwing, as though he had gained new strength, was
already almost at the gate. Several men ran after him,
and held him in spite of his struggles.
“What’s this ’tarnal rumpus ?” asked a man who had
just come up. He was clad in the fringed hunting-frock,
moccasins, and leggings of a woodsman, and carried the
smooth-bore musket employed equally in hunting and
in frontier warfare. “Why, bless my bones, ’tis Red-
wing. Hands off, comrades: Redwing’s a friend of mine,
and I’ll have a little converse with him.”
Redwing turned eagerly at the hard drawling voice,
and his eyes lit up as they fell on the gigantic frontiers-
man. Caleb Blodget was a stalwart New Hampshire-
man, standing six feet two in his socks, and well known
from Boston to Philadelphia as one of the wariest and
doughtiest of the Rangers who, under the orders of the
adventurous Major Robert Rogers, performed prodigies
of hardihood in scouting and reconnoitering. Speaking
in the Mohawk tongue, Blodget obtained in a few seconds
the gist of the eager lad’s story. Then, bidding Redwing
wait, he strode off towards the general.
“See here, General,” he said, with the blunt, bluff
freedom of address common to the sturdy backwoods-
men, and not a little resented by the oflicers of the regu-
30
' ~
.»
_ . . . . . . ._ ,-.. -. -~-


REDWING’S RACE AGAINST TIME
Iar forces, jealous of their punctilio,—“see here; this
ain’t oughter be. One of those white men fixed up
yonder is the son of an old friend of mine—and of your
army, by the token. T’other’s a trapper who, more’n
twenty year ago, saved my life in a tight hustle with the
same murdering varmints, leastways their tribe, as be
now set on lifting his scalp. T’ud be mortal shame to
leave ’em without cocking a rifle for their behoof, and,
with your permission, General”—he gave aI curiously
ironical emphasis to the word “permission”—“I’ll lead a
party of Rangers to the rescue.”
“’Tis sheer midsummer madness, Captain Blodget,”
said the general, with angry impatience.
“I reckon ’tis the sort o’ madness we’re used to, and
the redskins more so,” replied Blodget grimly. “With
your permission, I said, General—and by what I hear
thar’s no time to lose in making our toilet or such-like.”
A cheer rose from the crowd. Webb’s rubicund cheeks
flushed a deeper shade: the indiscipline of these New
Englanders was insufferable! But he knew that the gen-
eral feeling was against him; he knew, too, the value of
the colonial soldiery, so, shrugging his shoulders and
smiling without mirth, he said:
“Have your own way, then. Your own scalp is not
easy to get at, at any rate.”
Five minutes later, twenty men of the Rangers were
put across the Hudson in birch canoes, and, headed by
Caleb Blodget and the young Mohawk, dashed north-
westward along the trail the latter had already come.
Having muskets to carry, their pace was the more easily
accommodated to the hardly recovered strength of Red-
wing. But the boy seemed to have gained new life and
energy, and he bounded nimbly along, knowing that
what white men could do in this errand of mercy these
men, the pick of Rogers’ unequalled corps, would surely
do.
31


CHAPTER IV
THE FIGHT on THE MOUND
Lone Pete became more and more concerned as time
passed and still the Indians he knew to be lurking in
the woods gave no sign of their presence. Why did
they not attack? Were they fewer in number than he
had supposed, waiting until the sound of firing should
have brought to their assistance such fellow tribesmen
as might be within earshot?
“If that’s the case,” he said to Rob, “I hope the critters
’ll wait too long. When a kettle’s on the bile it won’t bile
no more; ’twill only slop over.”
But it was not Pete’s way to sit down with crossed
hands and blink at the sun. He went round the brow of
the hillock on hands and knees, carefully scraping away
with his knife a portion of the earth at various points
of the irregular circle, thus enabling Rob and himself
to get a better view of the Abenakis when they should
appear, and to make any movement without the danger
of exposing their heads above the crest. To some
extent, it is true, these rough embrasures gave a mark
to the Indians, but Pete had no high opinion of Indian
marksmanship in general; the man who had fired at the
feather was a rare exception. As Pete went round the
circle in pursuance of his task, Rob moved with him at
the other end of the diameter, to keep a careful watch.
When the work was finished, the trapper squatted down
beside the wounded man, and looked him hard in the
face. The man blinked a little uneasily.
“Wel1, stranger,” said Pete, “you had a narrow shave.
32


THE FIGHT. ON THE MOUND
’Twas as near a thing as ever I saw, and I’ve seen
more’n one in .my time.”
“I thank you; you are a true friend.”
“I won’t say no, though I’d do as much for my worst
enemy, if he was white and t’others red. Not that you’re
white when you come to speak of it—not white exactly.
Say, ain’t thar’ a streak of red somewheres in your
physiology ?”
The man’s coppery complexion took a deeper tinge,
and with some animation he replied:
“I am French, French of Canada; my name is Louis
Bessiére.”
Lone Pete knew as well as any man that a half-breed
resents nothing so much as any suggestion that he is not
of pure blood; but he had a reason for speaking as he
had done.
“Ah! ’tis a soft sounding name, to be sure. Fair
exchange is no robbery, and as you’ve bin so free with
your’n, I’ll be as free and tell you mine. ’Tis not so
sugary to the taste as your’n ; seems to me like the crick-
crick of a grasshopper a-top o’ the gurgle of a beer-
bottle; but like it or not, here ’tis—Peter Tull, known
to most folk atween_ Lake Huron and the sea as Lone
Pete.”
The woodsman spoke always in the same slow mono-
tone; but as he mentioned his name he threw a keen
glance at the Frenchman. No one could have learned
from the expression of his face or from any change of
intonation whether he had found the answer to his un-
spoken question or not.
“Well, now, Louis- Bessiére,” he continued, “while
we’re waitin’ for our red friends to visit us, pluck up
your courage and explain how ’twas you came to be
chased by as villainous a set of scalp-hunters as ever
loped out of Acadie.”
33


ROB THE RANGER
"I was in the fort—the Fort William Henry,” said
the half-breed in his French accent, “and I came out,
secret, by night, with a letter for—”
“Body and bones!” ejaculated the trapper, bringing
his fist down with a savage thump upon the ground.
Bessiére looked at him in surprise.
“Go on,” said Pete, in his usual colorless tone. “You
came with a letter——-”
“—for the General Webb in Fort Edward. But the
Indians surprise’ me; I evade’ them in the hours of night;
but they perceive’ me this afternoon as I came through
the woods, and you, my friend, my deliverer, know the
rest.”
“True, I know the rest,” said the trapper, moving
away to go the round of his extemporized embrasures,
Rob keeping pace as before on the opposite side. “And
for an old hand,” he muttered under his breath, when
out of earshot, “I’ve made a ’tarnal bad muddle of it.
The Injun laid that same dokyment by my side, under
my very nose, and thar’ I left it. Seems to me, Pete,
’tis time you retired from an occypation as requires
common sense and purticklerness.—Well,” he said aloud,
as he returned to the wounded man, “I s’pose you’re
thankful most of all ’cos of saving the letter, for ’twill
be worth a few dollars to you when you hand it to
General Webb.”
“Alas! I search’ in my pocket: no longer is the letter
there. It disappears; I am desolated.”
“And so you ought to be, and worse. The idea!
You, a wood runner, as they call ’em in your lingo, to
save your scalp and lose a letter what might have no end
of preciousness. I’m downright ashamed of you, French
Louis.”
Once more he sidled away to spy out the land. This
time he stared more than usually long at a spot to
34


THE FIGHT ON THE MOUND
the southwest of the knoll, where a zigzag of rushes,
saplings, and boulders would enable an approaching
enemy to creep up more closely under cover than from
any other quarter. He lay on his face, never diverting
his gaze from the one spot, for full five minutes before
he beckoned Rob to his side.
“Cast your eye over yonder, Rob,” he said quietly,
“and tell me what you see.”
Rob looked in the direction indicated, straining his
eyes till they ached.
“I see nothing unusual,” he said at length; “certainly
nothing in the shape of a redskin.”
“D’you see a big rock, with a young sycamore close
beside it?”
“Yes, of course; ’tis quite plain.”
“And a rock of goodish size, for sure?”
“Truly, ’tis a pretty big one.”
“Well, it ain’t. ’T ain’t big, and ’t ain’t one, ’cos ’tis
two little uns.”
“Maybe you’re right, but they’re so precious close
together that they might just as well be one.”
“Ah, my lad, you’ll l’arn better’n to talk such nonsense
when you’re as old as me. Thar’s room atween them
two rocks for a Injun, leastways a bit of one, and if
you look a little more careful you’ll see the varmint
thar’—almost the color of the rocks, to be sure, but a
separate critter all the same.”
Rob bent his eyes once more in careful scrutiny on the
spot.
“Wish I’d your eyes, Pete. You’re right. I see him
now. Sure enough, thar’s something brown, a different
color from the rocks, wedged between ‘em; but if ’tis an
Indian, it must be a small part of him, and where’s the
rest?”
“I guess he’s curled himself up like the reptile he is.
35 


ROB THE RANGER
And what for?—that's the p'int. He can’t use his gun
while he’s stuck in the cranny, and if he moves out—
well, my boy, ’tis a goodish range, but I reckon he
wouldn’t move in again. ’Tis time for a little more
trout-ticklin’. Hand me your gun, lad. I’ll just fix
the Injun’s feather in the muzzle, and when I give the
word, you lift it tender-like above this parapet of our’n.”
The trapper transferred the feather from his own rifle
to Rob’s, then again lay flat, covering the suspected
position. At Pete’s signal, Rob gently raised the feather
a few inches above the crest, as he had seen his friend
do previously. Immediately afterwards there was a
movement of the darker brown between the two rocks,
and Pete saw a musket barrel slowly elevated from the
short grass in front of them.
The two weapons spoke almost at the same instant.
A thin shower of blue earth bespattered the little party
on the summit of the knoll, and when the smoke below
floated away, the greater part of the Indian’s rifle could
be seen lying obliquely in front of the boulders, while,
except for the brown patch that still remained between
them, not a vestige of the man was visible.
“I reckon thar’s no more scalp-huntin’ for him,” said
Pete with a grim chuckle as he reloaded. .
“But how can you tell you hit him?” asked Rob. “He
may only have dropped his rifle from fright.”
“Eyes was give us for use,” replied the trapper. “Use
your’n. Ain’t thar’ some difference atween the rocks ?”
Again Rob looked closely.
“There is!” he said after a minute. “There’s a
jagged edge where I first thought it was solid rock.”
“Just so. That’s where the varmint’s head was. But
’tis cur’ous none of the others are in sight. What their
game may be beats me holler, the sun goin’ down, too.
If they only knowed the feather had no scalp aneath it,
.
36


THE FIGHT ON THE MOUND
and the owner miles away, I reckon they’d have risked a
rush afore now. They lose time, we gain it: that’s ekal,
with a margin on our side, but a narrow one——-just as
wide as the distance atween the sun and the horizon,
and, as you see, that’s narrowin’ every second.”
With the sinking of the sun a gentle breeze sprang
up from the north, tempering the sultry heat of the early
evening. The three waited and watched in anxious
silence. Imperceptibly yet surely, the sun dipped towards
the horizon, the sky reddened, and a rosy glow lent
romantic softness to the rugged countryside. Another
hour passed; the sun was no longer a perfect orb; and
each of the men on that grassy knoll knew that, when
it had wholly disappeared, darkness would swiftly follow
on a brief twilight.
“They’ll wait till dark, then rush us,” said the trapper,
his manner giving no hint of anxiety.
Rob merely nodded. He lay, propping his head on his
fists, gazing fixedly through one of the embrasures.
“What’s that?” he exclaimed suddenly, raising his
head with a start that exposed it for a second as a mark
for the enemy.
“Down, boy!” cried Pete. “I thought as much. Won-
der the varmints didn’t think of it afore.”
They had both noticed a thin spiral of smoke rising
from among the rushes at the edge of the marsh.
“Quick’s the word!” said Pete, now all activity.
“Tear up the grass as fast as you can; you, too, French-
man.”
All three set to work to pluck up the short dry grass
within reach, Pete all the time keeping a sharp lookout
around the position. When suflicient grass was collected,
they plaited it together and rolled it into small bundles,
placing inside them a few small stones and clods. Then
Pete set light to them with flint, steel and tinder, and
37


ROB THE RANGER
threw them, burning, one after another to windward, as
far as possible down the hill.
Falling twenty or thirty yards away they set fire to the
grass on the slope of the mound. Fanned by the slight
breeze, three or four rivulets of flame ran quickly up the
hillock, spreading as they came through the sun-scorched
herbage. Eddies of smoke curled up and floated across
the mound, blinding, acrid, yet not thick enough to afford
an effective screen to the Indians below.
At the top the three men had stripped off their coats,
and, as the lines of fire reached them, beat out the flames
with desperate energy, without exposing themselves to the
Indians who, beyond the rushes, raised yells of rage
and disappointment as they saw their plan balked. By
the time the fires they themselves had kindled reached
the base of the mound, the grass above on the wind-
ward side had already been burned, and there was nothing
to feed the flames.
But though beaten out on the northern crest, the fire
crept around the sides and, gathering force as it went,
swept furiously down the opposite slope towards the
forest. It blazed fiercely amongst the sedge bordering
the marsh, licked up the bushes and saplings beyond, all
parched with the summer heat, leaped the narrow stream
along which Redwing had made his escape, and attacked
with devouring fury the forest beyond. Now tall trees
were in the monster’s grip; columns of flame and smoke
rose majestically into the air; and the watchers on the
mound saw flocks of startled birds soar away, and here
and there a small animal dash affrighted across the
plain.
“That gives us another hour,” said Pete, as he glanced
with satisfaction at the result of his readiness. “If the
varmints had started the fire where they had oughter,
by this time we should have been either burnt out or
38


_ |THE FIGHT ON THE MOUND
forced to make tracks down the hill. And I bet thar’s
enough Injuns in the wood yonder, or was afore the
fire took ’em, to make sure we never reached the bottom.”
The sun had now quite vanished, its expiring glow
rivaled by the confiagration. Straining his eyes into the
gloaming, Rob fancied he saw the stealthy forms of
Indians worming their silent way up the hillside. Once
he fired.
“What now, boy!” said Pete.
“Did I hit him ?” asked Rob, trembling with eagerness
and nervous excitement.
“Fancies, my lad; shadders; idees of your brain.
Thar’ ain’t no Injuns yet. All the same, it won’t be long
afore the rush comes. Dark’s on us. Thar’ ain’t no real
chance of escape—not for all of us; but if the Injuns
wait till the dark’s thick t’ud maybe be worth your while
to have a try at breakin’ through. Go straight for the
fire, lad. The reptiles ’ll be too skeered to keep many on
that side, and won’t look for any mortal man to dash
into the burnin’ fiery furnace. You’ll be safe enough.
Forest fires don’t burn reg’lar, and you’ll find patches
as the flames have left. You’ll scorch your eyebrows and
a bit more, but that’s nothing.”
“And what do you mean to do ?”
“Well, I’ve had a good long life—longer’n many as
were my chums in the early days. Fifty year I’ve lived,
and thirty-five on ’em a trapper. I’ve always had an idee
I’d end up in a rumpus like this. Lone Pete they call
me; and the name fits; many’s the time I’ve been alone
in the woods with the beasts. Loneness don’t skeer me.
But bein’ a backwoodsman, it kind of goes against the
grain to leave a poor critter to be scalped all alone.”
He spoke in a low voice, indicating the half-breed with
a gesture. “In course, he ain’t real white, nor to be con-
sidered as such; but all the same I s’pose he’s got his
39


ROB THE RANGER
feelin’s and thar’s enough white in him to make him
feel scunnered like at bein’ desarted.”
“Very well, I’ll stay, too.”
“Thar’s no call for you, Rob lad,” said Pete. “You
ain’t a backwoodsman nor a trapper, nor called to act
as such.”
“You’ve done your best to make me one!”
“True, and ’tarnal proud I am as you’ve l’arned the
ways of the woods so well. But you’re young; you’ve a
lot to l’arn, yet, and a long life to do it in, so—”
“You may preach like a Quaker, Pete, but I’m not
going. We’re in for this together, and I won’t listen to
another word.”
Rob gripped the trapper’s hand, and felt the pressure
returned. For a few moments Pete was silent and
motionless, as though communing with himself, or maybe
with the Almighty Power whose spirit he had often
felt brooding in the mysterious stillness of the woods and
waste places. Then, from a little bag hung around his
neck, he took a small, round, whitish object. Somewhat
shamefacedly he held it, shining softly in the fading
light, towards Rob.
“’Tis not,” he said, “what I’d call exactly common
sense, but once upon a time I made a promise to use
this whenever I was real downright hard-beset. And I
don’t see, for my life, .how mortal men could be harder
beset than we are now.”
And he dropped the silver bullet into the barrel of his
musket, and rammed it home.
“Look, Pete,” said Rob, laying his hand on the
trapper’s sleeve.
The darkness clung about them, yet not so deep as to
blot out the three figures that stood, just without the
fringe of trees to the north, engaged in conversation.
After a few moments they parted, one going to the right,
4°


THE FIGHT ON THE MOUND
another to the left, leaving the third, a tall, straight form,
standing like a pillar and facing the mound.
“They’ve gone to fetch up the rest,” said Pete quickly,
cocking his rifle. “The range is long, but—”
He lay on his face, and for a few seconds Rob held
his breath. Then the musket spoke, speeding the silver
bullet on its way. The smoke shut the Indian from sight.
A long-drawn howl came from the wood, and, the smoke
lifting on the breeze, Rob saw the warrior prone upon
his back and a crowd of his comrades springing from
the trees, leaping over the grass towards the mound,
filling the air with their blood-curdling war-cry.
“Hold your fire, lad,” said Pete, ramming another
charge into his still smoking musket. “Wait till they
are half-way up.”
The Indians came on with the speed of a whirlwind.
Nothing, it seemed to Rob, straining his eyes in the
gloaming, could stop the rush of the two-score yelling
red men closing in upon the mound. Two or three were
partly up the slope, the rest only a few yards behind.
It was a matter now of seconds. Rob’s finger was about
to press the trigger, when a scattering volley flashed from
the sedge to the right below the mound, the air rang
with the shout of white men, and a young Indian came
bounding up the slope and fell panting and exhausted at
the summit. There were gaps in the band of red war-
riors; dazed by the sudden attack, those who had not
fallen wavered while one might count ten. Then, catch-
ing sight of a dozen sturdy Rangers dashing towards
them with a gigantic form at their head, the Abenakis
turned tail and ran for their lives.
Only one seemed untouched by the panic. He stood,
a solitary figure, facing the mound. Rob in his excite-
ment had risen to his feet, and stood clear against the
dying glow of the forest fire behind. Suddenly he felt
41'


ROB THE RANGER
a fiery pang tear through his shoulder. He staggered,
his knees gave way, and he fell into the arms of Redwing.
The Indian who had aimed so well, shouted as he saw
the effect of his shot, then bounded away into the dark-
ness, after his companions, untouched by the bullets of
Pete and the Rangers.
“]ust in time, my son,” said Pete, looking up from his
task of stanching Rob’s wound, as Caleb Blodget stalked
over the crest. “Another minute, and they’d have had
our scalps.”
“Ay, ’twas a close call, Pete. And we’d have been here
afore ’cept for that blaze. I guess they tried to smoke
you out! We had to go round about, which was lucky,
after all, as it brought us on their flank, and the reptiles
were too set on scalpin’ you to notice us. Is the boy
hurt bad?”
“Not so bad but what we can mend him.”
“That’s well, ’special for his old dad’s sake. Well,
I’ve paid you back, Pete. Always said I would. It has
took me twenty year—twenty year I owed to you; I said
I’d pay you back, and you can’t deny as I’ve done it.”
“And ’tis Redwing’s doing, by rights. The Injun’s a
good chum.”
“But how did you get into such a mess, Pete ?—-a man
of your knowin’ ways?”
“Why, thar’s the—hang me! where’s the Frencher?
He was here by my side the minute afore you come up—
a half-breed fellow what I pulled out of the reach o’
they Abenakis. Look for him, boys.”
But a search over the mound and the immediate sur-
roundings failed to discover the Frenchman. In the
darkness and the bustle of the last few minutes he had
slipped away.
“That’s ’tarnal awk’ard,” said Pete. “I wanted him.
He called himself Louis Bessiére, but unless I’m dream-
42


THE FIGHT ON THE MOUND
ing, he had another name not so long ago, and ’tis not
unlike you’ve heard of Le Loup—eh, Caleb ?”
“Le Loup! I just have. Was that the villain ?”
“I reckon it was. That’s two mistakes I’ve made to-
day. First, when I left his letter in the wood yonder;
second, when I let him slip away like a snake.”
“What letter’s that?”
Redwing thrust something into the trapper’s hand.
“Why, bless my bones, here’s the very thing! You
picked it up, Redwing ?”
“Yes.”
“Well, your Injun head-piece is sound in common
sense. This is the letter, Caleb.”
“We’ll read it by and by, Pete. ’Tis too dark to follow
up the mongrel’s trail, and we durn’t stay here, for you
may be sure they varmints ’ll be back with a hundred
more afore many hours is over. We must make tracks
for Edward at once, and we can’t go fast ’cos of Rob,
who’ll need carrying. Feel better now, my son ?”
But Rob made no answer. He had swooned away.
43


CHAPTER V
A RAID FROM "rm1: NORTH
A litter of branches was quickly made, and on this
Rob was carried to Fort Edward. He remained uncon-
scious during the rapid journey, and did not know that
Redwing, to whom the rescue was due, had been for-
gotten by the white men, and, worn out by his exertions,
unable to repeat the journey, was left behind. Nor did
he witness the scenes within the ramparts of Fort Edward
when the party arrived. Sir William ]ohnson had come
into the fort with a party of Mohawks, whom, with his
incomparable powers of persuasion, he had brought over
to the English side. Instantly there had broken out
among the provincials a clamorous demand that some
attempt should now be made to carry succor to Colonel
Monro, besieged in William Henry, and when Caleb
Blodget entered the inclosure with Pete and the Rangers,
the walks were thronged with excited New Englanders,
speaking their minds about General Webb with mutinous
freedom. But Webb was not to be moved, even when
the letter which Louis Bessiére had carried, proved to
be a despairing appeal from Monro for help.
Rob was still unconscious next day when a horseman
rode in from the north, bareheaded, breathless, haggard,
with terrible news from the hapless fort. While Lone
Pete and Rob were waiting in suspense on the mound,
Monro had surrendered. Montcalm promised that the
garrison should be allowed to march out in the morning
with the honors of war, with a force of Frenchmen to
44


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
escort them to Fort Edward, and to guard them againsx
molestation by the unruly Indians in his service. But
the prisoners began to move off before the escort was
ready. The Indians, tempted by the trinkets of the
women and the rum bottles of the men, fell upon the
defenseless crowd; and men, women, and children were
massacred with ruthless ferocity.
As the day passed, fugitives brought fresh details of the
appalling scene, and with every new report, the fury
against Webb rose higher. Rob, waking at last from his
long unconsciousness, asked Pete what the noise was
about. The trapper gave him an evasive answer.
“You are hiding something, Pete,” cried the boy.
“What is it? Has anything happened to father?”
“Not as I knows on,” said Pete slowly. “Jest lay
still while I bring the surgeon; like as not he’ll want
to bleed you.” '
“Not yet, Pete. I know something has happened.
Tell me what it is. Have the French got William
Henry?”
“I won’t deny it, my lad.”
“And father is killed ?”
“He’s as ’live as I am,” said Pete stoutly.
“Then he’s a prisoner? I must know, Pete.”
“Wal, yes; that’s so, by all accounts. And as you
can’t do nothin’, and I can’t nayther, you’ll jest shut
your eyes and lay easy, and I’ll bring Surgeon Wiggins
to stick on a leech or two to cool your blood.”
Now, Pete, in fact, knew nothing of Mr. Somers’ fate.
The farmer had certainly not come into Fort Edward;
he might have been killed during the siege or in the
massacre; possibly he was among the two hundred pris-
oners whom the Indians had deigned to spare, who had
been hustled from the field, and were now being hurried
to Montreal—to be sold to the governor for brandy.
-13


ROB THE RANGER
Pete had jumped at the suggestion that his master was
a captive, in order to ease Rob’s anxiety and further his
recovery.
And Minna Koop, Mr. Somers’ wide, square, Dutch
housekeeper, coming over from Durley, in response to a
message from Pete, told him that for once he had done
quite right. They were not on the best of terms, these
two; for Pete, accustomed to the careless life of the
woodland, could never be brought to understand the
iniquity of honest dirt. Minna liked to keep the interior
of her master’s dwelling as tidy and spotless as though
it had been a city mansion, instead of a log-built house.
The walls and floors were fleckless; Pete could never
show his nose at the door without being assailed with
guttural warnings or reprimands ; she had a clean devil,
he said, and he went his way convinced that the presence
of women in the world was not according to common
sense.
“You are right, for once,” Minna said to Pete. “Rob
must dink his fader is alive, and you must go and find
out if he is or not. And be quick, out of dis room;
hoots! it make me mad to see it. What is dis here?
Dirt! And dat? Dirt! It is dirt all over. Go, I say.
I care for de boy—I and de meester, though not much
of him, wid his leeches and bolus.”
“Just so, missus,” said Pete meekly. “I don’t hold,
myself, with doctors, mor’n reason. And is young Will
spry ?”
“Ia, so. And now get along before I sweep you.”
Pete left Minna Koop in charge. She took Rob under
her capacious wing: after two days told the surgeon
that he need not come again, and undertook to complete
the boy’s cure with good food and salves of her own
preparing. Pete learned by and by, from an escaped
prisoner that Mr. Somers had been recognized among
46


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
those who had been carried off by the Indians. Pursuit
was out of the question. Though the fort was now
full of provincial militia, who had flocked in as the
news of the terrible scenes at William Henry was car-
ried‘through the country, Webb still refused to move.
He was in mortal terror lest Montcalm should follow
up his success by an attack on Fort Edward. Riot and
disorder reigned in the settlement until Webb, learning
that the French had returned to Ticonderoga and Mon-
treal, dismissed the undisciplined militia to their homes.
Rob lay in a high fever for a week. Then he began
to mend, and insisted on having full particulars of all
that had happened since he was brought to the fort.
He heard with impatience of General Webb’s inactivity.
With winter coming on a vigorous campaign would be
impossible, and he fretted at the thought of his father’s
being kept for months a prisoner in some French fort.
As soon as Minna’s jealous guardianship was relaxed and
Pete was allowed to visit him, he spoke his mind freely.
“I tell you, Pete,” he said, “I tell you, I’m going to
find my father. Minna says ’tis nonsense, but if you
think I’m going to loll about till next campaign, waiting
on the chance that these crawling generals will make up
their minds to move, you’re very much mistaken.”
Pete bit at his grizzled mustache. He did not like to
hint that perhaps it was already too late to attempt
anything for Mr. Somers. He knew not what tribe his
master’s captors belonged to—whether to the heathen
savages of the far west, or to the nominally Christian
Indians of the northeast; in either case, his fate might
have been horrible. Pete always thought before he spoke ;
and now he temporized.
“Wal,” he said, “I reckon we’ve got to take a leaf out
0’ the book o’ common sense. No one can have more’n
one dad, that’s sartin; and ’tis kind o’ nat’ral and dooti-
47


ROB THE RANGER
ful to want to pull your dad out o’ the hands o’ they
varmints. But if you look at it reasonable, where are
you? Here’s winter comin’ on; afore long the country’ll
be locked with snow and ice; I ax, where are you?
Besides, you ain’t fit to go on the trail yet a while, and
when you are fit, there’ll be no trail to foller.”
Pete noted the impatience with which Rob heard him,
and went on without pause:
“Now, I’ve got an idee. This fort’s a-festerin’ with
fever, that’s what it is, and it don’t suit neither you nor
me to be boxed up in a fever trap. When you can
stand on your feet again, what I say is, go to the farm,
and pick up your strength, thar’; then we can talk about
doin’ somethin’ for the boss, and I guess you know with-
out tellin’ that if anythin’ can be done, Lone Pete ain’t
the man to go to sleep like a b’ar.”
After some argument, Rob agreed to this proposal.
Mirma would not allow him to leave the house until he
had regained a fair measure of strength. At last she
pronounced him fit to travel, and one day the three set
off in a wagon.
It was early morning, for though the distance was
only thirty miles, the road, as soon as it left the immediate
neighborhood of the fort, became a mere track over
rugged and unequal ground. An early start was neces-
sary if the journey in the clumsy wagon was to be
accomplished before night.
Rob was in low spirits, from which the conversation
of his companions failed to rouse him. He had had
plenty of time for thought since he had mooted to the
trapper his scheme of following up the Indians who had
captured his father; and the more he thought, the more
clearly he saw that Pete had been right. His purpose,
he had to confess, was a harebrained one. It involved
penetrating into the heart of the enemy’s country, and
43


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
not only running the gauntlet of the F rench, but the still
more difficult feat of eluding the vigilance of the Indians.
Before he had gone far, Rob had made up hismind to
give up the idea; all he could do was to persuade Gray
Wolf, Redwing’s father, when despatching his bands of
young men on their winter hunting expedition, to make
what inquiries they could, and learn what Mr. Somers’
fate had been.
And thinking of the Indians, Rob could not help
wondering why Gray Wolf had not been among the red
men who had accompanied Sir William Johnson into
the fort three weeks before. The Mohawks, as a nation,
had remained neutral in the great contest between French
and English; but the Wolf tribe, of which Redwing’s
father was chief, had been for the most part friendly
towards the settlements, and, in particular, were bound
by many ties to Mr. Somers, with whom they had long
plied a profitable trade. Rob was perplexed, too, by
the strange absence of Redwing, whom he had expected
day after day to visit him. He almost feared that after
the affair at the mound, the Indian boy had fallen into
the hands of the Abenakis, and had suffered a cruel
fate.
Hour after hour the horse plodded along, scarcely ever
exceeding a walking pace. Half-way a halt was made
for a meal, then the slow journey was resumed. As he
neared his home, Rob began to be more cheerful.
“I shall soon pick up my strength,” he said to Pete.
“Our little place will be a great deal more healthy than
that wretched fort.”
“True,” the trapper sighed. “Home is a rare word,
’special to them as never had one, like me. A chum as I
once had, many a- year ago, ran away from the country
after a desp’rate quarrel with his dad. But one day,
when he was in New York buying guns, he got 8. letter
49


ROB THE RANGER
from the old man, and all it said was ‘Come home.’ He
told me that was the finest bit o’ po’try in the English
language; and he went.”
The last mile of the road was mainly uphill, and Pete
got out of the cart to stretch his legs and lighten the
horse’s burden. Walking ahead, through a copse that
led to the Durley plantations, he suddenly stopped, and
bent towards the ground. Then he left the path, and
disappeared among the trees to the right. By the time
the wagon reached the spot he was back again, and Rob
saw that his usually placid countenance was somewhat
perturbed.
“What is it, Pete ?”
"That’s more’n I can say, but it looks as if some one
had bin here afore us.”
“What do you mean ?”
“Why, ’tis no good hiding the truth; thar’s a trail
through the wood, leading away from the farm,” an-
nounced Pete, reluctantly.
“Away from it! Have some of the men gone hunting
already ?”
“’Tis an Indian trail, Rob, and made by a good many
o’ the varmints; for the prints are deep, and not made
long ago, neither.”
“Perhaps Gray Wolf’s people have been to the farm
for something, and gone home by a roundabout way.
You don’t think they were enemies, do you ?”
“We’ll hope not. The varmints have left us alone for
many a year, and t’ud be oncommon remarkable if they’ve
took it into their heads to come raiding jest now, when
their friends, the Frenchers, have gone back, too.”
But Rob and Minna caught a note of anxiety in the
trapper’s voice. Shaking the reins on the horse’s back,
Pete urged it to a trot, and thus, jolting and creaking,
the vehicle came at length to the edge of the wood,
50


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
whence a clear view could be had of Mr. Somers’ house
and plantations.
A cry burst from Rob’s lips as he looked towards what
had been his home. Where the neatly thatched log house
had stood, surrounded by the lower cabins of the fann-
hands, was now a blackened heap of ruins. The ripe
crops were trampled down, the fence had been broken;
all was silence and desolation.
“God in Heaven!” cried Rob; “where’s Will?”
His face, thinned by his illness, was the color of chalk.
He sprang from the cart, heedless of Minna’s restraining
hand, and ran to Pete’s side.
“ ’Tis a bad business, my lad,” said the trapper--“bad
at the best. But thar’s no corpses to be seen; that’s a
mercy. If I hadn’t seen that trail in the wood behind
I’d jesthave believed the place was set afire accidental.
I allus had a fear Loony Dick would do some mischief.
Pluck up heart, Rob; maybe, like the devil, ’taint so black
as it looks.” '
While speaking he had hastened towards the ruins,
Rob at his side. Minna followed, leading the horse.
They came to the spot where the house had stood, and
Pete, stooping to touch the charred wood, exclaimed:
“’Tis warm still. And look, in the inside thar’s a
wiflie of smoke risin’. ’Tis not twelve hours since this
deed was done.”
“What’s become of Will, and the men and women?”
cried Rob. “What can we do? What can we do?”
“Jest you sit down thar’ on that big log, my lad,
said Pete, observing how the boy trembled, and looked
this way and that, like a hunted creature. “Sit down
while I see what trails I can pick up, and make an in-
vestigation.”
Rob felt so weak and helpless that he was fain to do as
Pete suggested. \ Minna gave him a draft of spruce beer,
J!
51


ROB THE RANGER
mingling soothing words with fierce ejaculations against
the “vannints.” He watched eagerly as the trapper went
around the settlement, moving quickly, stopping here
and there to bend and examine the ground, then passing
to another spot. In ten minutes he rejoined Rob, who
sprang up and went to meet him.
“What have you found? Is there any hope?”
“I wouldn’t be down in the mouth myself. I’ve struck
three different trails. One-
“But my brother! Is there any clue to him ?”
“Wal, I can't say to him exactly; but one of the trails
is white, and I reckon it means as Will and all the
farm folks ha’ run straight off to Gray Wolf’s castle.”
“But is Will’s print among them?”
“They’re all so mixed up and close that I can’t
rightly say. Seems to me they had to run in a mighty
hurry, and you may be sure they took Will with ’em.”
Rob gave a gasp of relief. With the Mohawk, the
fugitives were safe.
“And what of the other trails?” he asked.
“Wal, thar’s a trail from the northeast: that’s William
Henry way, in course. And a redskin trail, sure enough,
same as the trail I saw in the wood. And thar’s another
trail to the nor’west, redskin, too, on’y thar’s hoof-marks
along with it. I reckon the varmints swooped down
early this mornin’, jest about the same time as we
started from Edward. By some manner o’ means our
folks had warnin’, and I should say got clear away to
Gray Wolf afore the wretches came up. ’Twas nat’ral
they should run thar’, the chief bein’ so friendly, and
Fort Herkimer too far for ’em to reach in time. The
varmints found the house empty, I jedge, ’cept for
vittles and skins, and the skins—who knows better’n
you?—was a vallyble lot, so I reckon they loaded ’em
up on master’s horses and then set fire to the place,
|-_—- .-. — -- “
52


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
all the time a-gnashin’ their teeth ’cos they’d got no
scalps.”
“We aren’t sure of that. We must go to Gray Wolf
at once, and see if Will is safe. Come, Pete, ’tis only
three miles.”
“Sartinly that’s what we’1l do. We’d go quickest on
our shanks, but you’d better go horseback, considerin’.
You come too, missis ?”
“No, not a step,” replied the Dutch woman. “I stay
here. De villains! Dey haf burnt my bonnets and my
Bible: dere is no more to do! Bring de boy back; den
we go to Fort Edward, and I will say someding to
General Webb, someding dat make his ears burn; I
will so.”
The two set off at once, Rob riding the cart-horse,
following the wide and clearly marked trail to the
Mohawk village. They had not gone far when Pete, who
was closely examining the ground, came to a halt.
“That’s curious,” he said.
“V!/hat is it?” asked Rob. Every new discovery
seemed to set his nerves quivering.
“Look, Rob! Thar’s the trail of our folks, plain, and
thar’, a couple of yards to the right, thar’s another,
goin’ the same way, a few hours older, and a redskin’s.
See, it has come acrost, and jest thar’ it joins t’other
trail, and then—yes, ’tis covered up. Some Injun went
to the castle no longer ago than last night.”
“Perhaps Redwing had been to see Will. Let us make
haste, Pete; I am on thorns till I know the boy is safe.”
They hurried on as rapidly as the uneven ground
permitted. In. less than an hour, they merged from the
forest into a wide clearing, at the farther end of which
the Wolf tribe of the Mohawks had their “castle” or
settlement. A palisade surrounded the inclosure, on
which, at irregular intervals, their huts were erected.
53


ROB THE RANGER


_ .
The chief’s dwelling, larger than the rest, was a log hut
of considerable size, roofed with birch bark. The smaller
huts consisted simply of small pliable poles, bent till they
met at the top, forming a semicircle; then lashed to-
gether and covered with bark or plaited rushes. It was
characteristic of the Indians that the palisade was left
unguarded, and the two visitors entered the gate un-
checked. The sun was declining, and fires had already
been lighted for the cooking of the evening meal. The
Indians, men, women and children, were squatting in
groups, and near the chief's hut Rob was rejoiced to
perceive the forms of white men. He called to one of
them, ran eagerly forward ahead of Pete, and ques-
tioned the man who rose to meet him. A word was
enough. He turned to the trapper, and said with a
gesture of despair:
“They are all here, except Will! They don’t know
what has become of him.”
“That’s ’tarnal bad news,” said Pete gravely. “I’ll
jest go and pay my duty to the chief and then come back
and hear the story.”
A few of the Mohawks had risen to their feet; the
majority remained as they were, betraying neither by
look nor gesture any interest in the arrival of the white
men. But as Pete went into the chief’s hut, a young
Mohawk came bounding out, and hastened to Rob’s
side. Before the trapper returned, Rob had learned the
details of what had happened.
The night before, a strange Indian had come into the
camp and sought a private interview with the chief.
Redwing did not know what had passed; the visitor
left again, and the night was undisturbed. But early in
the morning, Mr. Somers’ farm people came helter-
skelter through the wood, carrying a few light portable
articles, and begging for protection. One of the men
54


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
had gone at daybreak into the forest, some distance from
the farm, to examine his squirrel traps. Almost un-
awares, he came upon a body of Indians making their
breakfast in a glade, where they had spent the night in
light cabins and plaited rushes, such as they carried with
them when they left their permanent settlements to go
hunting. Fortunately, he had moved quietly and his
presence was not discovered. For a moment he sup-
posed that it was simply a hunting party, but looking
more closely, he was alarmed to notice that the red men
were in full war-paint, and still more alarmed when
he found that among them were several white men,
whom, from their speech, he judged to be Frenchmen.
He waited but to make a rough estimate of their number.
There were, he thought, about fifty Indians, and five
white men. Then, moving cautiously until he was out
of earshot, he hurried back at full speed to the farm,
to give warning of the raid there was only too good
reason to anticipate.
Consternation reigned among Mr. Somers’ people.
If only Indians had been concerned, they might have
barricaded themselves and beaten off an attack. But the
success of the French a few years before at Oswego, and
a month ago at William Henry, had shaken their confi-
dence, and they decided that the safest course was to
seek shelter with the friendly Mohawks, so near at hand.
If there had been time to send the women and children
into safety, the men would perhaps have risked their lives
to save their master’s property; but they dared not
allow their wives and children to make the journey alone,
and they were not numerous enough to divide into an
efficient escort and garrison.
Hastily collecting their most portable valuables, they
had left the farm within ten minutes of the alarm. Not
till they were a mile on the way did they discover that
55
.


ROB THE RANGER
Will Somers, their master’s young son, was not among
them. In the terror and confusion he had not been
missed. The men were debating the possibility of re-
turning for him, when they heard the war-whoop of the
raiders behind them, and there seemed no course open to
them but to make the best of their way to the Mohawk
camp. There the men had pleaded with the chief to send
a party of his braves to rescue the boy, and, if possible,
save the farm. But Gray Wolf sullenly refused; he had,
indeed, given them a churlish reception, and said that
they must leave his castle within twenty-four hours.
Without assistance they could do nothing, and young
Will had perforce been left to his fate.
Such was the story as Rob learned it from Redwing
and the men of the farm. It made him boil with rage.
His father had many times befriended Gray Wolf; was
this the return for all those kindnesses? Impulsively, he
ran forward towards the chief’s hut, but at the entrance
he was stopped by Lone Pete.
“I know it all, my lad,” said the trapper, laying his
hand kindly on Rob’s shoulder. “The ways of white
men and redskins ain’t the same; a leopard can’t change
his spots, as I’ve heard the minister read out o’ the Book.
Varmints is varmints. Gray Wolf has a grudge agin’
the white men, and won’t do a hand’s turn for one of
’em, not even your good dad. You remember that red-
skin trail we set eyes on runnin’ acrost the track of
our folks ?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“ ’Twas the trail of a villainous Abenaki who’d come
with a wampum belt to ask the chief to hold off. The
red men had not lifted the hatchet among ’emselves, he
said; all white men are at the root of it; enemies of the
Injuns, which I’m afeard we can’t deny; and the friend-
ship atwixt red and red is stronger than atwixt red and
56


A RAID FROM THE NORTH
white. So the chief promised he’d do nothing; I allus
thought as how Colonel Johnson was not tender enough
to him, and this is what comes o’ the blunder.”
“Let me pass, Pete; I’ll go and speak to the chief,
myself—the ungrateful wretch, after all we’ve done for
him! If he’s got any shame in him—”
“That’s whar’ ’tis,” interrupted the trapper, keeping his
restraining hand on Rob. “The Almighty made him
different, and only the Almighty can change him. I’ve
knowed the redskins for fifty year, Rob; they must do
as their natur’ bids ’em. I’ve said my say to the chief,
and he’s goin’ to call a council as soon as they’ve eat
their vittles, and thar’ he’ll tell his reasons, and we’ll
have to listen with what patience we can. I’m kind of
upset about young Will; but I don’t believe they’ve done
him no hurt, and the Frenchers ain’t murderers in
ordinar".”
“But they let the reptiles murder our people at
William Henry.”
“True: I can’t deny it. But look, here comes the
chief, hisself. For any sakes, lad, don’t anger him. I
know ’tis hard; but keep a watch on your tongue; that’s
the teachin’ o' fifty year, and sound common sense.”
57


CHAPTER VI
on -ma TRAIL
The chief strode majestically from his hut. Gray
Wolf was both chief and sachem of his tribe, holding
the latter oflice by hereditary right, the former by elec-
tion. He was a finely made Mohawk of about forty,
with commanding features undisfigured by paint, and
eyes as bright and piercing as a hawk’s. He coldly
returned Rob’s salutation, and walked to the open space
beyond the fires, followed by several of the squaws of
the tribe carrying deerskins. These they spread on the
ground, and then retired. The chief took his seat on
the skin of a moose; the elder warriors grouped them-
selves about him; and the younger braves formed a
second circle outside. A space was left in the middle,
opposite the chief, and to this spot he motioned Rob and
the trapper.
“Leave the speakin’ to me, Rob,” said Pete in an
undertone, as they sat side by side on the skins laid for
them.
Rob nodded. The Mohawks lit their pipes and took a
few whiffs, then the chief said:
“Let my white brother speak.”
Deep silence fell upon the company, and Rob, who
had never before been present at an Indian council, was
impressed, in spite of his anxiety, by the fixed solemnity
of their faces. The trapper addressed them in their own
language, speaking with much deliberation, and pausing
at intervals as if to let his words sink into the minds
58


ON THE TRAIL
of his hearers. He reminded them that, a year beforg
they had promised Sir William johnson to assist the
English against the French, and that for twenty years
they had had a good neighbor in Mr. Somers. Yet
they had allowed a hostile party to come within a few
miles of the village, deep into the Mohawk country, to
raid their neighbor’s farm, and even, as it appeared, to
carry off his son, without lifting a hand to prevent it.
Why, he asked, had they thus broken the chain of
friendship? There was only one way to mend the chain,
and that was by sending a band of their young braves to
follow up the marauders and rescue the boy whom they
knew, who had gone in and out among them, and who,
certainly, had done them no wrong.
The trapper’s speech was heard in silence. For some
minutes after he had concluded, no reply was made.
Then the chief began:
“There is truth in what my white brother says, but
it is not all the truth. The Mohawks held one end of
the chain of friendship, the white men held the other;
but surely it was they who let the chain fall! What does
friendship mean between the white men and the red? It
means that the white men come farther and farther into
the red men’s lands, build castles by their rivers, cut
great slices out of their hunting-grounds, promising many
gifts. But they forget their promises, or if they re-
member them, the gifts they make are so trifling that
they would be sniffed at, even by the red men’s dogs.
True, all white men are not alike. It is the Yengeese, the
children of the paleface king over the big water, of
whom we Mohawks most complain. The children of the
paleface father of the Canadas are different. They
speak fair words to the red men, but they also give
them good things—fire-water, and silver rings, and
blankets of many colors like the flowers. And, more-
59


ROB THE RANGER
over, they are great warriors: did they not chase ch;
Yengeese at Monongahela, and take their castles at
Oswego and William Henry? The Yengees are women;
they ought to wear petticoats; the red man knows a
buffalo from a hare.”
Low grunts of approval from the assembled braves
filled a pause in the chief’s speech.
“It is true,” he resumed, “that a band of braves from
another nation came into my lands, but last sleep they
sent a messenger with the wampum belt, and this mes-
senger brought words of friendship. His people had
not dug up the hatchet against the Mohawks, but had
come from the great father of the Canadas, to punish
the Yengeese. Why should I lift the hatchet against
them? They have done me no harm. It is a paleface
quarrel: let the palefaces settle it. And as for sending
my braves on the war-path to rescue the boy—no, I
will not do it. It is now the corn moon, and our crops
are ripe; none of my braves will leave my castle until
the traveling moon. And the boy follows a long trail; he
goes to the castle of the great father of the Canadas;
perhaps he will learn to be a man.”
“Ough! ough!” grunted the warriors, pleased at this
touch of sarcasm. But Rob had listened to the speech
with impatience, and now, heedless of the trapper’s re-
straining hand, he sprang to his feet and poured forth
his indignation in an impetuous torrent.
“You are bad friends, you and your braves !” he
cried. “Is this your return for years of kindness? You
speak of gifts; has not my father made you gifts time
after time? Do you forget the year when your crops
failed and you were starving, and my father gave you
food? Yes, you have forgotten all this; you have buried
the thought of all that has been done for you; you have
skulked in your wigwams, while the braves of another
60


ON THE TRAIL
nation were doing injury to those who had been kind to
you; it is as evil a thing as if you had dug up the hatchet,
yourselves. Wolves, you are, and—”
But here his passionate speech was cut short. The
braves had listened in growing resentment, and now,
uttering loud cries of anger, they sprang to their feet
and rushed towards the youth who had dared to speak
so plainly. Rob stood his ground, his eyes blazing, his
fists clenched, ready to fell any man who touched him.
Lone Pete, looking very anxious, had risen and moved
to Rob’s side. But just as the infuriated Mohawks were
closing upon the two, a slim figure bounded into the
circle and interposed himself between them, calling aloud
at the same time to the chief, who had remained aloof
from the tumult. Redwing’s sudden action gave just the
breathing space required. The commanding voice of
Gray Wolf broke in upon the uproar; the braves re-
luctantly and sullenly withdrew; and Redwing was left
standing with the two white men in the center.
Rob was so angry that he scarcely heard the words
which brought the council to a close. Something was
said by Pete; the chief answered; then Redwing spoke,
and was sternly ordered by his father to go into the hut.
A few minutes later Rob found himself walking with the
trapper away from the settlement, and became aware
that his friend was taking him to task.
“Thar’s a right way and a wrong of doin’ everything,”
said Pete, “and sartin it is you took the wrong. Not
that the chief would have done anything for us, anyhow;
he’s dead set agin us, and I reckon ’tis to they lyin’
Dutch traders at Albany we owe it; ’twas them as riled
the Mohawks three years ago. But your hot-headed
speech made things worse’n they need ha’ bin. Some
folks says if a man ain’t your friend, he’s your enemy,
but I don’t hold wi’ that: seems to me it ain’t common
61


ROB THE RANGER
sense; thar’s many a color atwixt black and white, and
gray’s the right color, for speech with red men. The
chief was a poor kind o’ friend, to be sure ; but now you’ve
bin an‘ made him a downright enemy, Rob, and after
I’d warned you to leave the speakin’ to me !”
The trapper spoke in his usual level tones, and Rob
felt that he was more gently rebuked than he deserved.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” he said, “but I couldn’t stand the
villainous ingratitude and coldness of the wretch. What
are we to do?”
“That’s jest it. Young Redwing, who’s a good sort,
wanted to come and lead us over the trail o’ them Hurons,
but his father wouldn’t hear of it. As things have
turned out, we’ve lost vallyble time; and one thing I’ve
learned; if you let time get ahead of you, you can’t
catch him up—not if you bust yourself.”
“Yes, yes,” returned Rob, somewhat impatiently, “but
it isn’t time: it’s Indians—Hurons, you said; and Lone
Pete isn’t the man, I know, if he says he can’t catch
them up.”
“That I grant you: but thar’s another p’int. Thar’s
two of us, and more’n fifty of them. Two can’t tackle
fifty: not in the forest.”
“But we can take our men.”
“No. They’re farm men, not woodsmen, no good
against varmints. They must go to Edward.”
“Couldn’t they get help for us there?”
"Wal, if General Webb wouldn’t do a hand’s turn to
help a redcoat colonel and two thousand men, I reckon
he’d do rayther less for a settler’s boy and a backwoods-
man.”
“But wouldn’t some of Rogers’ Rangers help us?
Captain Blodget came fast enough to the mound.”
“Bless you, the Rangers are wanted for other work.
I did hear that they’re to be sent north on scouting duty;
62



i





ON THE TRAIL
the business of the king ranks above any little concerns
of Rob Somers. Besides, we ain’t got time to Wait
for ’em.”
“Then we two’ll have to do it ourselves, Pete. With
father a prisoner, I’m responsible for Will. If father is
in a French town he, at any rate, will not be ill-used;
perhaps he’1l be exchanged by and by; but Will is in
the hands of a set of bloodthirsty savages—if he is still
alive; and I can’t rest till I know what has become of
him. Besides, I’ve no home; those wretches have de-
stroyed everything; I’m not going to kick my heels in
Fort Edward or be patronized by the redcoats in Albany.
I’m going after Will, Pete, with or without you.”
“That’s spoke like a true backwoodsman,” said Pete
heartily. “My dooty to your dad wouldn’t let me egg
you on; but, since that’s your own mind, spoke out frank
without no promptin’, I’ll jine you immediate, and we’ll
go on the trail together, on the off chance that we may
find some way or other of bringin’ off the boy. We’ll
have to stuff our wallets pretty tight, for we can’t march
without food; thar’ was a good stock o’ bear’s meat in
my little cabin; maybe thar’s some of it left, a bit
over-cooked, I reckon, but we ain’t tender in our diges-
tions.”
While discussing the situation they had been walking
rapidly in the darkness towards the ruined farm. When
they reached it they found Minna Koop sitting with her
back against the wheel of the wagon, holding a musket.
Pete told her briefly what they had learned and what
they intended to do. She applauded their resolution,
vigorously objurgated the farm people for running away,
and declared her intention of marching to the Mohawk
castle and speaking her mind to the chief.
“One side, General Webb; other side, Gray Wolf;
both not worth dat.” She snapped her fingers. “Now,
63


ROB THE RANGER
you, Pete,” she added, “my boy Rob is in your care. If
any harm come to him, if you bring not back my Will,
I break my heart and hate you for ever.”
The trapper’s cabin, at some distance from Mr. Somers’
log house, had been less thoroughly burned than the main
building; and Pete found that his store of bear’s meat,
kept underground, had not suffered. They slept for a
few hours on blankets taken from the same secret store,
and rose to begin their expedition under the moonlit sky.
With wallets, powder-horns and bullet-pouches well-
filled, and blankets strapped about them, they set off,
hope mingled with anxiety. They struck the trail, still
clear, followed it for a few miles westward through the
forest, then found it took a northerly direction.
“Seems as if the varmints have crossed the Mohawk,”
said Pete, “I reckon they wanted to keep clear 0’ the
Oneidas, and I don’t wonder at it, for thar’s no love
lost atween the Hurons and the Oneidas, and if thar’
warn’t a rale scrimmage, the Hurons would have had
to pay a pretty heavy toll. Not that they couldn’t afford
it, for with them horses loaded with your dad’s skins
and things, they’re riche.r’n any fifty Injuns ever were
or ever will be.”
“You forget there are Frenchmen among them.”
“No, I don’t forget, and that same circumstance is
what skeers me most. You see, if they was all redskins,
they’d set no watch when they camp for the night.
That’s a strange thing about Injuns which I never could
understand—why, when they’re so spry about surprisin’
other folks, they never take precautions agin’ bein’ sur-
prised theirselves. But, as I was sayin’, the Frenchmen
ain’t built that way, not if they’re real Frenchers, that
is; and so we’ll get no manner o’ chance of stealin’ into
their camp and sneakin’ off your brother unbeknown.”
“The Frenchers are my one bit of comfort, Pete.
54


- ON THE TRAIL
They’ll see to it that poor Will doesn’t come to any harm.
But I can’t help thinking that they must belong to a
larger force of the French, for a small body unsupported
would hardly venture so far south.”
“I don’t know about that. ’Tis my belief that some
Frencher must ha’ got to know that your dad is a
pretty warm man, with a rare heap o’ vallyble skins;
and made up his mind to run a little plunderin’ expedi-
tion private. Most like he slipped away from the mar-
quis’ army on the march from William Henry, and got
a band of Hurons to jine him by promisin’ ’em a good
share. Anyway, I jedge by the trail that they’re bound
for Lake Ontario; the snows’ll soon be on us, and the
Injuns’ll want to get home, ready for the hunting. If
that’s the case, the F renchers’ll leave ’em by and by, and
let us hope that they’ll set-to a-quarrelin’ when it comes
to dividin’ the plunder, ’cos that’ll lose time and help us.”
“If we don’t catch them before then, we shan’t know
whether Will is with the Indians or the French,” said
Rob gloomily.
“Just so! You’ve hit the mark; that’s why I said
’tis no easy job to catch up on time when he’s got ahead
of you.”
When Rob and the trapper started to track down the
raiding party, the latter was already thirty miles on
the homeward trail. After plundering and destroying
the farm, in the early morning of the previous day, they
had hurriedly departed from the spot, not so much in
fear of immediate pursuit, as in distrust of the neutral-
ity of Gray Wolf and his Mohawks. The chief would
not himself rob Mr. Somers; but if his friendship was
not strong enough to induce him to defend the property
of his absent benefactor, it was scarcely likely—or so it
seemed to the Frenchmen among the party—that he
05


ROB THE RANGER
would resist the temptation to wrest that property from
its captors.
For Lone Pete had guessed correctly. Sixty of the
band were Indians—part Hurons, part Pottawottomies,
from the farthest shores of the Great Lakes. But five
were French—two of pure blood, three half-breeds, typi-
cal specimens of the hardy adventurers who had pushed
the dominion of France from Quebec across the Great
Lakes, and thence, by the Ohio and Mississippi to the
Gulf of Mexico. For these pioneers the pure-blooded
Frenchmen had, as a rule, a fine contempt; but, strangely
enough, it was not one of the Frenchmen, but a half-
breed, who in this case had the controlling voice. It
was he who had organized the raid, he to whose opinions
the Indians, as well as his white companions, deferred.
In the alert, untiring, and masterful backwoodsman who
was now leading the party on the homeward trail, it
would not have been easy to recognize the scared and
shrinking fugitive, who, some three weeks earlier, had
stumbled, on the threshold of seemingly certain death,
beneath the protecting muskets of Lone Pete and his
comrades. To the Frenchmen he was known as Louis
Bessiére; the Indians called him Le Loup.
Save for one small boy, the whole party went afoot.
There were two horses among them, but these were laden
with plunder, though even their broad backs did not
suflice to bear the whole burden of the spoil, much of
which was distributed among the Indians. In the midst
ambled a shaggy pony, upon which, for the sake of more
rapid marching, rather than from any humane feeling,
rode the one captive, young Will Somers. On that
bright morning, the boy had left the farm early, to
wander light-heartedly in the forest, where he was almost
as much at home as the beasts and birds. He had been
absent when the alarm was given; during the few min-
66


ON THE TRAIL
utes of hurried preparation he had not been missed;
and before he was aware of any danger, he found himself
in the grasp of a hideously painted savage who, but
for the intervention of Le Loup, would have added an-
other scalp to those dangling from his belt.. With all
his strength he struggled in the grasp of his captor;
his cry was stifled, and he was laid, gagged and bound,
at the foot of a tree until the party returned from their
deed of destruction and rapine. Then, half-dazed, he
rode between two of the Hurons through the hot Septem-
ber day. There were few halts, and those of the briefest;
the party moved rapidly, taking no precautions to hide
its trail, which, indeed, would have been a diflicult, if not
impossible task.
In camp that night, one of the half-breeds, a mean-
visaged creature, known as Le Borgne, from his having
one eye all but blind, took occasion to congratulate the
leader on the success of the raid. Vain as a peacock, Le
Loup swallowed the compliment, and launched out into
a self-panegyric to which the nearest Frenchman, a
little shaggy sergeant of the regiment of Artois, listened
with a sour smile.
“Faith of a Frenchman, you are right,” said Le Loup
vaingloriously, after he had tossed off a goblet of spruce
beer from Mr. Somers’ store. “Truly it was lucky I
chanced to fall in with your party when I did. Another
mile, and you would have walked right into the arms
of Rogers’ Rangers, and next to Rogers himself there
is no man one would less have liked to meet than
Captain Stark, who was commanding the party. But
for me, your scalps would by this time have been hanging
in the British camp.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Sergeant Barbier, “the luck was to
you as well. You were done up; there was no fight in
you; and if we hadn’t met you, and the Rangers were
_ »


ROB THE RANGER
as near as you say, they’d have caught you at daylight,
and then!”
He drew his hand significantly round his scalp.
“Name of a thunder!” cried Le Loup, somewhat
nettled. “I am not the man to be caught by Rangers or
any other pigs of English. Imagine how I tricked them
that day! My faith! it was magnificent. The trapper
is the best wood-runner on the borders, but no match
for me. I played ’possum; I used him and the English
cub as long as it was necessary; then took English leave.
And what is more, I stretched my ears while they were
talking; little they knew I was shamming; and the in-
formation I picked up I used to plan this little expedition
—yes, and to lead you farther within the redcoats’ lines
than any French force this year. You may sneer,” he
added, marking the expression of the sergeant’s face,
“but I tell you that you whitecoats from France would
be pretty hard put to it without us wood-runners.”
“Talk as you will,” said Barbier stubbornly, “the raid
was yours, without doubt; but what have you got by it?
Plunder, things of sale and barter; but glory—no!”
_“Glory!” repeated the half-breed. “That is the white-
coats’ word. You talk of glory: but you always take
good care to be at hand when the spoils are divided.”
“The wood-runner, it is true, knows nothing of glory,”
said the other, growing warm; “nor of honor, nor of
gratitude. If I had been saved from a painted savage,
even though my savior was a mortal enemy and the
enemy of France, I would not repay him by burning his
house and stealing his goods—no, not I, nor any true
Frenchman.”
“That is true,” said the other Frenchman, a stripling
of eighteen or nineteen years, who wore the white coat
with black facings, the black three-cornered hat and
black gaiters of the troupes de la marine, as the Canadian
68


ON THE TRAIL
regulars were called. “That is true. A Frenchman
thinks first of his honor.” I
“And it was Abenakis who pursued you,” continued
the sergeant. “Seeing that the Abenakis are friends of
us French, it is clear they never mistook you for a
Frenchman—eh, Monsieur le Loup?”
The half-breed sprang up in a fury, snatched his knife,
and with his fellow Le Borgne made at the Frenchmen.
The white men, however, did not rise from their blankets,
but drew their swords and coolly fixed the other two
with their eyes.
Bessiére stopped, gave a mirthless laugh, and returned
to his place, accompanied by Le Borgne. They knew
well enough that in fair fight they were no match for
the practised soldiers: if they excelled, it was in wiles
and stratagem. They finished their supper in silence, and
when they spoke again, it was to discuss calmly the
arrangements for watching the camp, and the route of
their march when morning broke.
Next day——-the day when Rob and Lone Pete started
in pursuit—the raiders moderated their pace. They
were now well in the French zone; there was little likeli-
hood of their encountering stray parties of Englishmen,
or even of Indians in British pay; and the heavy-laden
horses were feeling the effects of the forced march of the
previous day.
The route chosen by Le Loup was a little-used Indian
trail between the Adirondacks and Lake Ontario. In
his reason for selecting this less direct path, there was
more than a wish to run no risk of meeting Englishmen.
He was almost as anxious to avoid the rear-guard of the
force that had captured William Henry.
"In the administration of the French governor, Baron
de Vaudreuil, and the intendant, Francois Bigot, the
Canadian officials, high and low, enriched themselves at
59


ROB THE RANGER
the expense not only of the French crow-n, but also of
all humbler folk who were capable of being subjected to
“squeeze.” Nowhere, probably, had the science of cor-
ruption been carried to a higher perfection than in the
Canada of 1757. Not even the Chinese mandarin could
boast a greater capacity for extorting the utmost from
his office than the servants of King Louis, who, with
a few exceptions, like Montcalm himself, looked upon
an oflicial appointment solely as a means of amassing a
fortune in the shortest possible time.
Louis Bessiére and his white comrades were quite
aware that if they rejoined the army in open possession
of their spoils, very little would be left to them after
the higher officials had taken their toll. And they knew
that their plunder would fetch many thousand good
crowns if they could convey it to Montreal or Quebec,
and bide their time. Their plan, then, as they had ar-
ranged it overnight, was to make the best of their way
to Montreal by the hilly solitudes of the western shoulder
of the Adirondacks, and there to dispose of, or safely
bestow their booty, before the news of the raid reached
official ears. It was these considerations that had led
them to avoid the easiest road to their markets in the
French settlements, which would have been by way of
Lake Champlain and the St. Lawrence.
At the same time, the route chosen suited their Indian
allies. The majority of these, having nothing to gain by
rejoining the army, were eager to return as quickly
as possible to their wigwams on the far shore of Lake
Ontario, and the path they were now following was
the quickest, though not, perhaps, the easiest.
Among this band of fighters, the single captive was
very much alone. Will Somers sat his pony manfully as
it trudged over the ground, never complaining, though
he must have been stiff and sore from so many hours in
70


ON THE TRAIL
the saddle. He was allowed to dismount when the party
halted for rest or food, but the Indian appointed to guard
him never let him go out of his sight: and, indeed, if he
had been minded to attempt escape, it would have been
sheer foolhardiness, now that he had been brought so far
from home. But Will was a sensible boy; he employed
the halts in stretching his limbs and eating hearty meals:
and having already found that none of his captors—to all
appearance——could speak English, he made no attempt to
converse with them.
Will was ten years old, somewhat short for his age,
but well-set, sturdy, and invincibly cheerful. He had a
little snub nose, round, freckled cheeks, and merry
blue eyes, that seemed made for smiling. He was a
sociable little fellow, and being denied the exercise of his
by no means idle tongue, he amused himself throughout
the dreary march in inventing nicknames for his captors,
which gave him much inward enjoyment. After the
first few moments of fright, when he found himself in the
hands of the Indians, he recovered his self-possession,
and decided to make the best of a bad business, which
after all was not so bad as it might have been, for his
scalp was safe and it was apparently not the intention
of his captors to harm him. He had so vast a belief in
his father and brother, and Lone Pete, the companion
of many delightful hours, that he never imagined he
would long be left in unfriendly hands. Only at night,
when the Indians, following their custom with prisoners,
stretched him on his back and tied his hands and feet to
saplings or tree stumps—only then did his fortitude give
way, and in the lone hours of darkness he shed a few
natural tears and wished that Rob was near.
The party camped early on the second night. Hitherto
there had been no opportunity of dividing the spoil; but
now that, as they imagined, they were safe from pursuit,
71


ROB THE RANGER
and approaching the spot at which Frenchmen and
Indians would part and go their several ways, they no
longer postponed a matter that had already given some
of their number no little concern.
It had been decided that the division should be made
by a committee consisting of Le Loup and Sergeant
Barbier, and the leaders of the Hurons and the Potta-
wottomies. This decision had only been arrived at after
some wrangling, for the Indian braves were accustomed
to keep what they had individually won, and the idea of
pooling the plunder did not commend itself to them.
Especially did they resent Le Loup’s allocation of three
shares to himself, and two to each of his French or
half-breed companions. But he had made that stipula-
tion with the Huron chief at the outset, his zeal on behalf
of his comrades being due not to any generosity of
mind, but to the knowledge that,\ unless he did something
for them it would be impossible for himself to lay hands
on more than a single share.
The Indians laid down their burdens; the horses were
unladen; and the spoils were placed in the center of the
encampment. The four distributors sat cross-legged be-
fore the heap, and the rest of the Indians stood around,
gravely smoking their pipes, and watching jealously to
see that none was favored at another’s expense.
It was long before the distribution was completed.
Feeling sometimes ran high; once Le Loup and Barbier
nearly came to blows; and the growls that broke now and
again from the ring of Indians, warned the Frenchman
that scrupulous fairness was expected. At length, when
darkness shadowed the glade in which they were en-
camped, and only a sickle moon shed a faint light upon
their business, the last of the plunder was apportioned.
“That’s well done,” said Barbier, stretching himself
with a long sigh. “But what about the boy?”
72


ON THE TRAIL
ll
He’s mine,” said Le Loup shortly.
“Ough !” grunted the Huron chief. Then, speaking in
his strange mongrel French, he proceeded: “The pale-
face cub was caught by one of my braves: he belongs to
us; he shall go with us to our wigwams.”
“A thousand thunders!” cried Le Loup, between his
teeth. “The boy is mine! I will have him !”
“What’s the good of the boy to you ?” said Barbier,
looking with amusement at the angry faces of the two
claimants, who had risen and faced each other defiantly.
“He’ll only be in your way, and, my faith, I wondered
why you troubled to bring him at all. He’s no redcoat;
he’s useless as a prisoner; and unless you give play
to the red half of you and lift his scalp, which will
fetch a fair price, I suppose he’ll cost you in food more
than he’s worth.”
“I want him, that is enough,” was the only reply the
half-breed vouchsafed. Seeing that he was not likely
to get his way without making some return to the Huron,
he began to bargain. Barbier shrugged and moved away,
leaving the two to haggle. An hour later, the Indian
went off loaded with two-thirds of Le Loup’s plunder, in
exchange for which he had given up his claim upon the
boy. And Barbier, noting the expression of the half-
breed’s face as he came up, saw that whatever the terms
of the bargain may have been, Le Loup was well-content.
73


CHAPTER VII
FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
While the raiders had been occupied with the distri-
bution of their spoils, Rob and Lone Pete lay snatching
a short rest, ten miles back on the trail. Hour after
hour they had reduced the day’s lead with which the
enemy had started. They knew well that a very few
marches would bring the raiders so near to the French
settlements, that to follow them without discovery would
be all but impossible. The only prospect of success in
their enterprise lay in closing with the party while it was
still in the hilly district south of the St. Lawrence.
Even then it seemed to Pete a hopeless thing to ex-
pect that two men could bring off a. prisoner from so
large a band, consisting mainly of Indians and trained
backwoodsmen. No one could have known better than
he that to be discovered meant failure for their mission
and death for themselves. There would be four more
scalps to be paid for by the agents of King Louis--four,
because the Indian allies of the French were accus-
tomed to draw a double reward for each man killed
by carefully dividing the scalp into two.
Long and anxiously the trapper discussed with Rob
the chances of the chase. Even Rob, flushed with a
boy’s eagerness and confidence, could not but admit that
it was at the best a forlorn hope. But neither to him
nor to Pete did it occur as possible that they should
abandon the pursuit. Rob’s motive in pressing on was
as strong as boy could have. Will was his brother. The
74


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
trapper, though not impelled by kinship, was yet urged
by scarcely less powerful impulse. In Pete’s little cabin,
within a hundred yards of the farm, the boy had al-
ways been a welcome guest, since the time when, as a
toddling child in a soiled pinafore, he had watched the
sinewy backwoodsman fell the logs for his home. There
Lone Pete, during his short periods of leisure, when
he had returned from expeditions to Oswego or from
posts even farther afield, had spent many a happy hour
with the two boys, delighting them with stories of his
adventures in pursuit of bear or beaver, and drawing
almost equal pleasure from the artless prattle of the
younger. At these times Lone Pete was lone no longer.
If the child had been his own son his affection could
scarcely have been stronger, though none would have
guessed that under his rugged exterior welled so deep
a fount of tenderness.
So they labored on—Rob and Pete together. Speed!
That was the prime necessity, and Rob chafed as he
found that his strength was no match for his eagerness;
still more when he had reason to suspect that Pete was
sparing him. The trapper led the way; sometimes, ow-
ing to the nature of the ground, the trail became indis-
tinct, but Pete’s practised eye never failed to pick up the
signs. At these moments he would glance round to note
the condition of his companion; and then Rob, though
numbed with fatigue, would pull himself together and
feign a strength and freshness he was far from feeling.
Pete said nothing to betray his anxiety on the lad’s be-
half; but he found occasion for resting more frequently
than Rob confessed to be necessary, and took upon him-
self the task of preparing their meals, which were of the
simplest. It was he, too, who had insisted on carrying
the greater part of their provisions-—-only three full days’
supply, for the lighter equipped the more quickly they
75


ROB THE RANGER
would travel, and he trusted to his woodland skill to re-
plenish the larder if need be.
Lone Pete and woodsmen like him were the freemen
of the forests. To the uninitiated dark, impenetrable,
filled with nameless terrors, these vast tracts of woodland
were as familiar to the woodsmen as the streets of a
city to a townsman. They knew where to look for the
nuts and fruits; Rob would have told you that wild
strawberries were to be found among the chestnuts; the
sight of poplars warned them of swampy ground; a
grove of red oak proclaimed a soil of loam and sand.
When the sun was hidden from them they needed no
compass through the pathless forest, for some previous
pathfinder had blazed trees here and there, cutting strips
of bark from different sides of the trunk; and the side
where the covering moss grew the thickest was the
north. They knew the haunts of the nimble squirrel,
the savage racoon, the stately elk; if a rattlesnake bit
them they knew the remedy nature had provided as
an antidote—the leaf of the low-growing plantain; the
scent of the musquash led them to fruit-bearing shrubs;
and if, perchance, they were feverish after a night on
swampy ground, there was the fever bush at hand, of
whose buds a decoction would cool their blood.
As the first day was drawing to a close, the travelers
came to the place where, though something had been
done to obliterate the signs, it was evident that the
raiders had encamped.
“The critters had the common sense to light no fires,”
said Pete, halting for a moment at the spot. “Now, if
thar’ warn’t a need for hurry, we couldn’t do much bet-
ter nor camp here. Trust the Hurons for a likely camp-
ing-place.”
He eyed Rob keenly as he spoke, and admired the lad’s
pluck when he rose to the occasion.
75


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
“We’ll go on a bit farther, Pete,” he said, after a ru-
minating pause. “It’ll seem as if we’ve gained on"em,
even if we haven’t.”
“That’s jest my notion. Say a couple of miles, then,
afore we make a halt.”
Rob could hardly drag himself along, but he stumbled
on after the trapper, and when Pete made the final halt,
he flung himself down and fell instantly into the deep
sleep of utter exhaustion.
“The makin’ of a rare Ranger,” said the old backwoods-
man, looking at his prostrate form. “I reckon we’re on
a wild-goose chase, but it won’t do the lad no harm.”
Before daybreak they were up again, keeping their
course by the stars.
“Thar’s a risk of losing the trail, in course,” said Pete
as they started, “but We knows in a general way the p’int
they varmints are makin’ for, and if we’re to make up
on ’em we must take some chances.”
They stumbled on as best they could till dawn; then,
having already covered several miles, they began to
hunt for the trail. They were now in a sparsely wooded
region with undulating hills, browned with the summer
heats and marked already with the first signs of winter.
As soon as it was light enough to see the ground clearly,
they separated and went off at an angle, so that one or
other could hardly fail to hit the trail. The signal of its
discovery by either was to be the melancholy cry of the
whippoorwill, which was not likely to attract attention
if any travelers were near.
Rob had gone, as he judged, fully a mile in his new
direction, and was probably at least another mile from
his companion, before he at last picked up the trail in a
little copse. He gave the bird call'as well as he was able.
and sat down to await the arrival of Pete. To his sur-
prise, only a few seconds had passed before the trap-
77


ROB THE RANGER I
per came round the shoulder of a hill less than a couple
of hundred yards away.
“You look kind o’ skeered, Rob,” he said, “but thar’
ain’t no need.”
“I thought you were far away, Pete, and doubted
whether you’d hear my call.”
“Never go farther’n you need, lad; ’tain’t common
sense,” said Pete, with a kind intention of giving the boy
helpful instruction. “Over yonder the ground is cut up
bad—very rough and oneasy goin’ for horses or men. It
ain’t in reason that any critter, varmint or not, should
choose a rough road when thar’s an easy one, leastways
not unless a good deal harder driven than them in front
of us; so when I found no signs afore I got to the oneven
track I concluded they hadn’t gone that way. Conse-
quent, here I am. I see you’ve picked up the trail, so we
may as well go for’ard perserverin’.”
For a great part of that day their way led through
gloomy and interminable forest, varied only by the
different species of trees. Here it was a grove of chest-
nuts; then a wood of red oak; then maples or poplars;
often all the kinds mingled. But for the horses of the
raiding party it would sometimes have been diflicult
to find the trail, for the passage of men through the
yielding undergrowth left few traces that could be dis-
covered in the gloom. The two adventurers occasion-
ally refreshed themselves with the nuts and wild fruits
that grew in unpruned luxuriance, and Rob again
guessed that these pauses for partial rest were more fre-
quent than they would have been had not Pete wished
to spare him. .
Towards midday they climbed a somewhat steep hill,
crowned with cedars. Behind them stretched almost un-
broken forest; but the north side of the hill was almost
bare, and half a mile below a stream crossed their path.
78


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
At a spot where it widened into a still pool, Pete’s keen
eyes descried a deer drinking.
“That’s our dinner,” said the trapper quietly.
“But you won’t fire at him? The Indians would hear
a shot.”
“I guess they’re too far ahead, with the wind blowing
in our faces, too. In course thar’ is a chance of a gun
bein’ heard by stray reptiles as may be prowlin’ round;
but we didn’t bring much vittles with us, and we’d bet-
ter risk something now than wait till we come up with
the varmints and then find our wallets are empty. We’ll
creep down as quiet as we can under cover of the
bushes; he’ll be a bit more tasty than b’ar-meat.”
They made their way stealthily down the hill, but
when they had reduced the gap between them and their
quarry to about four hundred yards they found on
emerging from a thick clump of evergreens that the
animal had moved away from the bank of the stream.
Signing to Rob to remain where he was, the trapper
wormed his way forward for another hundred yards,
stealing from bush to bush with the unfailing caution of
an old hunter.
Suddenly Rob, who had been intently following his
every movement, lost sight of him. He seemed to have
vanished into the earth, so still was his form and so
completely did his costume harmonize with the coloring
of the low bushes around him. Casting his eye ahead,
Rob espied the deer slowly browsing up-stream, the
banks being covered apparently with a short coarse herb-
age. It was slowly approaching the direct line between
Rob and the farther bank, and to his impatience it
seemed hours before the animal perceptibly reduced the
distance between itself and the spot where the hunter
had disappeared.
At last there was a flash from the undergrowth, the
70


ROB THE RANGER
deer pitched forward on to its knees, then fell side-
wise and lay without movement. Pete rose from his
place of concealment, wiped his gun, and beckoned Rob
to join him.
“A fine beast,” said the trapper, “and ’tis a rale pity
we can’t make the most of him. We’ll cut enough to last
us for two days without drawin’ on what’s left in our
wallets, and I reckon we can venture to cook a couple
of steaks for our dinner, the wind blowin’ the smoke
this way.”
The meal was soon prepared; then, throwing the re-
mains of the carcass into the stream, they once more
pushed on. An hour or two later they came upon the
traces of the second encampment of the party in front.
“We’ll have to be smart,” said Pete, after a close
examination of the ground. “They’ve bin dividin’ the
spoil, which means that thar’s goin’ to be a split up
afore long.” \
“How do you know ?” asked Rob, looking in vain
for any telltale marks.
“’Cos jest here in the middle, the grass is a dif-
ferent color from what it is around, and that means that
something has been spread upon it. And it ain’t their
sleepin’ blankets: you can trace them separate under the
trees. They’ve laid your father’s skins right here, sar-
tin. Wal, we’ve got several hours before sundown, and
if we go on the same pace we’ve bin goin’ all day, I
reckon we’ll be within ten or maybe fifteen miles of the
varmints by the time they camp.”
They hurried along, Rob gaining new strength from
the knowledge that the enemy’s lead had been so ma-
terially diminished. In the course of the afternoon Pete
was able to recognize certain features of the country
which had become familiar to him during a somewhat
trying experience ten years earlier.
8o


FOLLOWING - UP THE RAIDERS
ll9
Tain’t the first time I’ve bin through this copse,” he
said, as they entered a maple grove. “See here; these
are the very trees I blazed myself.” He pointed to the
moss-grown patches on the trees. “Ay, I remember
that journey clear as clear, and jest haven’t I reason
to! ’Twas afore Oswego was captured by the French-
ers, and me and two chums—Caleb Blodget was one-
got blowed ashore on the east side of Ontario. The gales
come up without a moment’s warnin’ and thar’ was me,
stranded sixty mile above Oswego and well on the
French side. Gosh! ’twas a ticklish concern, for when
we trarnped along the lake shore, durned if there wasn’t
a whole tribe of Hurons blockin’ the way. We some-
how got separated; I couldn’t find t’other two, and they
couldn’t find me; and as I’d got mighty little powder,
most of it havin’ bin washed overboard, ’twas a case
o’ bein’ scalped or starved if I didn’t make tracks pretty
smart. So I took the safe course and steered by the
sun, when I could see him, blazin’ the trees as I went
along as a guide to my chums what way I’d gone if they
chanced on the same tracks. That’s just what they
did; and they come into Fort Lynam—what’s now Wil-
liam Henry—only half a day behind me, as near famished
as I was. We’re goin’ the same way now, only back-.
’ards, and afore we’ve gone many miles farther we’ll
hit the Black River, as the Injuns call it.”
When night fell they encamped in a narrow dingle,
thoroughly screened from observation to the northward.
After a little hesitation, Pete decided to build a small
fire, taking the precaution to damp it carefully so that
there should be no glow above the tree-tops. It was
needed to cook their supper of venison; moreover, on
the previous night they had been somewhat disturbed
by the flies, while long-drawn howls proclaimed that
wolves were not far off—unwelcome marauders which
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FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
ll
I don’t care. I’m going through with this if I
die.”
“Wal, thar’s two kinds of sense, common and oncom-
mon. I’ve told you plain the common-sense way of it,
and that bein’ not partickler to your likin’, we’ve got to
think of t’other. Common sense ain’t plentiful; oncom-
mon sense only comes to a few here and there, and
they’ve mostly got oncommon grit, too. But the two
kinds are most cur’ous mixed up. ’Tis oncommon sense,
I guess, that’ll bring us through this job if anything;
but we ain’t goin’ to shut the door on common sense
altogether, which is the reason why I’m jest a-goin’ to
give you a durned good rubbin’ with this b’ar’s grease
I’ve got in my wallet. In that way one kind’ll help the
other.”
Tired as he was, Rob could not help smiling at the
trapper’s quaint philosophy. Pete rubbed his joints
thoroughly with the grease, keeping up a slow but
steady flow of monologue; and when he had finished
he wiped his hands on the grass, and remarked:
“Thar’, now! The springs’ll go easier to-morrow.”
Whether it was due to the bear’s grease, or to a longer
sleep than usual, or to the substantial breakfast Pete’s
deft hands prepared, Rob trod the spongy ground with
a freer, lighter gait when the journey was resumed next
morning. The trail was still easy to follow, and in
the course of an hour or two they came, as Pete had
anticipated, upon the still warm ashes of the raiders’
bivouac fires. The trapper examined the site of the en-
campment with even more care than usual.
“Afore I only suspected; now I’m sartin,” he said
to Rob, when the latter asked what he was looking for.
“D’you see, Rob? Thar’ ain’t no saplings handy jest
here, so the varmints stuck a few hooks into the ground
and tied your brother to them. He’s with ‘em, and a
33


ROB THE RANGER
livin' critter, thar’s no manner of doubt, and we’ll push
on a bit faster accordin’.”
They covered several miles at a more rapid pace than
at any time since they began the chase, and by and by
forded the Black River. Then the trapper slowed down,
remarking that the raiders could not be far ahead, and
it was necessary to keep out of sight. From that time
they marched more cautiously, avoiding the risk of being
seen above the sky-line or bare hill slopes, and care-
fully scanning the country in front before they crossed
the open spaces in the woods.
“’Tis quite clear to me,” said Pete, “that the boy’s
bin ridin’ all the way. For why? ’Cos if he’d walked
we’d have seen some signs of it. He’s not above four
foot high, and no boy as I ever knowed would have
walked for miles and miles without givin’ a tug here
and there to a twig on one side or other of the path.
I’ve kept an eye on the bushes, and never a spray has
bin bent or broken, ’cept at a height too considerable
for VVill’s arm to reach; and thar’ wouldn’t have bin
none o’ them broken at all if ’twas only Injuns in the
party.”
“They must be farther ahead than you supposed,”
said Rob, whose eagerness and impatience were in-
creasing.
“Maybe, but I’m not so sure. You see, we’ve bin
goin’ slower, for reason why. They ain’t far off, that’s
sartin. And I guess if we see ’em at all to-day, ’twill be
from the top of yonder hill. It ain’t in reason that
they’ll make the Oswegatchie afore sundown, which is
jest as well for us, ’cos if the varmints have got canoes
or batoos in hiding we’d stand a poor chance of over-
haulin’ ’em, once they get afloat.”
Rob breasted the hill so ardently that he was out
of breath before he was half way up, and was over-
34


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
taken by the trapper, who had kept up the same steady
pace.
“Common sense, my lad; don’t you forget the mix-
ture,” he said.
Gaining the crest, they gazed over a wide extent of
sparsely wooded country, gently sloping towards the
northwest. Both stood still to recover their breath and
scan the horizon. Pete was the first to break the si-
lence.
“Thought as much. Thar’ they are. You see them
movin’ specks over yonder, almost at the top of the
slope?”
“No!—Yes! I see them! D’you think they’re the
Indians ?”
“Sartin sure of it. That’s them, hosses and all,
marchin’ Injun fashion, ’cept in one place, whar they’re
two or three abreast, and them’s Frenchers.”
“How far off ?”
“Near three miles, I reckon.”
“Then we’ll come up with them in an hour or two?”
“That’s accordin’. We’ll have to go careful. Now’s
the time for oncommon sense. If we go round to the
right, through that bit of wood, thar’ll be no chance
of any of the varmints spyin’ us if they turn round, and
for all we know they may have kept a man or two be-
hind to look out for any sign of folks on their tracks,
though they won’t be much afeard of it, arter all this
time.”
Making the circuitPete had suggested, they lost sight
of the party, and did not again catch a glimpse of it
until near sunset. They had reached a small clump of
cedars on the summit of a low hill, when, to Rob’s sur-
prise, the trapper, speaking in a whisper, told him to
look back. About three-quarters of a mile away, in a
hollow which the rays of the sinking sun had already
35


ROB THE RANGER
deserted, Rob saw the whole party halted, and prepar-
ing, as it appeared from their movements, to pitch their
camp for the night. He felt his heart give a great leap;
his young brother was there, almost within a stone’s
throw of him! But at the same moment he was con-
scious of a feeling of helplessness. His brother was
there, indeed; but of what avail was his pursuit after
all? The boy was a captive; he would soon be tied hand
and foot in an encampment of more than fifty savage
warriors; how could two men dare to hope to rescue him
against such odds?
Meanwhile Pete was keenly glancing from right to
left, as if to use every minute of the fading light. He
followed with his eyes the line of march he presumed
the raiders would take on the morrow.
“Thar’s no camp-fire for us to-night,” he said, low-
ering his voice so that not a whisper might be car-
ried on the breeze. “We must eat our vittles cold; and
if any of the varmints come a-prowlin’ on our tracks,
remember, Rob, it must be the knife; no shootin’; thar’s
jest a bare chance with the knife; but a single shot would
bring the whole pack round us like prairie wolves. And
in case our bein’ here skeers some bird or beast and sets
they varmints a-wonderin’, we’ll go a bit for’ard where
thar’ ain’t no sich danger. Move quiet; they Hurons
have got ears like a caribou.”
Leaving the copse, they found, not far away, a well-
screened hollow, in the midst of which three or four
stunted bushes provided suflicient cover. It was more
than a mile from the spot where the raiders were en-
camping. The Indians, after a long day’s march, and
with nothing to arouse their suspicion, would hardly
range so far afield in search of possible enemies.
Seated in their hollow, making a cheerless meal of
dried bear’s meat, the two adventurers held a long whis-
86


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
pered conversation. The despondency which had beset
Rob as he looked down on the Indian encampment
seemed now to have infected his comrade.
“To tell the truth, Rob,” he said, “my spirits are on-
common low. Two lone critters didn’t never ought to
have started on sech a wild-goose chase. I ain’t a-goin’
to say die; in our line of life it won’t do to go flop; but
when you come to calkerlate it, what chance on earth
have we got of bringin’ the boy away from fifty red
varmints up to every p’int of the stalkin’ game, to say
nothing of the Frenchers, or half-breeds, or whatever
they are, that’s with ’em? It don’t nohow stand to
reason. Thar’ might have been a chance way back, I al-
low, if your dad had kept the kind of store at the farm
that these varmints might have found at Sir William’s,
if they’d gone thar’ instead. Long afore this they’d have
had a feast and a drinkin’ bout, and the whole crowd
would have been non-compossers. But I don’t s’pose
they found enough in your cellars to make ’em more’n
extra spiteful.”
This echo of his own mood served Rob as a tonic.
It was characteristic of him that if any one raised a
difliculty, he instinctively combated it.
“I’m not going back,” he said doggedly, “so we must
do something.”
“True, we must do something,” was the placid reply,
“though jest now I don’t for the life of me see what
the somethin’s goin’ to be, the reason bein’ that the
whole concern ain’t founded on common sense.”
“Oh! hang common sense!” said Rob impatiently.
“And if you speak so loud your scalp’ll be hangin’ to
some Injun’s belt afore to-morrow mornin’. Patience,
Rob; I know your feelin’s, lad; and I’ve come on this
trail to do something, never fear. Only it won’t do you
nor me no good to think it’s goin’ to be as easy as
81


ROB THE RANGER
snarin’ a woodchuck. I’ll tell you what I’m goin’ to try.
First thing is to creep down a bit nearer to the var-
mints’ camp and smell out the situation. You stay
here, and don’t budge an inch till I come back, or ’tis
sartin we’ll miss each other in the dark. Unless, that is
to say, I holler, in which case”—he turned abruptly and
pointed almost due east—“that’s your best track, and the
quicker you make it the better, ’cos the whole pack’ll be
after you.”
Rob made no reply, but if the trapper had read his
expression he might have doubted whether his last in-
struction would be obeyed. Pete got up, and moved
quickly away, coming back for a moment to whisper
a parting injunction.
“Remember, if a redskin should come this way, it
had better be the knife. You’ll be sittin’ still, and he’ll
be movin’, so you oughter hear him and get in first.
Anyways, a shot would most-like miss in this half-light,
and for sartin in the dark, and the upshot would be
to bring the whoopin’ varmints on us, and if we man-
aged to give ’em the slip to-night they’d track us down
in the mornin’.”
Then he went noiselessly away, leaving Rob to soli-
tude and meditation.
The western glow was dimming moment by moment,
and as the dusk deepened Rob shivered and caught his
breath. His nerves were strung to so high a tension,
his imagination was so much on the rack, that he started
with a gasp when a moth came heavily against his brow.
In action, meeting his own perils, Rob was fearless and
indomitable; but the suspense of waiting, and the know-
ledge that a single false step or incautious move might
endanger the life of the young brother captive in the
Indian camp, had a withering effect to which he had
as yet been a stranger. The howl of a distant wolf sent
88


FOLLOWING UP THE RAIDERS
‘
a cold thrill through him; the sudden critch of a wood-
pecker near at hand caused him to jump.
What was Pete doing, he wondered? In imagina-
tion he followed the trapper up the hill, down the slope
on the other side, from bush to bush, .creeping, crouch-
ing to listen, creeping on again, every stealthy step
taking him nearer to the camp where half a hundred
ruthless savages were ready to spring out at the slight-
est sound and use their fatal knives. Of their terrible
deeds Rob knew as yet only by hearsay; but as he sat,
darkness thickening around him, he felt an imaginary
hand upon his scalp, heard an imaginary whoop, and
waited, as if paralyzed, for the sting of the fiery blade.
The trees beyond were almost blotted from his sight;
the bushes near at hand seemed to be growing, moving
towards him; when suddenly his fancies were put to
flight by a very real sound—a faint rustle almost at his
ear. Quick as thought he seized his knife and sprang
to his feet; with the demand for action he became on
the instant a man of action. Standing with every sinew
taut he peered into the bushes; and through the parted
leaves, scarcely distinguishable in the gloom, he saw
dimly a face—a painted face—the face of an Indian
brave!
91>


CHAPTER VIII
THE GORGE or THE OSWEGATCHIE
“Brother!”
The word, softly spoken in the Mohawk tongue, was
so unexpected that in his revulsion of feeling Rob al-
most laughed aloud.
“Hist! It is Redwing!” said the voice again, and
from the midst of the bush the young Mohawk stepped
to Rob’s side.
“What does it mean ?” said Rob, grasping his friend’s
hand, and looking curiously into his face, which he had
never before seen daubed with war-paint. .
“Speak low, brother,” replied the Indian. “Words
rustle in the night air. When my brother departed, Red-
wing’s heart was sad. He thought of the little white
brother with feet and hands tied among his enemies,
and kept from his wigwam perhaps for many moons. It
was not well. But Redwing could do nothing, and he
sorrowed. In the morning came the big Yengeese with
presents and fair words—”
“Sir William Johnson?”
“Even so, brother. He talked long with my fa-
ther, and so great is his power, he turned my father’s
heart towards the palefaces, and my father agreed to take
up the chain of friendship and to send his braves to
help the Yengeese; and then I begged for a dozen men
to follow the trail of my white brothers, and when I had
put on the paint of a brave I met them in the woods, and
9°


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
led them over the trail, and now we are here to help our
white brother.”
“You are a true friend, brother,” said Rob. “Where
are the braves ?”
“They hide not far away. Redwing came first alone,
for he feared that if many men showed their faces
at the same time the white brother might shoot, and
then the Hurons would have known. The old hunter
watches their camp three gunshots below; he does not
know that Redwing is here.”
“Go and bring your friends. He will be as glad to
see you as I am.”
The Indian disappeared. Rob waited, feeling almost
as anxious as he had done before his friend’s arrival,
but now for a different reason. If the Mohawks should
suddenly come upon Pete, in the surprise of the mo-
ment, the trapper might make some sound which would
attract the attention of the party encamped below. But
then he laughed at his fears. Pete was too old a woods-
man to allow himself to be taken unawares.
An hour passed. Black darkness now brooded upon
the country, but far over the hilltops the horn of the
rising moon gave promise of a little light by and by.
Rob walked up and down impatiently. When would
Pete return? At length, apparently from the cedars,
came the low call of a whippoorwill, so natural that
the most expert woodsman might have been deceived.
A few minutes later the trapper came round a bush into
the hollow.
“I’m afeard we can’t do nothing to-night,” he said.
“Thar’s a Frencher on guard; they take turn about, I
reckon. Thar’s three camp-fires.”
“Did you see Will ?” asked Rob eagerly.
“Yes, right thar’ in the middle of the car11p, tied up
firm. ’Tain’t possible for any one to get into the camp
gr


ROB THE RANGER
’less he can burrow like a woodchuck, and as for gettin’
out--”
“Did you see Redwing ?” Rob interrupted.
“Who?”
“Redwing. I was sitting here when I heard a rustle,
and there was Redwing. He has brought a dozen braves
to help us.”
“Wal, if that don’t lick anything !” said the trapper,
astonished for once in his life. “And if they’d been
enemies instead o’ friends we’d have lost our scalps
for sartin. Thar’s a dozen of ’em, eh? That bein’ the
case, it looks as if thar’ might be jest a chance of get-
tin’ something out of this business, arter all, ’cos it
ain’t quite so far off common sense. And here they
are, as I’m a livin’ critter.”
One by one the Mohawks moved like dusky ghosts into
the hollow. No greeting passed between them and the
white men; they stood silently waiting.
“ ’Tis a cl’ar case for a council,” said Pete. “Who’s
the chief of this party?” he asked Redwing, who, though
the son of a chief, was too young to be accepted by the
other Mohawks as other than a guide.
One of the Indians stepped forward, and whispered
in the trapper’s ear.
“The Injun says right,” said Pete, turning to Rob.
“He says we’d better move a bit farther off, ’cos these
still nights you could hear the stink of a skunk. Right,
Little Bear; lead the way, my friend, and when you
come to a situation as seems safe, we’ll talk this mat-
ter out.”
The Indian marched noiselessly up the slope of the
hill and through the cedar copse, till he had gone about
half a mile down it on the side farthest from the ene-
my’s camp. There, with a belt of trees and the contour
of the hill between them and danger, the party squatted
?a-1-13-=-_--..
92


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
down within the selvage of the wood, three or four be-
ing left above to guard against a surprise on the part
of the raiders.
The impromptu council was conducted with as much
form as though it was an: important meeting of the
tribe. Little Bear invited the trapper to give his views
on the situation, but Pete politely declined the honor
of speaking first, remarking that his red friend knew
the country better than he. The Mohawk gravely ac-
knowledged the courtesy, and spent some time in ex-
plaining his motives in undertaking the expedition—
the prospect of plunder and the assurance that his white
brother would suitably reward him. He went on to say
that if anything was to be done, it must be done soon,
for they were approaching very near to the St. Law-
rence, and might at any moment stumble upon hunt-
ing or trapping parties from Fort Frontenac or the
scattered posts and settlements between that place and
Montreal.
Having allowed a suitable interval for reflection, Pete
replied that he agreed with his noble friend, but he
did not see what twelve men could do against sixty.
The attacking party would have a certain advantage
if they could surprise the enemy; but he had no need
to remind Little Bear that the red men, even in the
most peaceful circumstances, were watchful and sus-
picious, and a band of Huron braves was not likely
to be less on the alert when returning with valuable
plunder from a raid.
This again having been duly weighed in silence, Little
Bear pointed out that the Hurons before marching next
morning would certainly send out a number of scouts
to scour the neighborhood for possible enemies.
“Why did my white brother go so near the camp?”
he asked. “Is he a spirit that he leaves no mark on
93


ROB THE RANGER
the ground? Are the Hurons moles that they will fail
to see that trail? What chance will there be then of
hiding as in a cloud, and smiting them suddenly like
the fire-flashes of the sky?”
“Durned if he ain’t turnin’ common sense agin’ me!”
said Pete in an aside to Rob. “You have the right of it,
brother,” he said to the Indian. “You can l’arn me
something, even at my age.”
And then again silence fell, the Indians remaining
silent from force of habit, Pete because he was some-
what nettled at Little Bear’s just rebuke, and unable
to offer a practical suggestion.
Meanwhile Rob, sitting at the trapper’s side, had not
opened his mouth. In an Indian council the younger men
were expected to listen and say nothing; for them to
express an opinion unasked would have been deemed
presumption. But Rob had been growing impatient of
the slow speeches and solemn pauses of his friends;
they seemed to him an unconscionable time coming to
the point. Remembering his unlucky intervention in the
council at the Mohawk chief’s castle, he schooled him-
self to a humble and different manner, and ventured
to address the leader.
“I am a boy,” he said, “and have not learned the wis-
dom of my Mohawk brothers. But does not Little Bear
think that, if the Hurons could be persuaded to leave
their camp in haste, they would not search the coun-
try so carefully as he supposes, and so would not light
upon the hunter’s trail?”
“My white brother is a boy, it is true,” replied Little
Bear, “but he has learned to bend a bow and speak the
truth. What he says is true. But does the bear leave his
den and give his skin to the hunter? Will the Hurons
make a hurry because the Mohawks wish it? Perhaps,”
he added, with a touch of irony—“perhaps my young
94


THE GORGE OF THE OSVVEGATCHIE
white brother will say how this wonderful thing is to
be done.”
Muflled grunts from the other Indians approved the
skeptic’s question. Rob waited a few moments, then said :
“Suppose our enemies saw smoke far back on their
trail, would they not think that pursuers were hastening
after them? Would they know how many men were
on their trail? In their ignorance, would they wait to
fight? Would they not rather break up their camp
and go forward with the speed of deers, lest the pur-
suers were too many for them, and took not only their
scalps but their booty?”
The Indians appeared to be puzzled about Rob’s object
in putting these questions. After a pause, Little Bear
said:
“The Hurons could not know what was hidden from
them. If they saw the smoke, they would do these
things, but what of the fire? Has my paleface brother
called through the air and brought men out of the
earth to pursue his enemies?”
“No, Little Bear,” replied Rob gravely, “I am not a
Manitou. The fire would not be kindled by a careless
Woodsman, but by one of my red friends--one whom
yourself should choose. While the sun sleeps a man
might run back half a day’s march, and set fire to the
forest. When the sun awakes the Hurons would see
the smoke.”
The suggestion was received with the same stolid un-
concern that the Indians had shown all through the con-
ference.
“Thar’s the mixture—common and oncommon,” whis-
pered Pete in Rob’s ear. “But we mustn’t hurry ’em,
my lad.”
The long silence clearly indicated that the proposal
was receiving serious consideration.
95


ROB THE RANGER
“My white brother speaks wisely,” said Little Bear
at length. “Before many snows he will be a great
chief.”
“Ough! Ough!” grunted his comrades in chorus.
“It shall be done as he says. Turtle Heart shall kin-
dle the fire, and the Hurons will fear even as the moose
fears at the sight of the carcajou.”
Without any formal command Turtle Heart, a lithe
young brave, rose from his place and went silently into
the night. His comrades knew that when the dawn
flushed the sky, a dense cloud would be seen on the
horizon far to the south, and the enemy’s encampment
would be hurriedly broken up. But that would be only
the beginning of things, and Lone Pete knew, if Rob
did not, that it would require careful diplomacy to
prevent the expedition from ending in failure after all.
His own aim, and Rob’s, was merely to secure the
person of Will Somers; their Indian friends would not
be satisfied to return without scalps or plunder. It was
his policy to avoid a fight; theirs to provoke one. Rob
hoped that in the confusion and haste of decamping
the Hurons would give an opening for the rescue of the
boy; Little Bear and his braves would regard it rather
as an opportunity for a sudden attack, in which their
inferiority in point of numbers would be balanced by
the advantage of surprise. Lone Pete thought it was
time for him to take up the running.
“What will my friend, Little Bear, do when the Hurons
are hasting forward on the trail ?” he asked.
“Listen, brother,” replied the brave. “Within twenty
gunshots of this place there is a spot where the hand
of a giant has cut a passage in the rocks for the Os-
wegatchie. It is told by our grandfathers, in the even-
ing of peace when the pipes are lit, how, many snows
ago, a band of our tribe followed a long war-trail into
96


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
the hunting grounds of the great White Father. They
returned with many fine skins upon their backs, and
many scalps hanging from their belts, and came to that
narrow gorge of the river. There, as a tempest sud-
denly sweeps over the lake, making the still waters boil
and rage, so a host of Hurons, ten times the number
of the Mohawks, sprang up out of the earth; and of
all the braves of my tribe only one escaped out of the
snare. Is it not time the Mohawks paid back that long,
old debt? While the sun still sleeps let us hasten on to the
gorge and lie hid there, as the hunter hides while he
waits for the moose. When the Hurons see the smoke
far behind, will any of them think that those who pur-
sue are already in front of them? They will come to
the rift, even as our grandfathers came; and then will
we do to them as they did to us.”
Rob was beginning to protest that if this scheme
was carried out his brother would run no little risk of
falling to the bullets of his rescuers, but Pete inter-
rupted him.
“Little Bear speaks like a warrior,” he said, “and
what he says deserves to be thought over. ’Tis the red
man’s way to think without speaking; the white man
thinks better when he speaks; I will talk to our young
brother in my own tongue.”
“You see, Rob,” he went on in English, “ ’tis like this.
The Hurons will know that gorge as well or better nor
any Mohawk, and arter that ambush of generations ago
they’ll be skeery of dawdlin’ thar’. When they see that
smoke they’ll think as we’re a good ten mile behind,
and as thar’s plenty of time to get through and give us
the slip, knowin’ that every step they go brings ’em
nearer to friends and us farther away. So if we let ’em
get past thar’s no earthly chance of catchin’ ’em again.
The redskin’s idea is a good un. Not but what thar’s
97'.


ROB THE RANGER
considerable danger of some one’s shootin’ young Will
in the scrimmage, but ’tis jest possible as we may be
able to get hold of him afore the fight begins; and if
not, we must take care to shoot wide of him, that’s all.”
“I don’t like it, Pete. Wouldn’t there be a better
chance of saving Will in the confusion of the first
alarm ?”
“I calkerlate not. ’Cos why? They wouldn’t have
burdened theirselves with him if they didn’t consider
him a vallyble bit of property, ’specially when they’ve
got a thousand pounds’ worth of skins beside. Some-
body among ’em must think as he’s worth takin’ care
of, and ’tis my belief one of the varmints has took
him as his share o’ the plunder, and means to make
a redskin brave of him. Maybe one of the Hurons
has lost all his sons in some fight or other, and young
Will Wouldn’t be the first white boy to be adopted. Wal,
if that’s the case, the varmint won’t let the boy out of his
sight, and thar’ wouldn’t be the ghost of a chance of our
gettin’ him without a stand-up fight, and whar’d be the
common sense of that, a dozen against sixty?”
“Very well, then. Tell Little Bear we agree.”
The Indians had shown no curiosity during this con-
versation, nor did they betray the slightest pleasure
when Pete said that in such a case as this the best
wisdom of a white man was folly compared to the deep
thoughts of a red man. The conference over, the de-
cision taken, the whole party snatched a few hours’ rest;
but long before daybreak they were gliding like shadows
through the woods on the upper slopes of a long, low
hill, guided by the sound—at first a scarcely audible
rustle, then as they progressed a roar and crash—of a
river swirling and tumbling over a rocky bed. A blue
autumn haze lay over the whole country, and Pete, ex-
pert woodsman as he was, marveled at the readiness
98


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
and certainty with which Little Bear guided them over a
pathless region. With the precaution of a born strate-
gist, the Indian did not make direct for the gorge; no
trail should be left to put the enemy on their guard;
he led the party far up the hill, then spun round
sharply to the left and came down upon the river from,"
the northwest. While still a hundred yards from his
goal he stepped into the river where it ran shallow by
the bank, and the last part of the march was performed
in the trackless water, so that when the gorge was
reached there was not a footprint for a full furlong
round to betray their route.
“I guess this place was made special for the pur-
pose,” said Pete, as he looked around at the rocks strewn
fantastically about the bed of the stream. “Two men
here’s worth a good twenty outside. Gran'dfather’s
tales is all very well; they have their uses, same as sto-
ries of Bluebeard and Guy of Warwick and other un-
believable tall uns; but if the truth was known I would
lay my bottom dollar that terrible big lot o’ Hurons
what wiped out a few Mohawks was jest a handful and
no more, and the manner was aggravated as the tale come
down, ’cos the Mohawks couldn’t a-bear to think as they’d
been done and licked by a few.”
At the point selected for the ambuscade, the river had
in the course of ages scooped out a trough for itself
through the soft earth, leaving a large number of weath-
ered rocks standing in irregular groups in the bed of
the stream, which in the rainy season was no doubt con-
siderably wider than it was now, at the close of a dry
autumn. Above the channel the hills sloped somewhat
steeply on each side, becoming bleaker as they rose, the
higher strata having evidently more granite in them
than the lower. Here and there, in pockets of softer
earth, trees had taken root, but for the most part the
, 99


ROB THE RANGER
surrounding country was bare, giving to the scene an
illusory appearance of openness.
The rocks were just sufficiently large to afford per-
fect cover to a lurking brave, and for a hundred yards
there was a clear open space, through which a force
marching by the easiest route in the now dry portions
of the watercourse would be exposed within easy musket-
shot to the converging fire of a party in ambush on
both sides. Such a party, however, concealed at a dis-
tance of a hundred yards from the stream itself, and
having the advantage of the best possible cover, might
easily remain unnoticed by the leading files of the enemy,
who could only discover their presence by climbing the
hills above. The spot was so obviously suitable for an
ambuscade that a marching force, if they had the least
suspicion of the presence of a hostile band in the neigh-
borhood, would certainly send forward scouts to make
a thorough examination of the gorge before the main
body came within gunshot. It occurred to Pete, indeed,
that even without such a suspicion, warriors of a tribe
in whose history or traditions a fight had actually taken
place there, would not approach without taking such
an elementary precaution.
But the trapper hoped that the ruse suggested by Rob
might have the effect of concentrating all the attention
of the enemy on what they would suppose to be hap-
pening in their rear. It was so foreign to the methods
of Indian warfare for an enemy to give notice of his
presence that the conflagration some miles behind would
almost certainly be imputed to accident, and the raiders
would scarcely suspect that they had any danger to fear
except from that quarter. Their instinct would be to
look for safety ahead, and with pursuers pressing upon
their track they would be little inclined to waste time
in scouting to right and left of their line of march.
foo


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
Still, it was Pete’s habit to look at the possible worst
in any situation, and he had to confess that if the Hurons
should take the natural precautions, the position of the
ambuscaders would be critical. Thanks to the cover of
the rocks they could hope to hold their own for some
time against attack, even from the hills above; but
sooner or later the superior numbers of the enemy must
tell, and the smaller band would have the option of run-
ning the gantlet in an attempt to break through or being
starved into surrender.
Lone Pete felt the disadvantage suggested by his nick-
name. All his life he had been a lonely wanderer. His
contests had been more with animals than with men.
He had been in many a tight place, and had many a
hair’s-breadth escape from Indian hunters into whose
grounds he had strayed; but only on rare occasions had
he formed part of a band, and he had never had to act
as leader in a fight. He felt himself a match, given favor-
able circumstances, for half a dozen Indians; but he
knew that nothing in his experience qualified him to or-
ganize and direct the operations of a company.
In some respects the Indians were no better than he.
Concerted action was barely to be expected of warriors
who were accustomed to act individually, each shooting
at the enemy he marked down for himself without rela-
tion to what his comrades were doing. Neither the
French nor the English had been able to imbue their un-
ruly allies with the spirit of discipline. But as the crit-
ical moment approached it seemed to Rob imperative
that the ambuscaders should have some plan; other-
wise their energies would be wasted, and the advantage
of surprise might be discounted before the numerical
superiority of the enemy.
“We can’t simply blaze away anyhow,” he said to
Pete. “If we all fire together and don’t manage to
IOI


ROB THE RANGER
9
I
check them, they ll be able to rush us before we can
reload.”
“Just so,” replied the trapper; “but we can’t drill ’em
as I’ve seen the sergeants drillin’ the redcoats in Albany,
and anyway the drillin’ don’t come to much, jedgin’ by
the ’tarnal mess General Braddock made of it.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Rob ruefully. “Still,
we can do something. There’s you and Redwing; why
shouldn’t we three hold our fire until the others have let
fly their first volley? We could each mark his man, and
our shots would not only account for three of the enemy,
but might check ’em, because they wouldn’t know how
many more of us there might be in reserve.” I
“Thar’s the mixture again!” cried Pete, slapping his
thigh. “’Tis common sense, with jest that smack of
something that makes it oncommon, too.”
Rob called up the young Indian, who had hitherto,
as a junior, held himself in the background; and told
him what he had suggested. Meanwhile the whole party
had taken post behind the boulders, careful, as only In-
dians could be, to prevent their tracks from showing in
the soft soil around, and so disposing themselves that
the enemy might pass their hiding-places without catch-
ing a glimpse of them, Rob got Little Bear to send two
of his Mohawks up stream towards a thin copse that
fringed the bank, to make sure that not a tuft, or a
muzzle end, or an inch of red skin was visible to the
Hurons as they approached. They would come through
the copse, down the slope, before they found an easier
path in the dry margin of the river. The preparations
complete, they waited in perfect silence. Rob found the
suspense very trying, and at the back of his mind was
the dread possibility that a chance bullet might strike
the young boy. Pete appeared to take things very coolly,
whiling away the time by making a breakfast of bear’s
I02


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
meat and beans. The Indians were stolid and inscruta-
ble.
The mist of early morning gradually dispersed. Rob
every now and then peeped out between a boulder and
a fallen tree, that lay awaiting the winter floods to speed
it on its voyage to the St. Lawrence. Many times he
looked in vain, but at length, with quickened pulse, he
saw in the distance up stream the tall sinewy form of a
solitary Indian emerging cautiously from the copse. He
had but just noticed the variegated plumes of the Huron’s
head-dress, and the black and vermilion daubs that made
his face hideous, when a shorter man came into view
behind the first. Each moved with the curious swaying
snake-like gait characteristic of the scout, glancing al-
ternately to right and left. They came at a rapid pace,
between a walk and a run, slowing down as they drew
nearer to the rock-strewn portion of the channel. In-
stinct told them that this was a dangerous spot.
Only a few seconds after the second man appeared, a
different figure came into view. It was that of a French-
man—a sturdy, thick-set man, riding an equally thick-
set horse, which in a moment Rob recognized as his
father’s old gray mare. Then came more Indians in
single file; by and by, another horseman, a gay and
gallant youth who sat his steed with easy grace. But
Rob gave him only a glance; as the column came through
the copse he looked with ever-growing anxiety for the
boy whomhe had dared so much to rescue. Still more
Indians: then—Rob almost exclaimed aloud as he saw,
at last, his brother Will indeed, riding a pony, and be-
side him, on a horse, a figure that seemed familiar.
But in the first flush of joy at seeing his brother safe, Rob
gave no more heed to this fourth rider than to the preced-
ing two. Holding their muskets at the trail, the two fore-
most Indians came down the slope, left the rough
103


ROB THE! RANGER
ground on the bank, and stepped into the dry bed of
the river. There was a clear stretch of a hundred yards
between them and the rocks. Across this they moved
with quickened pace, listening intently, never relaxing
their watchfulness. Not a sound broke the prevailing
stillness save only the slight rustling of the breeze in the
tree-tops, the musical gurgle of the stream washing
the foundations of the rocks in its course, and the dull
pad-pad of the horses among the marching column.
Nearer and nearer drew the two scouts. They passed
the outlying rocks, not a sound or movement giving
sign of the hidden enemy. Behind them the main body in
its turn left the shelter of the copse and began to hasten
downwards, four or five yards separating each man
from the next. In another half minute the center of the
column will come within range of the ambuscader’s mus-
kets, and behind the rocks the little band is waiting
tensely for that fateful moment. Rob, with Pete and
Redwing on each side of him, is wondering how long the
patience of the Mohawks will hold out, and praying
that his brother may escape the fusillade, when peeping
round the edge of his boulder he sees the leading scout
drop to his knees at the edge of the stream. Only for
an instant; then he springs to his feet, and sounds a
whoop of alarm that goes echoing over the hills. His
keen eyes had detected footprints on the soft, moist earth.
Such care had been taken to avoid leaving these telltale
marks that the discovery astonished the ambushed party
as much as the scout. But one of the Mohawks, in shift-
ing a boulder for his better protection, had caused the
stream to recede a little way in a shallow spot some
distance down the bank, leaving bare the earth on which
the imprint of his comrades’ feet, as they walked through
the water previously covering the spot, was clearly
marked.
ill I
104


THE GORGE OF THE OSWEGATCHIE
None of the ambuscaders knew this; there was no
time to wonder or speculate; for even as the scout gave
the warning cry twelve muskets flashed a death-dealing
volley into the column crossing the open space. Rob felt
himself go pale; pray Heaven no shot would strike his
brother! But no; there he was, safe on his pony, rein-
ing it up, his round, chubby face bright, as it seemed,
with curiosity. Below him the muskets of the Mohawks
had taken toll of their hereditary foes. Eight figures
lay on the sward, among them the French sergeant,
whose horse stood riderless.
Among the raiders there was a moment of confusion.
Only the smoke rising above the volley indicated the
position of their unseen enemies; how many they num-
bered it was impossible to tell. Then with one consent
they obeyed their instinctive impulse to seek shelter, and
began to scurry away in all directions, some up the hills
on each side, some towards the copse. But the next mo-
ment a shout was heard; a horse galloped hard down
the slope; and the young Frenchman, his face alight
with the ardor of a true soldier, called on the fleeing
Indians to follow him and attack the enemy behind the
boulders. He had divined that they must be few, or they
would have followed up their volley with a rush. Cour-
age is always inspiring, andIas the gallant youth rode
forward several of the fugitives took fire from his ex-
ample and, flinging down their burdens, sprang forward
toward the rocks.
And now it was that Rob’s foresight was justified. The
Mohawks who had fired were still reloading; the Hurons
who had rallied to the Frenchman’s call outnumbered
them by two to one; and but for the undischarged
pieces of Rob and his two companions the ambus-
caders must almost certainly have been overwhelmed.
At a sign from Pete the three muskets flashed. With
105


ROB THE RANGER
instinctive generosity towards a brave foe each man had
aimed, not at the mounted leader, but at the Indians.
Three of the latter fell; the rest halted, daunted by the
sight of their comrades helpless on the ground. Then,
glancing anxiously around in the hope of finding cover,
they scattered and dashed helter-skelter in various di-
rections. The Frenchman had ridden almost up to the
boulder behind which Rob crouched before he discov-
ered that he was unsupported. Then, bringing his horse
round on its haunches, he spurred it back along the
bed of the stream towards the copse, turning half-way to
greet with a gay laugh the bullets that were sent after
him by the Mohawks. In another moment he was safe
among the trees.
106


CHAPTER IX
ROB RESCUES AN ENEMY
The fight had lasted only a few minutes. So rapidly
had everything happened that when the Mohawks dashed
from their lurking-places in pursuit of the enemy, Rob
was aware for the first time that his brother had dis-
appeared, together with the man who had ridden by his
side. The pony was gone, but not far away lay the
dead body of a horse. Rob jumped to the inference
that the man, when his steed was shot, had mounted
the pony and galloped away with the boy in front of
him. Thus burdened the little animal would soon tire;
and might possibly be overtaken. Without heeding what
Pete and the Indians were doing, Rob raced at the top
of his speed towards the copse, with Redwing hard at
his heels. For all he knew Hurons might be lurking
among the trees, but in his desperate anxiety to wrest his
brother from the clutches of his captors he gave never a
thought to personal risks.
He had not run for a hundred yards through the copse
when he saw, cropping the stunted grass some distance
to the right, the old gray mare from which the French-
man had been tumbled at the first volley. She had been
a pet ever since he could remember; surely she would
come to his call; and heavy as she was she might still
run down the overtaxed pony. Hastening towards her
he called her gently by the name given her by his father
out of some old romance.
“Amanda!”
101


ROB THE RANGER
The mare pricked her ears, but went on cropping.
“Amanda!” Rob called again. “Here, old girl!”
She now raised'her head and looked at him. Reas-
sured by the well-known voice and form, she came trot-
ting forward as she had done hundreds of times before
to receive a meed of sugar or corn-pone. In a trice Rob
was in. the saddle, and, fretting at the slight interruption
to his pursuit, he set the mare’s head in the direction the
fugitives must, he thought, have taken. During these
few seconds Redwing had gone ahead, but he allowed
Rob to overtake him, and then ran nimbly beside the
horse, easily keeping pace on the rough ground.
Before they reached the end of the copse Rob had
bethought himself. He was riding in the direction from
which the enemy had come; they would not wish to
retrace their course, but would certainly wheel to the
right, and, by making a circuit, seek to arrive at the des-
tination which they would otherwise have reached by fol-
lowing the stream. As soon therefore as he reached the
fringe of the copse he struck off to the right, hoping
that he might be lucky enough to hit upon a short cut
and so intercept the fugitives. The soil was so hard
that it would have been difficult to discover traces of the
pony, even if he had thought it worth while to search.
Knowing that his general inference as to the direction
of its flight must be correct, he did not care to spend even
a minute on a scrutiny that might prove fruitless.
Soon he found that the ground swept downwards in
a long slope, and he was urging Amanda to a gallop,
when, forcing her through some low briers, he saw just
in front a deep cleft, hitherto hidden by the vegetation.
He had just time to pull the mare up and escape a fatal
plunge. Hurriedly looking to right and left, he groaned
almost with despair as he recognized that his short cut
had saved him nothing. It was clear that to the right
1
I08


ROB RESCUES AN ENEMY
the cleft ran down towards the river. His only course
was to turn to the left and seek for some spot where
the sides of the chasm were less precipitous, so that he
might cross, even at some hazard. He had to ride for
half a mile before the opportunity offered; then, while
Redwing leapt nimbly down one side and up the other,
Rob had to ride with caution, fearing every moment
lest the mare should stumble on the rocks.
When, having crossed, he was once more able to ride
apace, he came to rising ground, and, at the top of a
half-mile slope, saw some ten miles of country spread
before him, for the most part thickly wooded, but with
large clearings here and there, due perhaps to forest
fires. One such clearing was a mile distant——a long,
narrow strip stretching west-northwest. As his eye
fell upon it, he instinctively turned his mare in that
way. At the same moment it flashed upon him that if
the rider he was pursuing had come in this direction, as
it was natural for him to do, he would be tempted to
leave the woods and take the easier course along this
clear, flat expanse.
The thought had scarcely occurred to him when, to
his surprise, three horses emerged from among the dis-
tant trees, and, one after the other, pounded at a hard
trot towards the farther end of the clearing. Strain his
eyes as he might, Rob could not make out the identity
of the horses or their riders, yet he felt he must make
sure before he galloped after them. He pulled up.
“Who are they, Redwing?” he asked.
The Mohawk, only his panting nostrils giving sign of
his long run, looked steadily at the receding horsemen.
“Two red men, one white man,” he said at length.
“But Will—my brother—is he there ?”
“Redwing can not tell; their faces look to the Huron
country, the boy may be before one of them.”
T09


ROB THE RANGER
“Can you run again?”
The Indian gravely nodded. On they went, soon los-
ing sight of the fugitives. A few minutes brought them
to the woods, a few more to the long, straight clearing,
and then they pounded on, following the track. As they
went it became clear that the runaways had not struck
the course haphazard, but with a full knowledge of the
country. The track diverged, here to the right, there to
the left, not aimlessly, but, as Rob soon saw, with intent
to avoid steep hills or marshy places. He did not again
attempt to seek a short cut, but held strictly to the trail,
with only the vaguest notion of what his course of action
should be if he overtook the enemy.
Hour after hour rider and runner pressed on, at vary-
ing speed. The fugitives were clean out of sight. After
the fleeting glimpse obtained of them from the hilltop Rob
saw them no more. His heart sank as he reflected that
the three men, all mounted, were probably making bet-
ter progress than himself. The old gray mare was long
past her best, and even if she had had only one to carry,
instead of one to carry and another every now and
again to pull, she would not have kept pace with the
younger horses in front. Even Will’s pony could beat
her. If his brother was indeed perched on the saddle
before one of the men, he might be shifted from one
horse to another, lessening the weight on each in turn.
Miserably anxious as Rob was, there seemed nothing
for it but to stick to the track, hoping for a lucky turn of
events to bring the enemy within reach.
It was growing late in the afternoon when, entering
a somewhat thicker stretch of woodland than they had
hitherto encountered, Rob was startled to see Redwing
suddenly flash forward, and, catching the near rein, bring
the mare sharply round, almost throwing her to her
haunches. At the same moment there was the crack of a
IIO


ROB RESCUES AN ENEMY
musket a little way ahead. With a scream of pain the
animal sprang from the track and plunged among the
thicker trees, threatening at every instant to bring herself
and her rider to grief.
Rob leaped from the saddle just in time to avoid being
dashed against a trunk. Hitching the bridle to a sap-
ling, he left the shuddering beast, and with his musket
hurried after the Mohawk, who had darted forward on
the trail. He was just in time to see the boy hurl him-
self upon a figure in front. For a moment the two
swayed together, and Rob could not distinguish either
the features or the dress of the man with whom the
Indian was grappling. Redwing had drawn his knife,
but the stranger, catching him by the wrist, succeeded
by sheer muscular strength in arresting the weapon’s
downward plunge. They struggled a moment, then both
fell, the stranger underneath, and as Rob came up to
them, the Mohawk had just wrenched his hand free and
was about to deliver a stab that must have ended his
prostrate foe.
For a second, however, Redwing forbore to drive his
blade home. Rob, now in front, saw the gleaming eyes
and exultant look of a brave who knows that his enemy
is helpless and at his mercy. The momentary hesitation
proved the man’s salvation. He was not a redskin: Rob,
looking down, saw features, swarthy indeed, but of
European cut, and eyes that looked fearlessly up into the
face of the Indian about to kill him. Urged by he knew
not what instinct, Rob threw himself forward, caught
the uplifted arm, and hurriedly, but firmly, commanded
Redwing to spare the man’s life and rise.
For a moment a look of ferocious anger disfigured the
Mohawk’s face. What was this—that a Mohawk was
commanded to hold his hand when his enemy lay helpless
before him? But there was no brooking Rob’s firmness.
III


ROB THE RANGER
The boy rose slowly to his feet, then withdrew sullenly
among the trees at some distance—as though to nurse
his anger alone. ‘
The stranger sat up and smiled.
“He! it is truly safe,” he said in French, running his
hand over his scalp. “I thank you, Monsieur—a com-
patriot surely?”
“No,” said Rob, somewhat shortly. Then mustering
his French, he went on: “Were you of the party that ran
off with my brother?”
“Oh! then it is your brother, Monsieur? You are
English! I was not aware. Believe me, it was no doing
of mine. I saw no good in kidnapping the child, but
Monsieur le Loup thought differently.”
At the moment the name recalled nothing to Rob’s
memory.
“Where is he, Monsieur?” he asked. “What are you
doing here ?” A suspicion crossed his mind, and glanc-
ing around he clutched his musket and called to Red-
wing. “Are your friends at hand ?”
“Indeed, no, Monsieur. If you will listen? Friends !”
he shrugged. “I was with Monsieur de Montcalm’s
army. Our victory was somewhat easily won; it was a
promenade, Monsieur; and by no means satisfied my
thirst for adventure. Accordingly, when Monsieur le
Loup, upon our return journey, proposed an excursion
through English ground, with possibilities of hard fight-
ing, the idea smiled to me; it was not so tame as walk-
ing into a fort and out again.”
“Nor watching your painted devils butchering defense-
less prisoners,” said Rob bitterly.
“Ah! Believe me, that was horrible. I rejoice to
know that I saved one or two Englishmen from death.
A white man can not see such things—as you yourself
have shown, Monsieur.”
112


-ROB RESCUES AN ENEMY
His pleasant smile almost disarmed Rob’s suspicion
and dislike.
“Tell me, Monsieur,” he said, “where are your com-
panions, and what are they doing with my brother?”
“I give you the truth, Monsieur. They are riding
towards Lake Ontario. By the shore they expect to
find a party of Hurons who, instead of fighting under our
flag, have been hunting. They will have canoes; with
their aid my late comrades—companions of the road,
rather; they are no friends of mine-——will cross to Fort
Frontenac.”
“And my brother?”
“Ah! Monsieur, what can I say? He was bought by
Le Loup, with what intent I know not.”
“Le Loup!” exclaimed Rob, his recollection partly
awaking. “I have heard that name.”
“It befits him. He is a half-breed,—his father’s name
was Bessiére—”
“The man we saved from the Abenakis!”
The young Frenchman stared.
“Indeed, Monsieur, I did not know it,” he said. “He
was saved by Englishmen, he told us; he boasted of
having deceived you ; but that the boy he stole was the
brother of the Englishman who saved him from the
Abenakis’ knife, that he did not tell. Believe me, Mon-
sieur, if I had known—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Rob. “Pardon me, Monsieur;
I am impatient to be after the wretch. But you—how is
it that you are left behind?” I
“A trick of Le Loup’s, Monsieur, for which he shall
pay me. When we caught sight of you on the hill yon-
der, we thought you were the advance scout of a large
force, and having already escaped an Indian ambush on
the Oswegatchie, we were in no mind to court further
danger. We pushed on at our utmost speed, and half
113


ROB THE RANGER
an hour ago the pony that Le Loup was riding sud-
denly foundered. My faith! he has impudence, Le Loup.
He proposed that we should change steeds. I replied
that the idea was distinctly amusing. But with a sudden
jerk he pulled me from my horse and vaulted into the
saddle. My blood is hot, Monsieur. I sprang to the
bridle and dragged upon it; whereupon my gentleman
drew his knife, and I had but just time to edge away,
escaping with a graze. Next moment I was on my back,
and Le Loup galloping away.”
“And where was the boy ?”
“On the saddle before the other member of our party,
the Huron chief.”
“But I do not understand. When I saw him he was
on the pony, and Le Loup on a horse by his side.”
“When you saw him, Monsieur?”
“Yes—from behind the rocks.”
The Frenchman looked amazed.
“The ambush was yours, then, Monsieur? We
thought it was an Indian trick, though we wondered at
meeting enemies in this region. Danger, we thought,
was behind us, not before. Le Loup, like better men, has
his moments of terror, Monsieur. When you fired upon
us, he was struck with panic, and_his horse being shot.
he pulled your brother from the pony and fled, heeding
nothing but the safety of his own skin. But the Huron
chief, who was behind in the copse, seeing the boy com-
ing towards him alone, caught him up on his own horse,
and fled also. He had wished to have the boy when the
plunder was divided. He overtook Le Loup, I overtook
them both, and we rode on together, as you saw.”
“And the shot we heard just now?”
“Would have killed you, Monsieur, but for the quick-
ness of your Indian. Being deserted, what could I do
but remain? I could at least account for the foremost
:14


ROB RESCUES AN ENEMY
pursuers I imagined behind us. I took cover behind a
tree, and fired at you; the promptness of your Indian
saved you. And then when the Indian threw himself
upon me—you remember, Le Loup’s knife has grazed
me, Monsieur.”
He smiled, but Rob noticed that he was very pale, and
that he made no attempt to rise from his sitting posture.
“A graze!” said Rob. “Are you sure it is no worse?”
He stooped and looked at the Frenchman’s shoulder.
There was a two-inch gash in his tunic, and the blood was
even yet oozing.
“Why, you are badly wounded, Monsieur,” cried Rob.
“I can not see my back,” replied the Frenchman
simply, with a smile.
Rob was not a little perplexed. Short as the conversa-
tion had been, it had consumed several minutes and he
was still more eager to continue his pursuit, now that he
knew into whose hands Will had fallen. But if he left
the Frenchman where he was the Mohawks, when they
found the trail, as they assuredly would do, and came
upon him, would certainly take his scalp.
“I see the dilemma,” said the Frenchman, breaking in
upon his thought. “I am your country’s enemy, and
therefore yours. Go after your brother—if you must—
I warn you of the danger you run into—and leave me to
do the best I can for myself. I can hide among the trees,
and though, if your friends miss my trail, I shall perhaps
have some difficulty in reaching Fort Frontenac, what
matters it? I took part in Le Loup’s adventure with my
eyes open.”
“The pony! what has become of it?” asked Rob, re-
membering the circumstances which had brought the
Frenchman to this plight.
“It is somewhere among the trees.”
“Redwing, find Solomon; he is among the trees. He
n5


ROB THE RANGER
is a sound and wise beast, Monsieur, and after this rest
will be able to carry you slowly after us. I will get my
Indian to give you something which you may show to
the Mohawks, if they find you, or to a trapper friend of
mine, as a sign that you are his prisoner. Now, while
Redwing is finding the pony, let me see what I can do
for your shoulder.”
“You forget your brother, Monsieur.”
“No, I don’t, but I can’t leave you like this, and it
won’t take a minute.”
He gently removed the Frenchman’s coat, and found
that the wound of which he had made so light was really
a deep gash. His woodland experience with Lone Pete
had given him some knowledge of how to dress a wound.
but he had nothing at hand except his shirt from which
to form a bandage. Tearing a strip from this, he did
his best for the wounded man, and had just bound up
his shoulder when Redwing returned with the pony. It
whinnied with pleasure on seeing its old master. Rob
patted its neck and tethered it to a tree close by. Then,
with a little difficulty, he persuaded Redwing to hand
his bead necklace to the Frenchman as a token for any
Mohawk who might discover him, and returned to the
spot where he had left the mare.
Her wound proved to be rather more painful than se-
rious, and was not likely to prevent her from carrying
him for several hours. Mounting, he returned to the
Frenchman.
“Do you know anything of forest-craft?” he asked-—
“enough to follow our track!”
“None, Monsieur; I am a soldier, with little know-
ledge of the woods.”
“Well, keep a northeasterly course: that should lead
you in the right direction. I hope you will get some-
where safely.”
116


CHAPTER X
AT FRONTENAC
The meeting with the Frenchman made Rob only the
more eager to pursue his quest, even though he was con-
scious of a foreboding of failure. His brother, it was
clear, was in the hands of a man entirely unscrupulous,
wholly without compunction. Rob was past thinking of
his own dangers—the perils of a lonely march through a
hostile country, of falling himself into the power of a
miscreant in whom the savagery of an Indian was min-
gled with the baser qualities of the white man. He felt
a compelling force upon him, forbidding him to rest until
he came at least within touch of the young boy thus
cruelly snatched from home and friends.
He pushed on with Redwing until the gathering dark-
ness completely hid the trail. Neither of them knew
anything of the country, but from what Lone Pete had
said Rob guessed that at sunset he would not be more
than thirty miles from Lake Ontario. Precious time
having been lost during the conversation with the
Frenchman, he knew that his only chance of overtaking
the party before they reached the Huron encampment
was to continue his march in the dark, so, dismounting,
he led the jaded mare, Redwing going a few yards ahead
and taking upon himself the responsibility of choosing
the course.
For hours they pressed on, until exhausted nature
could hold out no longer. They halted in the middle
of a wood, not daring to sleep lest an Indian or a cougar
n8


AT F RON TENAC
should attack them, starting at every sound made by
bird or beast. Before sunrise they were again afoot,
picking up the trail without difficulty when the dawn
palely illumined their steps. The old mare gallantly
responded to Rob’s urging, but the constant marching
was too much for her, and the effort of climbing a hill
brought her almost to her last gasp. Rob was thinking
of leaving her and finishing his journey on foot when,
gaining the summit, he saw beneath him the blue expanse
of Lake Ontario glistening in the sunlight.
He cast his eye over the country between him and the
shore, but there was no sign of the fugitives. Had
they already reached the Huron encampment, or had the
Indians left the spot? Redwing, eagerly scanning the
broken shore-line, pointed to a number of scattered
specks on the farther side, which he declared to be tents.
With vision less keen, Rob had just descried the objects
indicated when, from the shelter of a wooded headland,
a number of canoes, tiny in the distance, crept slowly
northward along the shore. There was no smoke among
the tents, no sign of life; it would seem that the encamp-
ment had been abandoned hurriedly, or the tents would
not have been left thus standing.
Weary, utterly dejected, Rob leant gloomily on his
musket, watching the small dark objects almost imper-
ceptibly receding. The drooping head of the mare at
his side seemed to show that the beast shared his hope-
lessness. But Redwing’s attitude was no clue to his feel-
ings. Erect, unmoved of countenance, only his fine-cut
nostrils quivering, he stood keenly scrutinizing every ob-
ject within view. Rob paid no heed to him. He felt
that the game was up. A day’s journey by canoe—cut-
ting off, if the weather remained fine enough to risk the
open, many indentations of the shore—would bring
captors and captive to Fort Frontenac. By no possible
119


ROB THE RANGER
exertions could the jaded pursuers hope to reach the
same point before them; and even if a genii could have
spirited them there, of what avail would it be? What
chance was there of rescuing the boy? Did they but
come within sight of the fort, a swarm of Indians would
be launched in pursuit of them, and the end of it would
be that two_ more prisoners would be added to the tale—
perhaps two scalps would dangle from the girdle of some
Huron Brave.
Bitter thoughts darkened Rob’s mind as he stood
watching. Why had he started on this foolish chase?
Why, when the ambush had failed, did he rush away so
impetuously, instead of waiting to take counsel with his
wise, tried friend, Lone Pete? What had become of the
trapper, and the Mohawks, and the Hurons who had
fled? What would be the fate of the young boy now
being carried, he did not doubt, a prisoner among the
French?
He was disturbed in his reflection by a sudden move-
ment of the mare. She had been cropping the short
herbage on the hilltop. But now she stopped munching,
lifted her head, pricked up her ears. Rob turned expect-
antly. There was a soft patter of many feet behind.
Rob and Redwing swung round to meet the rush, but be-
fore they could even cock their muskets they were borne
off their feet by a dozen painted Indians. Their fire-
arms were wrenched from their grasp; guttural cries of
satisfaction sounded in their ears; and in a twinkling
they found themselves on the ground, tied hand and foot.
The suddenness of the onset bereft Rob for a few sec-
onds of all power of thought. But a short excited dis-
pute among the Indians—they were debating whether
to scalp their prisoners at once or to reserve them for
torture—gave him time to recover his wits and to use
them with a rapidity that he recalled afterwards with
I20


AT F RONTEN AC
amazement. It was not the last occasion when, under
stress of a great peril, his brain worked by flashes of
intuition. His captors were Hurons: that he saw. Were
they some who had escaped the ambush, or did they
belong to the party which had recently embarked? How
much did they know? Had the chief who had accom-
panied Le Loup from the gorge gone with the canoes
or remained in the encampment on the lake shore?
These were questions the answers to which were all-
important to the success of the ruse which had suggested
itself to him. There was no time for the wise balancing
of probabilities; at the critical moment he jumped the
hazard. When the short discussion ended, apparently
in favor of torture, Rob was cool, alert, in full possession
of his faculties.
“Since when, brother,” he said in French, addressing
the leader of the Indians, “have the Hurons lifted the
hatchet against their Great White Father?”
The Indian looked searchingly at his questioner. Rob
met the gaze without quailing. He knew that the cos-
tumes of English backwoodsman and French coureur
du bois were often hardly distinguishable.
“The Hurons have not lifted the hatchet against their
Great White Father,” replied the redskin slowly, in
halting French.
“Your tongue and your hands belong to two different
bodies, brother,” returned Rob. “Your tongue says the
hatchet is not lifted; your hands have dealt with me as an
enemy, not a friend. Is it thus that you treat the sons
of the Great White Father? Will he not be a fire and
a smoke when he hears of this affront?”
Rob was careful to speak with the deliberation that
an Indian loved, and his heart gave a leap when he saw,
from the impression he had made, that his captors knew
nothing about him. The first move in the game was in
121


ROB THE RANGER
his favor. The Huron’s next words raised a difliculty
that Rob had foreseen. Glancing at Redwing, whose
face expressed no concern, he asked:
“When did the Mohawks take a link in the chain of
friendship with the children of the Great White Father?
The Hurons, the Miamis, the Abenakis, and many more,
are his sons, but the Mohawks—no!”
“Has my brother not met Le Loup ?” exclaimed Rob,
in well-feigned surprise.
The Hurons exchanged glances. If this stranger
knew Le Loup he must indeed be a friend.
“We saw Le Loup when the sun was waking,” the
leader replied, “and his feet were as swift as a roe’s,
and we had no speech with him.”
“Then my brothers are ignorant. They do not know
that Le Loup has followed a trace into the Mohawk
country, and with a few braves and two or three sons
of the White Father has dealt a great blow at the Yen-
geese. True, the Mohawks were once friends of the
Yengeese; but the Yengeese broke the chain of friend-
ship: they closed their hands, and though their lips
smiled their hearts were hard. Therefore the Mohawks
folded their arms when the Hurons came into their
grounds, and shut their eyes when Le Loup and their
friends took the pelts of the Yengeese and burned their
tents. And if the feet of Le Loup had not been so
swift he would have told you that as he came back over
the trace the Tuscaroras sprang on him and his friends
as the cougar leaps on the elk, and my brother, the young
Mohawk here, with his eyes fixed on the trail, was caught
with us in a snare, and only Le Loup and a handful of
others escaped. We were scattered like leaves in the
wind. Some are still wandering in the woods, but the
enemy are many; they are hot on the trail. Is it not
hard when my young Mohawk brother and I, after doub-
“ 1| | ||||| ||| | _
122


AT F RONTENAC
ling like hares, and loping from sunrise to sunset, like
the red fox when the hunter pursues, should be caught
and bound by our Huron brothers? If my brother
wishes his White Father to speak words of peace, he will
loose these bonds and take us to his tents.”
A pause followed this speech. Rob narrowly watched
the Indians, but could discover nothing from their faces.
At length the leader made a sign; the bonds were cut;
and when the prisoners stood up on their feet, several
of the Hurons disappeared silently among the trees.
Rob guessed that they had gone to scout for the hostile
tribes who he had said were hunting the survivors of the
ambush, and he fervently hoped that they would not fall
in with any of that party and bring him in to disprove
his story.
The rest set off towards the lake, taking Rob and
Redwing with them. They talked among themselves,
and Rob wished he could make out what they were say-
ing, but the Huron dialect was foreign both to him and
to the Mohawk. He could see that the leader was but
half-convinced, keeping a watchful eye on his prisoners,
with a glance from which, schooled as he was in the
concealment of feeling, he could not banish a touch of
suspicion.
As they came nearer to the shore, Rob saw a number
of canoes lying under the bank, previously hidden from
him by the contours of the ground. There were a few
Indians in the encampment, and Rob felt a tremor of
anxiety when he saw the leader giving them, as he
guessed, an explanation of what had happened. If one
of them had chanced to be with the raiding party, he
would tell at once that the supposed Frenchman had not
been among them, and then there would come a lament-
able end to the ruse which had hitherto succeeded so
well. But the men looked at him with pure curiosity
:23


ROB THE RANGER
and without a sign of disbelief, and he felt that for the
time being he was safe. Exposure must come sooner or
later, but even a single hour’s reprieve left a loophole.
Two of the Indians were told off to guard him and
Redwing while the others proceeded with the work,
interrupted by his arrival, of loading the canoes with
skins and other trophies of the chase. When Rob got
an opportunity he asked the leader where the greater
part of his band had gone, and learned, as he expected,
that they had set out earlier in the day for Fort Fron-
tenac. He did not doubt that Le Loup had been among
them, and presumably Will also, but he forebore to men-
tion the boy.
The sun set not long after they reached the encamp-
ment, and the departure of the party was deferred till the
next day. Rob was not sorry, for after his exertions he
needed a long rest, and he nourished a vain hope that
during the night Lone Pete and others of his late com-
rades might find him and turn the tables on his captors.
But the hours of darkness were undisturbed.
Morning came. The last canoe was loaded up, and
the chief Huron leader only awaited the return of the
two scouts who had gone out over night. ]ust before
noon they were seen on the sky-line, and Rob’s heart
gave a jump when he saw among them the figure of a
white man on horseback. He could not doubt that it
was the young Frenchman, Alphonse la Claviére, whom
he had left on the previous afternoon. Discovery was
truly certain now, he thought. His story might lull the
suspicions of the Hurons in the absence of a real French-
man, but La Claviére would have no interest in main-
taining the fiction. In their rage at being duped, the
Indians would give him short shrift, Rob feared.
His anxiety was not diminished when he saw the
Huron leader advance to meet the Frenchman, who
124


AT F RON TENAC
smiled in recognition and shook hands. Rob watched
them. The Indian was plainly giving an account of the
event of the previous evening. As he walked beside the
Frenchman’s horse, he frequently pointed at Rob a_nd
at Redwing, squatting on the ground not far away. As
they approached, Rob seemed to hear already the blood-
curdling whoop of the Hurons when the ruse should be
exposed, and to feel the ruthless hand already seizing
him.
The smile on the Frenchman’s face had given place
to a grave and thoughtful look. He listened attentively
to the Huron, and his eye met Rob’s. The party was
now within a few yards of the shore. La Claviére dis-
mounted, seemed to hesitate for a moment; then, advanc-
ing towards Rob with outstretched hand, he turned to
the Huron, and said, with a smile:
“Yes, brother. These are my friends.”
Rob thanked the Frenchman with a glance. For the
moment he had no opportunity of speaking with him.
Wounded as he was, the effort of following up had
broken down his little strength, and at the Huron lead-
er’s order he was at once carried to the nearest canoe.
The preparations for departure were then completed. The
party divided, one section being told off to convey the
horses, with some portion of the stores, by land, the
other embarking on the canoes. At La Claviére’s re-
quest, Rob and Redwing were given places on the craft
in which he lay, weak and pale.
“I owe you my life,” said Rob in an undertone, as the
canoe began to glide over the'lake. “Believe me, I am
grateful.”
“Don’t speak of it,” returned the Frenchman. Then,
with an eye on the Huron leader, who sat watching them
gravely, he added. “Speak very low; our red friend,
I fear, is but half convinced. I wish I could speak Eng-
. 125


ROB THE RANGER
lish; these Indians are very quick, and understanding
French, as some of them do, they will seize the least
hint that all is not quite as we represent it.”
“I will be careful. We are no doubt going to Fort
Frontenac ?”
“Yes; and I have been wondering how you can escape
before we get there. I also owe you my life, Monsieur,
and I would not wish to see you a prisoner among us.
The lot of English prisoners is not one to be envied. If
you could escape, perhaps, when we come to the Thou-
sand Isles—”
“Monsieur, it is not to be thought of. There are two
of us—Redwing and myself. The chances of both escap-
ing are slight, and the Mohawk has done so much for
me that I can not leave him, and I know he will not
leave me. And supposing we did escape, what would
become of you? The Hurons in their rage at being de-
ceived would certainly wreak vengeance on you, and in
these solitudes they could make away with you without
any fear of the deed being discovered. Besides, Mon-
sieur, you forget that I am seeking my brother. He is
probably now in Fort Frontenac, and it will be at least
something if I can see him once more and know that he
is safe. It is indeed possible that we may be imprisoned
together; then—”
He stopped. La Claviére looked at him and smiled.
“I see, Monsieur. Escape is deferred, is it not?
Though a Frenchman, and an enemy, I will say, I wish
you luck—you and your brother.”
They were rounding a bend of the shore which would
shut their place of embarkation from view. Suddenly
there was a cry from one of the Indians, and all eyes
were turned in the direction he indicated with out-
stretched finger. On the farther shore of the lake stood
a group of Mohawks, amid whom Rob easily distin-
126


AT FRONTENAC
guished the form of Lone Pete. He had arrived too late.
There was a derisive shout from the Hurons ; the canoes
swept round the land; and the trapper and his Mohawk
friends were lost to view.
As they glided down the lake, Rob and La Claviére
talked together. The Frenchman spoke of his boyhood
in Quebec; of the death of his parents, and his brief
military service; of his only sister, now temporarily
sheltered in the Ursuline convent; of Monsieur de Vau-
dreuil, the governor, and his jealousy of Montcalm; of
Monsieur Bigot, the intendant, a vicious and corrupt offi-
cial who was enriching himself at the expense of the
colony; of the Canadian seigniors who abhorred the war,
and only wished to be left to cultivate their little do-
mains in tranquillity. Among these was an uncle of
his own, a Monsieur de Noillac, who had turned miserly
since he had suffered from the official corruption. Rob
on his side gave confidence for confidence, and by the
time the canoes came to the landing-place, and the party
disembarked, waiting to be joined by those who had
marched round the shore, the two lads were as friendly
as though they had known each other for years.
Outside Fort Frontenac there were two or three In-
dian encampments. The Hurons led their captives into
one of these, and handed them over to the chief—the man
who had accompanied Le Loup on the raid. When he
heard the story of the capture, he looked suspiciously at
Rob, and immediately ordered some of his braves to
bring them after him into the fort. He said a few words
to La Claviere, and Rob, watching the Frenchman’s face,
knew that the exposure of his ruse was at hand, and
braced himself to meet whatever fate might be in store
for him.
As they passed through the encampment on the way to
the fort he looked anxiously around for any sign of his
127


ROB THE RANGER
brother. There was none, nor did he see the sinister
figure of the half-breed, to whom he felt his present
predicament was due. But when they had entered the
fort, and were being conducted to the quarters of the
commandant, he heard a sudden boyish cry, repeated
once and again, and mingled with the deeper protesting
tones of a man. As he looked around, he saw a small boy
rush from the doorway of one of the log cabins near the
ramparts, and a man in backwoods costume hurrying in
pursuit.
“Rob! Rob !”
It was his own name. The boy came speeding across
the road, distancing his pursuer, his eyes shining with
a great gladness. Rob took a step to meet him, but the
Huron chief interposed, a scowl upon his face. Will
Somers sprang into the midst of the party, wrenched
himself free from the detaining hands of the Indians,
and flung himself into his brother’s arms, crying with
a happy laugh:
“I knew you’d come, Rob, I knew you would !”
Meanwhile Le Loup had come up behind, and strode
with blazing eyes into the group. He halted in surprise,
and his fierce look quailed, when La Claviére, whom he
had not before seen, moved towards him.
“Yes, it is I, in the flesh, Monsieur le Loup,” said the
Frenchman quietly. “You did not expect me so soon?
I was fortunate—after you left.”
The half-breed stood for a moment speechless; then,
deceived apparently by La Claviére’s manner, he said:
“That boy is mine, Monsieur, as you know.”
“Precisely, Monsieur le Loup, the boy was yours.
But it appears that he has relatives, and this gentleman,
whom I believe you have met before—”
“Dog of an Englishman!” ejaculated Le Loup with a
dark look.
an
l
:
l
-
'
6
I
128


ROB THE RANGER
“Well, then, Téte de Boeuf, tell me what is your trou-
ble now.”
The chief turned to the Huron who had captured
Rob and Redwing and bade him speak. Slowly and with
many figures of speech the man told the whole story.
He explained how his suspicions had been lulled by the
declaration of Monsieur la Claviére that the captives
were his friends, and he had brought them to the fort
in the expectation of receiving a reward for assisting
servants of the Great White Father, only to find, at the
moment of entering, that the white captive was claimed
as a brother by the young boy previously captured, and
must therefore be, not a F renchman, but one of the hated
Yengeese.
The tale took some time in telling. The command-
ant heard it patiently; then, turning to the Frenchman,
he said:
“What have you to say, Monsieur la Claviére ?”
“Our friend’s story is true, Monsieur. I did indeed
acknowledge the stranger as my friend, and when your
Excellency has heard the reason, you will not, I think,
blame me.”
He went on to relate how Rob had saved him from
the Mohawk when he was incapable, by reason of his
wound, of adequately defending himself. Le Loup in
the background kept his eyes fixed on La Claviére, as
if in apprehension that he might explain how he came
by his wound. A gleam of satisfaction crossed his face
when the story was ended without so much as his name
being mentioned.
“And now what does my friend, Téte de Boeuf, ask
of me ?” demanded the commandant, turning to the chief.
“He asks his due, no more,” replied the chief with
dignity. “He demands that the young paleface brave,”
indicating La Claviére, “shall be punished for deceiving
4
I30


ROB THE RANGER
mine; Monsieur knows how many skins I gave up in
exchange for him.”
“That is true,” said La Claviére at once. “The boy
was certainly adjudged to Monsieur le Loup.”
The half-breed scowled at the use of his nickname
instead of the name by which the commandant had
addressed him. La Claviére smiled so amicably, how-
ever, that the man’s face cleared and he looked secure
in the triumph of his cause. But the Huron chief began
to protest vehemently.
“It is true, yes,” he cried. “I wished to have the boy,
and Le Loup gave me many skins to yield him up. But
does Le Loup hide in a cloud what happened at the nar-
row road? Does his mind sleep that he sees no more the
strewn rocks, and hears no more the thunder of the guns?
Is it a dream in the night when Téte de Boeuf sees Le
Loup, with fear on his face, tearing the boy from his
pony, leaping on in his place, and riding away with the
swiftness of a roe? Was it not Téte de Boeuf who, com-
ing up and finding the boy standing alone, lifted him to
his saddle and brought him safely out of the fray. If a
dog leaves a bone and runs away in fear of a cougar,
does not the bone belong to a bear that comes by and
finds it a delicate morsel?”
Bessiére’s face went livid with rage when he heard the
disparaging comparison with a dog. But an outburst
was forestalled by La Claviére who, speaking in his cus-
tomary level tones, said:
“There is one witness, Monsieur, whose evidence will
be conclusive—the boy. He does not understand French,
and therefore knows nothing of what we have said; let
his brother question him, and tell us-—-for he does know
French-——what his answers are.”
The invariable “Ough! Ough !” of the Indians showed
their approval of the suggestion. To Le Loup’s face the
132


AT FRONTENAC
former look of anxiety retumed; then he flashed a glance
at young Will in which Rob read a menace.
“Be it so,” said the commandant. “Monsieur l’An-
glais, the word is to you.”
Rob turned to his brother, who meanwhile had stood in
the midst of the group, his face throwing back, as it
were, reflections of the varying expressions on the coun-
tenances of the speakers.
“Will, I have to question you. The commandant
wishes to know the truth. What happened when the
men you were with were fired on from the rocks?”
“Why, this man here,” said the boy, looking at Le
Loup, and speaking with frankness, “was just skeered
out of his wits. His horse was shot; down he jumps;
pulls me off Solomon; jumps on him; and off he goes like
the wind. Then the redskin came up; and while the
F rencher was trying to lead the others on, the redskin
slung me on to his horse—ours really, you know—and
galloped into the wood.”
“And what then ?”
“Why, we caught up the man who ran away, and they
then began to jabber in the redskin talk, and nearly had
a fight; and then we came here, and I’ve been with the
skunky one ever since, though the redskin wouldn’t let
me go till the Frencher,” glancing at Monsieur de
Noyan, “made him. I’d sooner be with the redskin, Rob;
but I don’t care about anything, now you’ve come.”
Rob translated this into the politest French he could
muster. Again the Indians grunted their approval, and
Le Loup flung a malignant look at the boy.
“It is clear that Louis Bessiére forfeited his right to
the prisoner when he left him,” said the commandant.
“The brothers belong to the Hurons. But come, Téte
de Boeuf, I will make a bargain with you. You take
the Mohawk.; leave the two palefaces with me, and I
133


AT FRONTENAC
Huron would treat him well, as they had treated many
white boys before, and adopt him heartily into their
tribe.
For a time he hovered between the two impulses. At
last policy gained the ascendancy. With a shrug and a
sigh, an air of mingled protest and acquiescence, he said:
“Leave me the elder boy; for him I will give you a
handsome present. The younger boy—he is yours.”
At this surrender the usual impassivity of the Indians
gave way, and they shouted with satisfaction. But Rob
caught Will’s hand and started forward.
“Monsieur, you can not mean it,” he said. “Surely
the French do not make war on boys—or infants like
this! Let them take me, Monsieur, if they will; but I
ask, I beg you as white man pleading to white man, do
not give up my brother.”
The commandant was visibly touched, and his voice
was uncertain as he replied:
“Monsieur, what can I do? If they take you—” he
made an expressive gesture which implied that one more
scalp would be added to the tale. “But they will cherish
the boy, and who knows? Perhaps—I wish I could
speak English, Monsieur; you understand what I mean ?”
Rob guessed his meaning. There was a chance that
even yet Will might escape from the Hurons before he
had become one with them. And while he himself was
alive, he might still hope to be reunited with his brother.
He did not dare to look at Will, who stood in blissful un-
consciousness of what was before him. Mastering his
emotion with an effort, he turned once more to the com-
mandant.
“The Mohawk, Monsieur—what of him? Will not
they be satisfied with my brother? If they take Redwing
you know what his fate will be. Can not he be bought
off? I can promise that, when this war is over, what-
I35


ROB THE RANGER
ever is given to the Hurons in exchange for Redwing’s
freedom shall be amply repaid.”
Monsieur de Noyan was a kind-hearted man. His
feelings had already been sufliciently wrung by Rob’s
distress. So he put this new point earnestly to the Huron
chief.
“No,” replied Téte de Boeuf sternly. “The Hurons
have lost too many braves. The Mohawk is their enemy;
it is needful that he should suffer, to tur n the frowns
of the departed spirits to smiles, and bring sunshine upon
the Huron’s path. The Mohawk must die.”
“A lo guerre comme ti la guerre !” said the command-
ant with a shrug. “It is the Indian custom. Even so
would a Mohawk do to a Huron that fell into his power.
The sitting is finished, Monsieur la Claviére ?”
The young Frenchman, glancing at Rob’s face, did
not trust himself to speak.
“Take him to the guard-room,” said the command-
ant, indicating Rob to two soldiers who had stood aloof
during the scene. They came up; at the same moment
the Indians closed about the boy. A shriek rent the air.
Rob, in a cold sweat of agony, turned as if to dash among
the savages and tear his brother from their grasp. But
his exertions and the strain of the long interview had
made large demands upon his strength. He reeled, and
would have fallen but for the supporting arms of the
soldiers. And as he was led away, the piercing cries of
“Rob, Rob!” growing ever fainter as Will was dragged
by the Indians towards the gate, shot like hot bullets
through his brain.
1.16


CHAPTER XI
A NIGHT mun
“May I have a word with you, Monsieur?” said La
Claviére, as the commandant turned and began to walk
meditatively away.
“Eh?” ejaculated Monsieur de Noyan, glancing round.
“Certainly. Follow me, Monsieur.”
He led the way to his private apartment, offered the
young Frenchman a chair, and having ordered a ser-
vant to set wine and glasses on the table, said:
“Tell me the story from the beginning, Monsieur.
There are points in it I scarcely understand.”
La Claviére related the incidents of the past few days
from the setting out of the raiding party to the moment
when he had been saved by Rob from the Mohawk’s
knife.
“You will not blame me, Monsieur,” he concluded,
“for saving the Englishman’s life in return, especially
when I tell you that he had himself helped to rescue Le
Loup from a party of Abenakis in the neighborhood of
Fort William Henry.”
“Indeed! I had not heard of that. What were the
circumstances ?"
La Claviére repeated the story as Rob had told it to
him. The commandant shrugged.
“Gratitude is a word unknown to the half-breeds,”
he said. “But how came it that Le Loup was attacked
by Abenakis, who are allies of ours ?”
“A question I myself put to Le Loup, Monsieur, and
137


ROB THE RANGER
to which I obtained no satisfactory answer. The In-
dians, of course, do not love the half-breeds. Le Loup
told me that he was a spy in the Fort, but the English-
man said he was the bearer of a letter from Colonel
Monro to the general in Fort Edward, and that the Aben-
akis may have taken him for a man in English pay.”
“There is something mysterious in the business. It
may be well to send for Le Loup and question him.
But pardon me; you had something to say to me ?”
“It was this, Monsieur. As I told you, I was alone
and wounded when the Englishman overtook me; but
I was not wounded in the ambush. That was Le Loup
again.”
“How do you mean ?”
“Le Loup’s horse failed as we were riding, and when
I refused his demand—a little unreasonable, don’t you
think so, Monsieur?—to exchange animals, he pulled
me from my seat and struck me a villainous blow when
I showed a disposition to hold my own.”
“That is the kind of scoundrel we have to employ!”
exclaimed the commandant. “But his villainy can not
be overlooked. Monsieur le Loup must be taught a
lesson. I will send and have him arrested and brought
before me here. I wonder at the fel1ow’s effrontery in
appearing with you just now.”
He called in a soldier, and gave orders for Le Loup’s
arrest.
Meanwhile, in a log cabin, scarcely a couple of hun-
dred yards away, the half-breed had been recounting
his grievances to half a dozen sympathizers, of mixed
blood like himself.
“Dog of a commandant!” he said. “That is the way
he treats a man as good as himself, for my father was
of the noblesse; his could be no more. The boy was
mine; yet this Frenchman prefers to please a wretched
138


A NIGHT RAID
Huron. What have I done for France? To gain in-
formation for Monsieur de V audreuil have I not spent
three years among the pigs of English? Did I not slip
out of William Henry when the English messenger went
with a letter, and slay him, and take the letter? But
for the Abenakis, who hunted me, I should have car-
ried the letter to Monsieur de Montcalm and received
a rich reward. And who was it, I ask you, that led the
raid upon the Englishman’s farm, whereby we took great
booty? True, it is lost, almost all of it; but the Hurons
are to blame, not I. The principal prize remained; it was
the boy, who fell to my share when the plunder was di-
vided. Why did I want him? Look you, my friends;
his father is rich, even though we destroyed his farm.
He was in William Henry, and was carried away among
the prisoners; but what of that? It was my purpose
to seek him out and pierce his soul with the news that
the young boy was in captivity. Think you he would
not have given all his riches in exchange for the boy ?”
“But how, Le Loup, if he himself was a prisoner?”
“Bah! you see only to the tip of your nose, my friend.
I should have got a great sum for the boy, and another
great sum to help the father to escape. And now I lose
all—all, through this dog of a commandant!”
“Not so, Le Loup,” said another. “You left the boy,
thinking of your own skin.”
“A thousand thunders! Were you there? Did you
see it? I tell you, when the shots flashed from the rocks,
all was disorder. Was that not natural? Was it not like
a Huron snake to come, when I was trying to gather
the men together, and wile the boy away? He was
found before he was lost, name of a Frenchman! And
the commandant prefers the vile Indian to me, French
like himself, Louis Bessiére, whose father was a noble?
511811 We,” he shrieked in his excitement,—-“shall we
139'.


. ROB THE RANGER
submit tamely to such treatment? We, the free back-
woodsmen of Canada, who have carried the French name
and might far into the forest and wilderness—shall we
suffer our rights thus to be torn from us? Are we dirt
that a pack of savages should be petted and fondled
to our loss? Ah! with half a dozen men, real men, not
painted dolls, I could teach the Hurons what it is to
flout Louis Bessiére. They call me Le Loup; they should
feel my fangs! And not only would they learn the les-
son, but my comrades and myself would profit; mark
that, my friends.”
He paused dramatically. His companions looked at
him expectantly.
“The boy! Yes, he is mine. And look you, he is
all I ask. But my comrades, if I could find them—what
would they have? My friends, there is a rich store of
peltry in the Huron camp—the spoils of hunting on the
shores of the lakes; skins of beaver, and moose, and
racoon, sufficient to make many men rich. Are not
those a prize worth seeking? Oh! if I could find six men
as daring, as keen, as sure as I myself!”
Again he paused. He saw by the kindling eyes of his
comrades that his eloquence was taking effect.
“Here am I, one to your mind,” said one of the men.
“And I !”
“And I!”
“We are six; nowhere will you find better. Come,
let us steal after the Hurons, like snakes through the
grass, and fall upon them, like cougars starving in the
forest.”
“Stay!” said another, more cautious than the rest.
"How shall we fare if we do as our friend says? There
are more than Hurons. There are Pottawottomies, and
Miamis, and Micmacs, and more. We love not them;
they love not us; and when we fall upon the Hurons in
140


A NIGHT RAID
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the midst of the encampment yonder they will all join
together, and we shall be dead men.”
“Look!” said Le Loup triumphantly. He had gone to
the door of the cabin, and stood pointing to the wall
of the fort, but with his face turned towards his com-
panions. They hastened to the door. Following the
direction of his outstretched hand they saw that the
little body of Hurons were breaking up their camp.
“See!” cried Le Loup. “They lose no time! They
fear that the commandant will change his mind and do
justice to one of his own blood. The sun is already set-
ting. Let us betake ourselves, my friends, to the woods
yonder. We will let the Hurons go past us; we will
follow on their trail; and then trust not Louis Bessiére
if, before to-morrow’s sun rises, you are not all rich in
peltry, and I have the boy—the boy who is mine.”
Thus it happened that when a corporal’s guard came
to the tent, and demanded admittance, to arrest Louis
Bessiére on the charge of grievously wounding one of
the king’s officers, they found the place empty. Le Loup,
with six of the most desperate half-breeds of the lake
district, was lurking in the shades of the forest.
Le Loup’s guess as to the reason that induced the
Hurons to decamp so quickly was not far short of the
mark. Now that the object that brought them to the
fort was achieved, they had nothing to gain by remain-
ing longer. Winter was fast approaching; hostilities
with the English would cease until the season of snows
was over; many months would pass before the war
whoop was again raised. Meanwhile the women and
old men of the tribe were awaiting their return with
their spoils. Moreover, they had marked the command-
ant’s hesitation when deciding the destination of the
boy. He might change his mind, and renew his offer
of presents in exchange for their young captive. And
141


ROB THE RANGER
I
Téte de Boeuf, the chief, knowing what a terrible fas-
cination the Frenchman’s brandy had for his tribesmen,
feared lest they should turn against him and demand
the surrender of the boy upon whom he had set his heart.
Wisely, therefore, he struck camp, determined to place
many long miles between himself and the fort before
morning broke.
All that night they marched, a band of about thirty.
In the morning, after a short rest, twenty of the braves
left the party, somewhat reluctantly, for was not the
Mohawk prisoner to be made an offering to the Mani-
tou ?—and struck northward towards their own village,
while the chief with the remaining ten, and two prisoners,
kept close to the lake shore.
Will Somers, weary with sitting his pony through
the night, and worn out with crying, was not aware that
there was another prisoner with the party, until, when
their numbers were reduced, he caught sight of the well-
known figure of Redwing marching along between two
of the Hurons. He had been disarmed and his hands
were tied behind him; yet there was a certain fearless
dignity in his mien. A Mohawk must show no sign
of faltering before a Huron. The moment Will saw
him he sprang from his pony and ran towards his friend.
The Hurons did not interfere.
“Oh, Redwing!” cried the boy, “what will they do
with us?”
“Blue eyes need not fear,” replied the Indian, using
the name by which Will was known among his tribe.
“They will shave his head, and paint his skin, and put
feathers in his hair; and he will, after many moons,
forget he is a paleface, and become a great hunter,
and a sachem, and he will have a wigwam and a Huron
squaw.”
' “I will not! I never will!” cried the boy, clenching


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A NIGHT RAID
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his fists. “I will run away. Rob will come and find me.
You will help me to run away, won’t you, Redwing ?”
“No, little brother.”
“But why not? You have always been our friend—
Dad’s friend, and Rob’s, and mine, too.”
“Before the moon rises, Redwing will be asleep.”
“Why, so shall I. I am sleepy now. But you can
wake me in the middle of the night, and we will run
away, and try to find Rob.”
“Little brother will wake; he will see the sun; but
not Redwing.”
_ “Why? Oh! you don’t mean they will kill you? I
will not let them. If I am to be a chief I will say they
must not, because you are my friend.”
The Indian shook his head.
“When the sun sleeps Redwing will feel hot pains;
he will die forty deaths, one death for every Huron brave
who went forth and has not returned. Be of good cheer,
little brother; Redwing is not afraid.”
The boy, his eyes flashing, his lips quivering, ran to
the chief, and pleaded with him, first in English then in
Mohawk. The Huron looked with pride on the gallant
boy; he understood nothing of what he said, but guessed
his meaning from his gestures. He patted his head and
spoke soothingly to him, and by and by, when he began
to flag, carried him back to his pony.
Towards the close of the day they arrived at the vil-
lage, and were met by the old men and women, who came
to ask after the fortunes of the party. Bitter were the
lamentations when they learned of the losses the band
had sustained since they set out months before on the
war-trail. Mothers bewailed their sons, wives their
husbands, uttering piercing cries, and heaping curses
on the chief for daring to return without the rest of his
braves. Then the anger of the community was turned
143


ROB THE RANGER
against the Mohawk, the representative of the enemy
who had bereft them of their loved ones. The women
spat upon him, and would have torn him limb from
limb but for the intervention of the chief, who assured
them that the prisoner was only reserved for sacrifice.
He presented the white boy to them, declaring that he
would grow up to wreak a terrible vengeance on their
enemies. And \Vill was terrified when these ugly,
dirty women came about him, and recited charms, and
tried to fondle him.
As the sun began to set, they hastened the prepara-
tions for the torture of the Mohawk youth. They tied
him to a stake and heaped fuel about him, and the
braves took their knives and ranged themselves to cut
at his body in turn. Will, watching from the tent of the
old squaw, in whose charge he had been placed, at first
did not realize what the preparations meant. Redwing
held his head high; none would have guessed from his
undaunted demeanor that he knew what was coming—
the slashing knives, the kindling of the fire. But as
the braves took places for the hideous ceremony, and
their fierce looks and savage cries indicated their in-
tentions, the boy broke suddenly from the tent and
dashed forward to the stake, as if, with his puny fists,
to protect his friend. The women rushed after him,
caught him in their arms, and carried him screaming
away. At the same moment the torch was applied, the
braves raised their terrible death whoop, and the first of
the line cut a slice from the arm of the Mohawk.
What was it that arrested the hand of the second
brave at the very moment when it was raised to strike?
What was it that silenced the wild yells and rooted the
Hurons with amazement to the ground?
In the silence and shade of the forest six stealthy fig-
ures had stolen up to the scene. They came not as spec-
144


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A NIGHT RAID _
tators. They had no eyes for the straight, unwincing
captive at the stake. The ceremony of devoting him
to the spirit of vengeance did indeed favor their ob-
ject, for the Hurons, every man of them, were intent
upon the torture, heedless of all else. In the brief in-
terval between the passage of the first and the sec-
ond warrior by the fire, a deafening volley flashed from
the belt of forest. Then the Hurons saw, dashing from
the trees and looking huge in the gloaming, half a dozen
figures leaping towards them as the. cougar leaps upon
its prey. Several of the Hurons had fallen to their
shots. Before the others could recover from the shock of
surprise the amazing enemy was upon them. With a wild
cry of fright those who were left alive fled to the for-
est fleetly as deer.
The strangers did not pursue them. The leader, mak-
ing with long, silent leaps towards the woman who,
amid a shrieking throng of her neighbors, bore Will
Somers struggling from her grasp, dashed her to the
ground, and made off among the trees, calling upon his
comrades to seize what booty they could and to follow.
Meanwhile the flames were rising around Redwing.
With set lips and look that never faltered, the Mohawk-
waited, silently enduring the pain, until the fire licked
the cords that bound him to the stake. Then, while they
were still but half burned, he made a mighty effort, burst
them asunder, and sprang in the direction taken by the
assailants. When the fugitives, half an hour later, crept
back to their silent village, neither the white boy nor
the Mohawk prisoner was to be seen; but on the ground
lay the lifeless body of Téte de Boeuf with seven of his
bravest warriors dead or desperately wounded around
him.
X45


CHAPTER XII
LE LoUP’s LANDLORD
One morning, about three weeks after that unhappy
day, when for a few moments the brothers were re-
united, Rob stood between two white-coated soldiers
of the Royal Roussillon Regiment in a small room
in the commandant’s house at Quebec. He had arrived
the previous day from Montreal, and lodged in a house
in the Lower Tower at the foot of Mountain Street.
Somewhat to his surprise, these Roussillon men had
presented themselves at early morning and announced
that they were bidden to bring him before the commander-
in-chief. What could the Marquis de Montcalm want
with him, thought Rob—a prisoner of war, indeed, but
a person of no importance, and not even a soldier?
Only Monsieur de Montcalm himself could enlighten him,
and it was the famous commander-in-chief before whom
he now stood, awaiting his pleasure.
Montcalm was a small, neat, handsome man, with
quick, sparkling eyes and pleasant features, on which
sat an expression of easy good humor. When he looked
up from the papers on the table before him and shot a
keen glance at the prisoner, his lips parted in a partic-
ularly attractive smile, and Rob felt that here was a
man whom his soldiers would love.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said pleasantly. “They tell
me you speak French, the lack of which in most of
your countrymen I have found not a little inconvenient.
I did not expect to see quite so young a man.”
146


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
His tone, as he said this, seemed to indicate that he
was rather pleased than otherwise.
“When I heard of your arrival I thought I should
like a little talk with you,” Montcalm went on. “First
of all, I am not quite sure of your name. It is strange
to French tongues.”
“Robert Somers, Monsieur,” replied Rob.
“It has a familiar sound,” said Montcalm reflectively,
resting his elbow on the table and stretching his fore-
finger along his cheek. “But I can not recall where I
heard it.”
“Did you meet my father, Monsieur?” asked Rob
eagerly.
“Your father! Is he one of the prisoners?” asked the
general in surprise.
“I do not know, Monsieur. He was in Fort William
Henry. What has become of him since the massacre
I can not learn for certain.”
The general’s face darkened at the word “massacre,”
but he made no comment, as he replied:
“The list of prisoners was put before me, but I do not
recall your name. But now, Monsieur, I hear somewhat
romantic stories about you, and I would learn the truth
from your own lips. Speak, then.”
Rob could not gather from the marquis’ manner
whether he asked out of sheer curiosity or whether sym-
pathetically with a desire to help him. He related his
adventures since leaving Fort Edward, hoping vaguely
that Montcalm would find some means of getting Will
out of the Huron’s hands. But he was speedily unde-
ceived as to the Frenchman’s motive.
“You came alone, then, save for your friend the trap-
per ?” he said at the conclusion of the story.
“He was my only companion, Monsieur, until we were
overtaken by the Mohawks.”
I47


ROB THE RANGER
There was certainly a look of disappointment in
Montcalm’s expressive face.
“And there was no question of being supported—by
the Rangers of your Rogers, for instance?”
“None, Monsieur.”
“And General Webb—you did not take him into your
confidence ?”
“No, Monsieur, he knew nothing of my plans,” an-
swered Rob.
“Of course, he was too busy with his own. The re-
inforcements of local militia must have greatly increased
the forces under his command.”
It suddenly dawned upon Rob that Montcalm had
sent for him in order to obtain information. He was
certainly a pleasant gentleman, but behind his genial
manner there was the keenness of the soldier. Rob had
all his wits about him, and he began to feel an inward
amusement as the marquis talked, flitting from one sub-
ject to another, every now and then dropping a ques-
tion with apparent artlessness, about the defenses of
Fort Edward, the temper of the British troops, the re-
lations between them and the provincial levies. Rob was
on the watch for them. He was not caught napping,
answered frankly when the matter was of no importance,
but ingeniously parried the question when it seemed to
probe too deeply.
At last Montcalm broke into a laugh.
“Your French is sufliciently good, Monsieur,” he said,
“but I learned just as much—or as little—from the Eng-
lish of your countrymen. You are a brave boy—and,
by faith! clever. Well, I regret that I must keep you
my prisoner. I hope that you will soon be exchanged,
though, since, by the fortune of war, his Majesty King
Louis holds more English prisoners than his Majesty
King George holds F rench, it may not be so soon as you
148


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
could wish. I will do what I can for you. You will
give me your parole ?”
The question took Rob by surprise, and he did not at
once reply. Seeing his hesitation, Montcalm continued:
“I ask you for your own sake. If you give me your
parole you will have freedom to come and go in Que-
bec, and there is very pleasant society here. If not, you
must be interned with the other prisoners—the rank and
file.”
While the marquis was speaking, Rob had taken the
opportunity of rapidly thinking out the question. As
a prisoner on parole he might learn something of his
father’s fate. But if it turned out that Mr. Somers
was in any difficulty or danger, Rob might find himself
prevented by his word from doing anything to help
him. In any case it would be absolutely impossible,
even if he got news of Will, to make any attempt to
rescue him.
“I prefer not to give my parole, Monsieur,” he said.
“As you will,” said Montcalm with a laugh. “The
winter is approaching. I bid you adieu.”
As he left the house Rob asked himself what the laugh
and the reference to winter meant. He guessed that
Montcalm was amused at his entertaining any idea of
escape from the walled city on the cliff; the full mean-
ing he did not learn till later.
He was taken back to the house where he had spent
the night among the soldiers who had brought him
down from Montreal. But later in the day he learned
that he was to be removed, not to the usual military
prison in the citadel, but to a smaller prison in an-
other quarter of the city.
“You are in luck,” said one of the men to him.
“There’s no comfort in the citadel; but the place we’re
to take you to is a fine old house where you’ll have
149


LE LOUP’S LAN DLORD
feared and disliked. The hunchback caught sight of the
party, turned aside, and came to meet them.
“Who is this ?” he asked, in a dry, rasping voice.
“Another English prisoner, Monsieur,” replied the
man addressed, “sent from Frontenac by Monsieur de
Noyan.”
Maurin’s eyes, bloodshot and shifty, narrowly scanned
the prisoner’s face, and Rob felt a strange discomfort
under the scrutiny.
“He goes to Les Trois Ecus ?”
“Truly, Monsieur; Monsieur le Marquis sends him
there and not to the citadel.”
Maurin said no more. He was as a rule particularly
interested in English prisoners, but this was a youth,
tattered and travel-stained; he did not appear a likely
subject for Monsieur Maurin’s attentions. The hunch-
back walked alongside the party for some little distance,
then turned down an alleyway and disappeared. Soon
afterwards they arrived at the place of detention—an
old inn which had been converted into a prison. Rob was
confided to the care of the custodian, his guards took
friendly leave of him, and he was led through a dark
passage into a large room, formed out of two by the
removal of a partition.
Here he found some two-score prisoners, sitting on
benches ranged round the walls. A stout four-legged
table occupied the center of the floor; at the farther end
of the room stood a large open fireplace; the windows
to the left were filled with clear glass, somewhat of a
luxury in those days.
The arrival of a new prisoner awoke some interest in
the occupants of the room. Rob was besieged with ques-
tions as to what had brought him there. When he had
told his story he asked for information in return, and
found that some of his fellow-prisoners were, like him-
151


ROB THE RANGER
self, non-combatants carried off by raiders, from different
parts of the English settlements. The others were sol-
diers from various regiments, some regulars of the Brit-
ish army, others men of the Royal Americans, and other
regiments of the provincial militia. One of them, a lank
New Englander, named Silas Pringle, as soon as he
learned Rob’s name, exclaimed:
“Say, friend, are you kin to Mr. Somers, the con-
tractor?”
“My father!” replied Rob eagerly. “Do you know
anything of him?”
“Mighty little. I seed him among us when we were
marched from William Henry, but after three or four
days I lost sight of him, and don’t know no more’n the
dead what happened to him. Maybe he’s bought himself
off, for he was a pretty warm man, and some of these
Frenchers would like to have a picking of his goods.
Let’s hope he’s better off’n we are, anyway.”
“Aren’t you well treated, then ?”
“Aren’t we well treated? What do you say, mates?
Why, bless you, sonny, these Frenchers don’t know what
an honest man is. The folks of Canady, by what I can
make out, are simply choused by the Frenchers—that is,
by the big wigs among ’em for the or’inary Frencher,
by what I can see, ain’t very different from the or’inary
Englishman. Nayther English nor French can hold
a candle to a Royal American.”
Rob found that Pringle could give him few definite
facts in regard to the doings of the oppressive officials.
The prisoners learned little of what was happening in
the outside world, and could only judge of the condition
of things from hints and rumors. It was a fact, how-
ever, that Canada was reduced to great straits through
the long-continued military operations and the vast ex-
penditure incurred. The whole oflicialdom of_theIIegun-
. 152


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
try was rotten. From Bigot, the intendant, downwards,
almost every Frenchman bearing office was a peculator,
conspiring with his fellow-officials to defraud the king.
Among the rest, Maurin, the hunchback, had obtained
through Bigot’s influence, the contract for supplying
the prisoners with food. The nominal scale of diet was
s11fl'ICl€I1lZ to keep them in fair health, but they received
only a portion of what they were entitled to, and that
portion was bad. The result was that there was much
sickness among them, and one and all dreaded the com-
ing severe Canadian winter.
While Rob was listening to his fellow-prisoners’ de-
nunciations of those who were responsible for their
unhappy plight, Maurin, the hunchback, was seated in a
well-appointed room of a house within some sixty or
seventy yards of the rear of the Trois Ecus. It was not
his residence; that was a mansion near the palace of his
friend and patron, the intendant. But it was a more im-
posing house than most of those in the neighborhood.
The majority of the houses in Quebec were one-story
high; this one of Maurin’s had two stories and an attic
above.
The room in which he sat was his ofl-ice for the transac-
tion of business. It was on the ground floor; the rest
of the house was let to tenants, whose status in society
varied inversely with their height above the street. In-
asmuch as the occupants of the first floor were not of
particularly good repute, the standard of respectability
reached by the dwellers in the attic may be inferred.
But this did not trouble Monsieur le Bossu. He was a
man of business, and so long as his tenants paid the
extortionate rents he demanded of them, he did not
concern himself with them any further.
Any one watching the hunchback, as he sat at his table,
would have seen at once that he was indeed a capital
153


ROB THE RANGER
man of affairs, as affairs were understood in those days
in Quebec. He was a man of few words and ready
wit. When, for instance, the warder of the prison at
the Trois Ecus was ushered in, and began to complain
that the arrival of a new prisoner seemed to have fanned
the flame of discontent, and that he had heard the rest
of them cursing the scantiness and bad quality of their
rations, Maurin simply laughed—an almost silent, gur-
gling laugh.
“But, Monsieur,” persisted the warder, “I fear a mu-
tiny; unless something is done to pacify them, I must
beg that the military guard be increased.”
Maurin laughed again.
“Bah!” he snapped. “What can a pack of unarmed
men do against the trained soldiers of the guard?”
“But they are getting desperate, Monsieur.”
“Too well-fed, man, too well-fed. If they are so full
of fight they had better have their rations reduced. As
for increasing the guard—nonsense. Go back, Domi-
nique, and if the new prisoner, as you say, is stirring up
the pot, put him in irons, and keep him fasting.”
When the warder was gone, Maurin called his attend-
ant.
“Bring Le Loup,” he said.
A few minutes afterwards the half-breed entered, his
manner a strange mixture of servility and insolence.
“I want a few words with you,” said Maurin, peering
at the man from beneath his shaggy brows, and pass-
ing the palm of one hand slowly over the back of the
other. After each sentence his lips shut together with
a snap. “I fear I did ill in allowing my factor to let
the upper floor to you and your associates.”
“There was a time when Monsieurthought other-
wise,” cried Le Loup with some heat.
“That must have been a very long time ago,” said
154


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
Maurin, with his yelping laugh. “Your credit was never
very good. It is not improving.”
“Monsieur has been fortunate. I have been unfortu-
nate,” said Le Loup in a half-whine.
“The Abenakis have long memories, truly. As for
me, I say that a man gets pretty much what he de-
serves.” He pressed his hands sleekly together.
“That is why I may hope for better fortune in the
future—seeing that Monsieur has prospered.”
“If I were you,” said Maurin slowly, ignoring the
scarcely veiled insolence in the half-breed’s tone—“if I
were you, Monsieur le Loup, I would not look too far
into the future. Perhaps you could see a gibbet, and a
rope, and a noose at the end. But come, I did not send
for you to talk of the future or the past, but of the
present. My factor tells me that the tenants of my at-
tic may bring my house a bad name. Not that it will
affect me personally; no, no, Monsieur le Loup. But
secure though my position in Quebec is, I have to con-
sider my property. Times are bad, very bad; I can not
afford to have my property diminished in value. I have
to consider these things.”
“You mean to turn me out?” said Le Loup, giving
him a shrewd look.
“Not at all, not at all; that is, not necessarily, though
to be sure I may require the attic for another tenant at
short notice. No. Times are bad, as I said, and really,
Monsieur le Loup, the rent you are paying is ridiculously
small. Positively I can not afford it.” ,
“Times are indeed bad, as you say, Monsieur; my
friends and myself are poor men, and we can not afford
more.”
Maurin pursed his lips and deliberately put his finger-
tips together.
“Let me see,” he said, suddenly changing the subject;
4
155


ROB THE RANGER
“was it five thousand or ten thousand livres that Monsieur
de Noillac lost last night? Did you know of it? He
was set upon in the Rue du Parloir in the dark, poor
man, and robbed, and very badly hurt. I think it was
five thousand livres.”
At the mention of the name Le Loup winced. When
Maurin had finished speaking he cried with a gesture
of indignation:
“Surely Monsieur does not accuse—”
“Softly, softly, Monsieur le Loup,” interrupted Mau-
rin, looking around as for an eavesdropper. “Who am
I to accuse? I accuse nobody. But there is a suspicion
—a mere suspicion—mark you—as to the men who
committed the crime. Quebec was not wont to be so
lawless, and you will see, I am sure, that with matters in
such a state it is necessary for owners of property to
get all they can. How can_ I tell that I may not suffer as
poor unfortunate Monsieur de Noillac did?”
He paused, looking meditatively at his joined finger-
tips.
“A thousand livres a month, from this time, Monsieur
le Loup,” he said, suddenly lifting his eyes. “That is
your rent; and you will bring me the first month’s rent
in half an hour.”
His lips snapped together like a vise. He touched a
bell on the table. To the servant who appeared he
said:
“Our good tenant will return in half an hour; see that
he is admitted at once.”
A ferocious, murderous look flashed in the eyes of the
half-breed. For a moment he stood irresolute; the veins
in his neck swelled; one might have thought he was
measuring his chances of settling his account there and
then with the old, crafty Frenchman who had him in
his toils. Maurin sat motionless, eying him steadily.
156


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
Le Loup’s glance quailed, and he turned and slunk from
the room.
Maurin gave his short laugh, then said to the servant:
“Monsieur de Noillac.”
In a few moments a short, thin, wizened-looking
Frenchman was shown into the room. He was shab-
bily dressed; one arm was in a sling, but in the hand he
stifliy held a snuff-box, which, to judge by the stains
on his coat, he was accustomed to use freely. The
owner of a small estate some little distance west of Que-
bec, he was not a very favorable specimen of the seig-
niorial proprietors among whom the land of Canada was
divided. _
“I hope you are better, Monsieur,” said Maurin in
his hard, unsympathetic voice.
“A trifle, Monsieur, a trifle,” replied the seignior,
somewhat nervously. “If I could lay hands on the vil-
lain! Five thousand good livres, Monsieur, rolled up
in the pocket of my paletot, and—”
“Yes. A trifle to a man of your wealth,” interrupted
Maurin. “But I do not wish to talk of your misfortune;
that is not my affair. Have you the Englishman with
you?”
“I have brought him, Monsieur,” said Monsieur de
Noillac, evidently cowed by the other’s manner.
“Call him in.”
There entered two men, garbed in the rough homespun
of Canadian peasants. One was thin, pale, bearded, gray
plentifully streaking his hair. The other was a mus-
cular, shock-headed Norman, whose attitude suggested
that he was acting as a kind of watch-dog towards the
first.
“Let me see,” said Maurin, rubbing his left hand
gently, “this is the prisoner Brown?”
“Somers my name is,” said the prisoner quickly, in
157


ROB THE RANGER
halting F rench. Few of his friends would have recog-
nized in the gaunt, somewhat stooping figure, the farmer
Somers who, only a short time before, was the pros-
perous contractor they had known in the markets of
Albany.
“Your name is Brown,” said Maurin sharply. “It
is Brown in our books; Brown it must be. Pardon me,
Monsieur de Noillac, I should like to speak for a few
minutes to the prisoner Brown alone.”
The seignior retired nervously, taking a pinch of
snuff. The peasant followed him from the room. When
the door was shut Maurin put his finger-tips together and
looked quizzically at the Englishman.
“You are tired of captivity, Brown ?”
Mr. Somers seemed to hesitate whether he should re-
ply; then, struggling with his imperfect French, he be-
gan:
“I don’t know what your authority may be, but if you
have any authority you will put an end to this. If you
have none bring me before Monsieur de Montcalm. He
at any rate knows that it is against all rights and cus-
tom, in France or England or anywhere in the civilized
world, to make slaves of prisoners of war.”
“Bah!” snapped Maurin. “Slaves! Fiddlesticks!
Everybody knows that prisoners of war have the option
of adding to their allowance by volunteering to work.
You volunteered—”
“I did nothing of the kind.”
Maurin spread out his hands.
“It is in the books, Brown—in black and white—en-
tered as a volunteer worker; services lent to Monsieur de
Noillac in accordance with the regulations governing
the cases of prisoners of war.”
“Books or no books,” said Mr. Somers warmly, “I am
very sure there are no regulations that permit the treat-
158
~i
-“IlIIl ‘ iii


LE LOUP’S LANDLORD
ment I am receiving. No prisoner in the plantations is
more slave-driven than I am; yes, and the other Eng-
lishmen indentured to Monsieur de Noillac. Bring me
before Monsieur de Montcalm; let him be asked the
question.”
“There is no need, believe me,” said the hunchback
quietly. “Captivity is unpleasant, of course, even when
it is lightened by labors that are paid for. But, Brown,
the remedy is in your own hands. I understand—yes,
here it is on paper—that your agents in New York are-
your English names are difficult—Winthrop and Maddi-
son. Well, a draft for ten thousand pounds, duly signed
by Brown, or Somers, if you will—what matters it?-
will effect your instant release—when the draft is hon-
ored, that is understood. As you know, there are means
by which the money may be remitted. Is it not easy,
Brown ?”
“I won’t do it,” said Mr. Somers, curbing his indig-
nation with difliculty. “I refuse to lend myself to your
villainous schemes. When Monsieur de Montcalm learns
of this-—”
“But it is Monsieur de Noillac for the present,” inter-
rupted Maurin, tapping his fingers. In answer to the
bell, the servant brought back the seignior, still dili-
gently snuffing.
“You will return at once, Monsieur, I presume,” said
the hunchback. “If your assailants are discovered, be
sure I will let you know. The prisoner Brown returns
with you. He prefers to continue in your service. Your
harvesting is done, of course, but I have no doubt you
will have enough work to employ him during the winter.
If he should wish at any time to make a personal com-
munication to me, I shall esteem it a favor, Monsieur, if
you will send him, carefully guarded, to Quebec. Fare-
well, Monsieur. I am deeply grieved that you should
159


ROB THE RANGER
have suffered such a mishap through coming into the
city at my request.”
Mr. Somers, his pale face giving no sign of his feel-
ings, went out in charge of the stalwart peasant. Mon-
sieur de Noillac moved to follow him, then halted,
turned round, and in his nervous manner held out his
snuff-box to Maurin. The hunchback took a pinch,
carefully wiped his fingers, and laughed. Then the
seignior was gone.
160


CHAPTER XIII
A FACE AT THE wmnow
Rob soon found that the miseries of prison life had not
been exaggerated. Confinement, even for a day, was un-
pleasant enough to one accustomed to the free life of
the open air; but when day followed day in one round
of inactivity, it became intolerable. The prisoners spent
their days in the large bare room where he had found
them, except for short periods of exercise in a yard
behind the house. At night they slept in dormitories
on the floor above. They were a rough set, good-natured
in the main, but so embittered by the hardships of their
lot that they made rather doleful messmates. Rob did
not find them congenial in the mass, though there were
a few among them whom he came by degrees to regard
with a feeling of comradeship.
But he was thrown much upon himself, and had only
too much time to think. In his dejection he said to
himself that surely never before had so few weeks
brought a more calamitous change in the fortunes of
a family. And not merely his own family. The friendly
Mohawks were involved in its misfortunes. Rob shud-
dered as he thought of the gallant Indian boy, who had
been dragged away from Frontenac by his foes to a
fearful death. And he could not but think of Lone Pete.
What had become of the old trapper? He must have
recognized, on that day when he saw the canoes gliding
down Lake Ontario, that the enterprise had been in-
deed a mad one. Certainly he would have wasted no
16:


ROB THE RANGER
more efforts. With but a handful of Mohawks he might
count himself lucky if he had won his way back in
safety to the British lines. With a bitter amusement
Rob imagined him shaking his head, and muttering
that he had foretold failure all along, because the ad-
venture was not founded on common sense.
There was only one bright spot in the dark vista of
the past few weeks—the friendship of La Claviére. Dur-
ing their short stay in Fort Frontenac and the journey to
Montreal, they had many opportunities of improving
their acquaintance. Almost of an age, they found that
they had many interests in common, and struck up a
friendship which the difference in nationality in no way
impaired. At Montreal they had parted, La Claviére
going on at once to rejoin his sister in Quebec, Rob hav-
ing to wait until a regular convoy started down the river.
Dark as the outlook was, however, Rob was not the
fellow to give way to gloomy thoughts. When he had
declined to give his parole he had had at the back of
his mind the possibility of escape. It was true, as Mont-
calm had said, that the winter was approaching; his
implication had been that when the country was covered
with snow and ice an attempt to escape would be to
court death by cold or starvation. At the same time
Rob cherished the idea. Who could tell what opportunity
might offer! It behooved him to be ready to seize
it should it come, and to that end it was desirable to cul-
tivate good relations with the warders and his fellow-
prisoners.
To make friends was never difficult to Rob. The
warders soon came to recognize him as a good-tempered,
cheerful fellow, ready to crack a joke with them, even
if he did stumble sometimes in his French. And he soon
found a special opportunity of ingratiating himself with
his fellow-prisoners. He had often amused himself
:
162


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
at home during the long winters with wood carving,
and, though entirely untaught, was able to turn out
very creditable images of animals and men. To while
away the time he begged his warders to provide him
with old blocks of wood, and of these he fashioned all
sorts of objects which the Frenchmen found them-
selves able to sell for a few sous apiece. They played
the part of brokers and handed over to Rob a portion
of the money they received—not a very large portion,
for it was like master like men with them; what the
higher officials did on a large scale they copied on a
smaller. The amounts thus earned Rob did not hoard.
He employed them in procuring through the warders,
who again deducted substantial commission, extra food
for the prisoners, and especially comforts in food and
clothing for the weaker among them, who in their vast,
bare, ill-warmed chamber already suffered from the
rigors of the winter cold. Before many weeks had
passed, Rob was the most popular man in the house.
One evening the head warder came to him and asked
him if he knew a Monsieur Alphonse la Claviére.
“I should think I do,” he said. “What of him?”
“He is in my room, Monsieur. He has come to see
you.”
“Would you bring him here?”
“Certainly, Monsieur.”
Rob thought that by having his friend brought to the
common room he would avoid giving occasion for jeal-
ousy among the other prisoners, for none of them ever
left the apartment except for their dormitories or the
exercise yard, and visitors were unknown. There was
considerable curiosity among them when the young
Frenchman entered and shook hands cordially with Rob.
“At last I have found you,” he said. “I inquired for
you at the citadel and at the office where they keep the
163


ROB THE RANGER
list of the prisoners hired out to our seigniors; but it
was only yesterday that I learned of the existence of
this prison. I should have gone to Monsieur Mont-
calm himself, only I felt that it might perhaps be
unwise to show too great an interest in you. And my
caution made my sister angry. You have no idea, my
friend, of what a hero you are in her eyes. I was be-
ginning to think that you were still in Montreal; but
now that I know you are actually in Quebec, and a pris-
oner, Renée will be more indignant than ever. She in-
sisted that, having saved a Frenchman’s life, you ought
to be immediately released. I agree with her, I assure
you; but I am merely the poor son of a Canadian
seignior, and have no influence with the authorities, and
knowing what our oflicials are, I am sure that the less
their attention is drawn to you the better. But here
am I jabbering away and forgetting to ask you how
you are being treated here. It is against the rules,
it appears, for the prisoners to have any visitors; but
I found a little gratuity very persuasive with your war-
der. He seems to have taken a fancy to you, and he
told me that if I came after dark he would let me have
a few minutes’ conversation with you.”
The two chatted for half an hour, Rob speaking
lightly of his captivity. He asked whether La Claviére
had been able to discover anything about his father, or
had heard anything of the Huron tribe with whom he
supposed his brother to be. The Frenchman sorrow-
fully confessed that he was ignorant of the fate of both,
but promised that he would keep his ears open for in-
formation.
That was the first of many visits. Military duty was
easy in Quebec; no fighting could be expected until the
spring or summer, and though La Claviére had returned
to his regiment, he had little to occupy him save his
I64


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
turn of duty on the fortifications. His visits made pleas-
ant breaks in the monotony of prison life, and as the
winter wore on, he was able to do a good deal for Rob’s
comfort, through the complaisant warder, who never
forgot to take his toll. One day La Claviére brought
some cakes especially baked for Rob by his sister Madem-
oiselle Renée ; they were too few to share all round with
the other prisoners, and when Rob begged his friend
not to repeat the gift, for fear of arousing their jealousy,
La Claviére laughingly declared that next time he would
bring enough at least for all in Rob’s dormitory. He
kept his word; and the incident raised Rob still higher
in the estimation of his twelve roommates.
Winter settled down over the country. For days it
rained snow and sleet; the cold was intense, and all
the prisoners but Rob and one or two others shirked
the outside air, preferring to huddle over the huge wood
fire which the warders heaped upon the hearth. Rob took
his daily exercise in the yard, and as he tramped over the
caked snow he often thought of his vague hopes of
escape, and of Montcalm’s succinct remark. .Quebec
was indeed so remote from the nearest English settle-
ment, and it seemed so utterly impossible to reach them
in this season of snow and ice, that the idea of escape
appeared laughable. To succeed in the attempt he would
need, first, to get clear of the prison; secondly, to make
his way through an unknown city and pass the gates
or scale the walls, and then, without provisions or arms,
to cross league after league of snow-bound forest land
in which he would stand an equal chance of falling a
prey to Indians or to wild beasts.
The prospect was too hopeless for serious consider-
ation; yet every now and then he must needs think of
it, and from the exercise yard, or from the unglazed
window of the dormitory he often scamied the surround-
165


ROB THE RANGER
ing buildings, calculating the chances of effecting the
first step.
One fine, crisp, cold day he was walking in the yard,
alone save for the armed sentry who stood watch over
him, when his eye was caught by a glow upon a small
window on the attic floor of a large, but by no means
lofty house, lying some little distance to the back of the
prison. It was the reflection of the red winter sun.
But as he looked, he saw, flattened against the pane, a
face. He started, and looked again. It was tantalizing;
the ruddy glow prevented the features from being clearly
visible; but the face appeared to be that of a boy, and
his heart beat wildly, for a fancy seized him that it might
be the face of Will. In a moment it disappeared, and he
almost laughed at his folly, for Will was surely in the
Hurons’ hands; it was absurd to suppose that he was in
Quebec, and in a house not a stone’s throw away.
Though he told himself the idea was preposterous, he
kept his eye fixed on the window during the remainder
of the exercise time, hoping that the face would reap-
pear and give him an opportunity to convince himself.
But the window remained blank. When he returned to
the room, and especially when he lay on his truckle-bed
at night, he could not keep his mind from the strange
incident. He had never seen a face at the window be-
fore; he knew nothing about the house; it was like all
the other houses in that direction, except that it was
somewhat taller, and that between it and the spiked
wall of the yard there was a piece of ground containing a
miscellaneous assortment of bricks, beams of wood, scaf-
fold poles, and other articles indicating a builder’s yard.
He had never considered the matter, but at the back of
his consciousness was the assumption that the house was
the residence of the builder, the owner of the yard. This
was approached by an archway opening on the street,
166


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
and that he had never seen men coming in or going out
might be simply due to the stoppage of building opera-
tions by the frost.
In spite of all the reasons that arose in his mind
against it, the conviction steadily grew upon him that the
face at the window had been indeed that of his brother.
He could hardly sleep that night for thinking of it. Next
day he asked the head warder, carefully leading up to
the question, so that it might appear casual, who owned
the house behind the prison.
“It belongs to Monsieur Maurin, Monsieur—Le Bossu,
we call him.”
Rob remembered the man—the hunchback who had met
him as he came to the prison. He did not question the
warder further, but when La Claviére paid him his next
visit, Rob mentioned his suspicions.
“Surely it can not be!” exclaimed the Frenchman.
“Your brother was carried away by the Hurons; it is
impossible that he should be in Monsieur Maurin’s
hands.”
“It seems so, indeed; but will you make inquiries for
me? From the way in which people speak of Monsieur
Maurin, as Le Bossu, he is not much loved, and one
would think there is something peculiarly disagreeable
about him.” \
“I will certainly make discreet inquiries. Have you
watched the window to-day ?”
“Yes, but I have seen nothing. It occurred to me that
if my brother is indeed there, a prisoner, those who
hold him would wish to keep him out of sight. He may
have come to the window yesterday at a moment when
he was not watched, and from the sudden way the face
disappeared is it not likely that he was pulled away?”
“Perhaps. At any rate expect me to-morrow.”
When La Claviére came next evening he reported that
I57


ROB THE RANGER
only the ground floor of the house was used by Maurin;
the rest of the house was let out.
“And now I shall surprise you,” he said. “The attic
is occupied by three or four disreputable characters,
and one of them is Le Loup.” .
“Le Loup!”
“Yes, the half-breed himself, whom neither of us has
much cause to love.”
“Then depend upon it Will is there. The wretch must
have got hold of him again in some way. You remember
how bitterly enraged he was when Monsieur de Noyan
awarded the boy to the Hurons. Can not you now lay
him by the heels for his attack on you ?”
“I thought of that once. But there are difficulties.
I have no witnesses. It would only be my word against
his; and though I fancy mine would be preferred by
honest, reasonable people, one has to remember that he
is in Maurin’s house. For all we know he may be in
league with Maurin, and though I am ashamed to say it,
as law is now administered in Canada, Maurin’s men,
whatever the truth, would win.”
“But did you find out whether Le Loup and his as-
sociates have a boy with them ?”
“I could not discover. The old concierge had never
seen a boy. They keep themselves very much to them-
selves, and I assure you the reputation of Le Loup him-
self would warn off any respectable visitor. I chanced
to learn something about him that will interest you. It
appears that he was well known in Quebec formerly.
He killed an Abenaki chief in a brawl while on a hunt-
ing expedition a few years ago, and though the vengeance
of the tribe was bought off, the affair made such bad
blood between the Indians and our people that Le Loup
found the place too hot to hold him, and betook him-
self to our settlements in the south. What happened to
168


A FACE AT THE WINDOW -
him I don’t know; but you see _now why the Abenakis
were so hot on his trail the day you first met him. I
wonder he ventured back here—which is indeed another
reason why I can not but suspect that he is protected
by Maurin.”
“And my poor brother is in the hands of that fiend !”
cried Rob.
“Stay! We don’t know that. I will set a watch on the
house, and tell you what discoveries I make. Even if
he is there, I do not see any means of rescuing him,
unless, perhaps, I can induce Monsieur de Montcalm to
move in the matter.”
“Well, why not?”
La Claviére hesitated.
“My sister wishes me to do so,” he said at length; “if
you wish it also—”
In a flash Rob saw the reason of his reluctance and
his hesitation. If Maurin were indeed concerned, an
application to Montcalm, whether it were successful or
not, would bring down upon La Claviére the furious en-
mity of Maurin and all his tribe. Rob guessed that
his friend, had he alone been concerned, would not have
hesitated, but he had his sister to consider, and the very
fact that she had urged this course upon him vainly,
proved that it was for her he was thinking. He was
her only relative save the aged aunt who kept house
for them, and the miserly uncle who lived on his little‘
estate west of the city. Maurin’s enemies, if report
spoke true, were not long-lived, and in those troublous
times La Claviére could not risk any action which might
deprive Renée of her only protector. It was true that
during his absence on campaign she had stayed in the
Ursuline convent; but brother and sister were devotedly
attached to each other, and Reneé had found even the
easy rule of the good Sisters too strict for her active
169


ROB THE RANGER
spirit. She would never go back there, she said; she
asked nothing better than to remain with her brother.
Alphonse had told Rob all this. It was a great proof
of his deep and true friendship that, if Rob wished, he
would even hazard the enmity of Maurin. But Rob
would not accept the offer.
“No,” he said, “your duty, first of all, is to your sister.
Do all you can for me without being suspected; and if
Will is there, I must and shall find some means of saving
him.”
For several days La Claviére did not visit the prison;
when he came he said that his watchers had seen Le
Loup and his companions go and come at all hours,
but he had nothing more to report. Nothing had been
seen or heard of the boy. The uncertainty began to
chafe upon Rob. He grew more and more restless,
longing to do something himself to end the suspense,
though what it should be, and what his course of action
even if he found his brother a captive, he had not the
least definite idea.
As time passed, however, his impulse to act took shape.
Clearly he could do nothing while in prison; therefore
he must break prison and get into that sinister house
and search it for himself. One evening, after much
consideration, he hinted his idea to La Claviére.
“You must not !” said La Claviére, aghast. “You
could not escape. You would be shot by the sentry;
there’s one at each side of the house night and day.
If you eluded him and got into the house, what then?
You could not wrest your brother from half a dozen
ruflians and escape with your life. I can’t but think
he is not there at all. The face at the window must have
been a trick of the imagination--or something caused by
that reflection of the sun you told me about. Be pa-
tient, I implore you. In a few months, perhaps, the ex-
170


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
change of prisoners will take place, and then you will
be free to do what you will.”
Rob said nothing more at the time, but his resolution
was unshaken. The whole of the next day he spent
in a brown study, and seemed even more preoccupied
after he returned from his half-hour’s exercise. His
fellow-prisoners had .for some days past noticed his
unwonted depression, even a certain irritability, and
Pringle confided to the others his belief that Rob Som-
ers was sickening from something.
In the evening Rob was sitting near the fire, his face
in his hands, paying no attention to the doings of the
men about him, and so deeply absorbed that he jumped
when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he
saw the head warder with a meaning smile on his face.
“Monsieur, come with me—a visitor,” he said.
“Bring him here,” said Rob somewhat curtly.
“No, Monsieur, in my room this time. Come, you
will not be sorry.”
Rob got up in amazement, and followed the man from
the room, almost unnoticed by the rest. Entering the
warder’s sanctum close on the man’s heels, he stopped
in surprise when he saw, standing beside Alphonse la
Claviére, a young lady in fur cloak and hood. A sec-
ond glance told him that she was exceedingly pretty.
But before he had time to collect himself, Alphonse
came forward.
“My friend, I have brought my sister to see you,” he
said. “Mignonne, this is Rob—pardon, my friend, I al-
ways call you so.”
Rob had met few girls since he had left school at
Albany, where they wore their hair in pigtails and were
dressed in more or less prim Dutch style. He wished
afterwards that he had not blushed so deeply, and blushed
again when he reflected what an awkward loutish fellow
171


ROB THE RANGER
he must have seemed. The truth was, this apparition
of a charming girl, without a pinafore and a pigtail, but
with hair tied and powdered, and a costume that might
have come from Paris, so elegant did it reveal itself as
she threw open her cloak—this lovely apparition took
him so much unawares that he quite lost his presence
of mind.
“I am so glad to meet you, Monsieur,” she said im-
pulsively, stepping forward. “Alphonse has told me so
much about you and I can never thank you enough for
what you did for him—and for me, for what should I
have done without him! And I am so sorry about your
little brother. It is terrible to think of him in the power
of that horrible man. I think you are quite right in—”
She paused. Her brother had given her a warning
look; the warder was standing in the doorway watch-
ing the scene curiously. Renée was equal to the occasion.
She turned to the man, and, smiling upon him, said
sweetly:
“Monsieur will, I am sure, be good enough to leave us
for a few minutes?”
“No mortal man,” thought Bob, “could resist that
look and that tone.”
“I must lock you three in, Mademoiselle,” said the
warder with a sheepish grin.
“We shall be so much obliged,” said the girl ; and for
the first time since Bob had known the man, he did
something that was not in his duty without payment.
“Alphonse has told me what you propose to do, Mon-
sieur,” said Renée, when the door was shut. “I think you
are quite right. He does not agree with me. He talks
of the risks, but what brother would not run any risk
to save a young boy from such dreadful men! I want to
help you. What can I do ?”
The girl’s manner was so frank and simple that Rob,
172


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
who was not without a certain native tact, felt now
quite at ease.
“I thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, “but I fear to
involve you in any of the dangers I may have to meet.”
“Do not think of them, Monsieur. Only tell me
what I—-—what Alphonse and I can do, and we will do
our very utmost.”
“If I can only get my brother away from Le Loup,
Mademoiselle, it will be necessary to find a refuge for
him until I see my further course more clearly. Per-
haps—”
“Of course,” said the girl, instantly seizing his mean-
ing. “Our house is not a large one, but there will cer-
tainly be room in it for your brother. And he would be
quite safe with us. There is only my aunt, who indeed
need know nothing about it, and two servants—faithful
souls who have been for many years in our family and
are absolutely to be trusted. Oh! I am impatient. I wish
we could take the dear little boy away with us this
moment.”
“Impatient, indeed, Renée,” said Alphonse dryly. “You
forget that Rob has first to break prison before he can
find his brother—even supposing that the boy really is in
Le Bossu’s house.”
“But Monsieur has some plan, I am sure,” said the
girl. “He would not have spoken of it unless he had
thought of a means of doing what he wishes. Is it not
so, Monsieur?”
“I have a plan, indeed; I have thought of nothing
else all day.” _
“You will tell us?”
Rob shook his head.
“I can not, Mademoiselle.”
“And I can not hear it,” added Alphonse.. “I can
only shut my eyes and ears to a good deal, but when it
I73


ROB THE RANGER
comes to a prisoner of France talking of escaping I must
be stone deaf.”
“I should have said nothing about it, but that I have
no idea—at present—of escaping from Quebec. All I
wish to do is to have a few hours’ freedom, until I find
my brother, if it is he, and place him in safety. Then
I would willingly return to prison.”
“That alters the case. As an officer I can’t help you
to escape from the city; as a friend I can help you to
rescue your brother, if you give me your word you
will attempt nothing more.”
“I do that, certainly.”
“Then you will tell us your plan?” cried Renée im-
pulsively.
“Think of the danger you would run if you were dis-
covered—danger not only from Le Loup, but from the
authorities. I can not involve you, Mademoiselle, in what
is plainly my affair.”
“Don’t think of me, Monsieur,” said Renée. “In-
deed, I insist that Alphonse shall help you. Only tell
us what your scheme is.”
“My sister is mistress in this house, as elsewhere,”
said Alphonse, smiling. “I am her humble servant. Tell
us, my friend.”
“My plan is to get from the window of my dormitory
into the street, run round the corner and enter the build-
er’s yard behind the house, and use one of the scaffold
poles there to climb up to the window where I saw my
brother’s face. Thus I shall be able to discover whether
he is still there—whether it is really he.”
“How simple !” said Renée, her face lighting up.
“Simple, indeed l” said her brother ironically, “con-
sidering that the window of his dormitory is forty feet
at least above the ground, and that a sentry is constantly
there.”
I74


A FACE AT THE WINDOW
Renée’s face fell. She looked in perplexity at Rob,
and then at her brother.
“But explain, Monsieur,” she said. “How can you do
what you say?”
But mademoiselle did not have the explanation from
Rob, for at this moment the grating of a key was heard,
the door opened, and the warder entered.
“Mademoiselle, Messieurs,” he said flurriedly, “a visit
from monsieur the inspector of prisons. It is necessary
for monsieur to return to the prisoners’ room immedi-
ately.”
And taking a hurried leave of his friends, Rob followed
the warder from the room.
175


CHAPTER XIV.
THE CLOCK on THE sums
Next evening La Claviére came again to the prison,
and in the general room, secure in the prisoners’ igno-
rance of French, he learned the details of Rob’s scheme.
The streets of Quebec were narrow, and on the west-
ern side of the prison, where the dormitory was placed,
only twenty feet separated the house from the houses
opposite. From the window Rob had noticed that the
house immediately facing was unoccupied; and this fact
had suggested a means of making his exit which only
needed the cooperation of his friend and a little luck to
be effective.
The window of the dormitory was unglazed. A number
of transverse iron bars was let into the brick work at
the sides, and the opening was protected by shutters.
Rob had observed that the bars had suffered much from
weathering, particularly at the extremities where they
entered the brick. Here they had rusted away to little
more than half their original thickness. If one of them
could be loosened, it was possible that he could slip
through.
“But you can’t do that without the other prisoners
knowing,” objected La Claviére.
“True, I must take them partly into my confidence;
but they are good friends of mine.”
“They’ll think you are planning to escape, and resent
being left out.”
“Oh, no! I shall promise to come back, and by keep-
,-
17°


THE CLOCK ON THE_ STAIRS
ing discreetly mysterious as to my real object I think
I can induce them to hold their tongues. You see, they
may regard it as an experiment which may end in es-
cape for them all, or perhaps as a mere frolic.”
“In which case they’ll want to frolic also.”
“They may try it—afterwards,” said Rob with a smile.
“Well, when you have got through the window, what
then ?”
“I first thought of dropping down by means of a rope,
some dark night when the sentry’s back is turned.
That would be very risky, I admit, and since you are de-
termined to help me—”
“In every possible way.”
“Thanks, indeed. You can help me. The house op-
posite is empty; that greatly simplifies matters, and with
your assistance the risk will be lessened very much.”
“Your plan, then,” said the young Frenchman, with
evident excitement.
Then ensued a long conversation between the two, in
which Rob bore the greater part, La Claviére occasion-
ally asking a question, now nodding his head in approval,
now shaking it dubiously. But when he left the prison
he was in the highest spirits, cracking a joke with the
warder and slipping into his hand a pourboire that as-
tohished him.
During the next few days Rob very carefully led up to
his plan in conversation with his fellow-prisoners. He
accustomed them to the idea first as a joke; then when
they saw that he was in earnest, some of the bolder
spirits among them, notably Pringle, were for taking
advantage of the same opportunity and attempting their
escape. But it was not difi-icult to show them the utter
hopelessness of the notion for the present, though Rob
took care to let them infer that things might wear a
different aspect if he returned safely from his prelim-
177


ROB THE RANGER
inary escapade. When their minds had been thus pre-
pared, Rob had another interview with La Claviére, and
arranged that the attempt should be made on the first
dark moonless night, about nine o’clock, when there
would still be a little traflic in the streets, and wayfarers
were not likely to attract the attention that might be
given them at a later hour.
The night came—a black, cold night, when the sky was
heavy with threatening snow. The prisoners had been
locked in their dormitories; all was quiet. Rob’s first
move was to open the shutters, which fastened with a
small catch. There were some growls from beneath the
blankets as the icy air began to be felt.
“A fool’s trick,” grumbled one of the older men.
“Ay, we’ll catch our death of cold,” said another.
“And be so froze we can’t sleep,” muttered the third.
“And be got into a peck of trouble into the bargain.”
“Put your heads under the blankets,” spoke up Pringle.
“ ’Tain’t our concern; leastways not yet. I like spirit, I
do; and if the lad likes to risk his neck, let him.”
Two or three others backed him up, and nothing
further was said. Meanwhile Rob had dismantled his
truckle-bed and taken from it one of the longitudinal
stretchers, a stout piece of timber about three inches
thick. When the sentry’s footsteps below receded into
the distance, he asked Pringle to help him, and the two
inserted one end of the timber between the window-
sill and the lowermost iron bar, at the point where the
latter entered the brick work. Then, using the wood as a
lever, they brought their whole weight to bear on the
other end. The rust-eaten bar gave way with a sharp
snap. Had it been heard by the sentry? They waited;
they heard the measured tread below; it was unaltered.
As soon as the sound died away again, they slowly
bent back the bar, careful not to break off the other end.
178


THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
When the space was wide enough to allow Rob to squeeze
through, he whispered to Pringle that he required no
further help.
“Sakes alive!” said the man. “How can ye get to
the ground? I thought you’d made a rope out of your
blanket.”
“No, I’ve a better way.”
Curiosity had now overcome every other sentiment in
the prisoners. They sprang from their beds, and, with
their blankets wrapped around them, crowded to the
window to see how Rob was going to carry out his daring
project. He enjoined silence.
It was so dark that the window of the opposite house
could not be seen. Rob stood waiting. Surely La Cla-
viére would not fail him? He became more and more
anxious as minute after minute passed, and the sentry
tramped up and down the length of the building. The
blanketed prisoners murmured, some slinking back to their
beds. ]ust as Rob was beginning to fear that his plan
was to break down at the outset, there was a slight thud
on the bar above him, and something dropped into the
street. He caught his breath and listened again for the
sentry; but the man passed with the same unhurried step.
When he was again at the far end of his beat, once more
there came a thud, this time within the room. Some ob-
ject, and not a hard one, had struck the floor. Groping
along the bars, Rob touched a thin silken thread, from the
end of which, when he drew it towards him from the
room, dangled a ball of worsted, weighted within.
Now Rob pulled the thread slowly and carefully from
the street. Soon his hand touched a thin cord; by and by
a stout rope.
“I allow that’s durned spry,” whispered Pringle—“if
the sentry don’t catch sight of it.
That was the one risk which Rob himself feared. But
179


ROB THE RANGER
there was no reason why the sentry should look up;
and even if he did, the night was so dark that the
chance of his discovering a rope stretched across the
narrow lane, forty feet above his head, was almost neg-
ligible.
Rob dared not rely on the worn, rusty bars to support
the rope for his experiment. He gave the end of it to
Pringle and two other prisoners. Then, assuring him-
self that the farther end was firmly secured, he squeezed
through the aperture and took a firm grip of the rope
about three feet from the point where Pringle grasped it.
The sentry was almost immediately beneath. The mo-
ment the man’s back was turned Bob swung off the sill,
not without a shudder, for an enterprise that a seaman
would have regarded lightly was a very different thing
to a landsman. Conquering his hesitation with a strong
effort of will, Rob took the plunge.
The rope swung alarmingly as he cast himself off, and
what was more serious still, there was a very audible
creak as his full weight came upon it. While he hung
there, gripping the rope, now above his head, with both
hands, he heard the sentry some distance away stop
on his beat, as if listening. But it was only for a mo-
ment. The man had apparently satisfied himself that
the noise he had heard was due to the opening of a door
somewhere, for he moved on. Then Rob, hand over
hand, began to cross his suspension bridge. Fast as he
tried to travel, it seemed an age before the wall of the
opposite house loomed up in front of him; and, alack!
he heard the tramp, tramp of the sentry on his way back.
Already he felt that his arms were being dragged from
their sockets; but he dared not attempt to gain the sill
above, lest a rustle, the scraping of his body against the
wall, should cause the sentry to look up.
It was an anxious moment as he hung there. The
180


THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
tramp grew louder; the pace never varied; the man must
now be exactly beneath him; would Fortune stand his
friend? He felt the thrill of joy as the sound of the
footsteps once more diminished. But the delay had made
a great demand upon his nerve; he was beginning to fear
lest his strength should not be equal to the effort of
lifting himself through the window, when, to his un-
utterable relief, he felt his wrist grasped; a voice whis-
pered: “There is a rope ladder!” and, after a little
groping with his feet, he found this welcome accessory
dangling from the sill above him. In half a minute he
was inside the room.
“Well done, my friend !” whispered La Claviére,
gripping his hand.
“Thanks to you !”
Rob gave the rope a gentle tug to apprise his friends
that he was safe across. Then he sat down to rest while
La Cleviére gently drew in the rope, steadied at the
other end. When this was done the shutters were noise-
lessly closed, and, donning a thick cloak provided for
him, Rob followed his friend down-stairs.
They made their way out at the back of the house,
turned down a lane, which brought them by a circuitous
route to a street, hurried across this, and in a few min-
utes came to the quiet street in which Maurin’s house
stood. It was deserted. Passing along on the opposite
side to the house, they saw that the door of this was
shut, but there was a light in an upper window. They
turned back, crossed the road, and, seeing that the coast
was clear, went through the archway that led under the
house to the builder’s yard behind.
Rob smothered a cry of vexation and disappointment.
For some weeks past, as he had been careful to observe,
the material in the yard had been untouched, building
operations having been suspended during the frost. But
I81


ROB THE RANGER
since midday, when Rob, taking his exercise, had seen
that everything was in its usual position, the scaffold
poles on which he had relied to swarm up to the window
where he had seen the face, had been removed. Here
was a check indeed. The two stood completely dis-
concerted.
“There’s no help for it but to go back,” whispered
La Claviére, “and to leave me to watch for another
opportunity.”
“I hate the idea,” was Rob’s whispered reply.
“Things may not go so smoothly another time. Hist!
What is that ?”
From the street, through the archway, came the low
sound of several voices—mere murmurs, as if the
speakers were purposely smothering their tones. For
a moment he wondered whether his flight had been dis-
covered and pursuers were on his track. But then he
heard the clang of a bell within the house. The man
had apparently stopped at Maurin’s door. Tiptoeing to
the corner of the archway, La Claviére close behind, Rob
peeped round, and saw a small knot of men within a few
yards of him, awaiting the opening of the door. They
were muttering impatiently.
“The old man,” said one, “is getting deafer than ever.
It is time Le Bossu found him another job, or sent him
off.”
“Hey,” said another, “if Le Bossu sends him anywhere,
it will be—where he usually sends his cast-offs. He
knows too much.”
A third gave a savage tug at the bell. Soon after-
wards there was a sound of a bolt being drawn and a
key turned.
“At last l” said the first speaker. “In another minute
I’d have fired my pistol at the lock.”
“And you’d have been a‘fool,” said his comrade—2.
182


THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
remark which set them wrangling, though still in sub-
dued tones, while Rob rapidly calculated the chances of a
desperate expedient. As the door opened, he whispered
to La Claviére:
“Wait for me outside the house.”
The doorway was not lighted, and as the last man
entered, Rob stepped up, treading as lightly as possible,
and passed in just as the old porter was slowly moving
the heavy door.
“Shut the door,” growled the hindmost man, already
some distance up the stairs.
Rob himself pushed the door to, walked past the old
man, and began to ascend the stairs, hoping that if his
footstep was noticed by the man in front it would be
mistaken for that of the porter. His heart was thumping
violently; he could not guess what was before him; he
knew that he had, so to speak, burned his boats.
At the top of the first flight, Rob found himself on a
narrow landing, carpeted, and lit by a small ill-smelling
oil lamp. A grandfather’s clock stood at the foot of the
second flight. Up this he stealthily followed. He came
to a second landing, unlit, uncarpeted. He had to grope
his way up the next staircase, noticing, when a few steps
from the top, a thin gleam of light underneath the door
of a room. Near him he heard the footsteps of the men,
and their voices, no longer subdued. Yet another land-
ing, also bare, but lit by another small lamp, brought
him to the narrow stairway leading to the attic floor.
Here he went with extreme caution. Coming to a bend,
he saw the half-open door of a lighted room, and the
closed doors of two other rooms.
“What luck?” said a voice.
“Fair,” replied one of the men, “but we don’t know
yet how much the haul is worth.”
“But for this plaguy leg of mine I’d have been with
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ROB THE RANGER
you,” said the first voice, and Rob now recognized it as
that of Le Loup, which he had last heard in angry
protest before Monsieur de Noyan at Frontenac. “How-
ever, I’ve not been idle; there’s a good supper ready
for you.”
“So much the better, for it is most desperate cold.”
Rob, crouching on the stairs, saw Le Loup limp from
the lighted room across the landing and open one of the
doors hitherto closed. The hall was lit by a bright glow
from the fire. This was clearly the kitchen of the party.
The men followed him in, and the door was half shut.
“A tasty smell!” said one of the men. “What is it,
Le Loup ?” -
“Hare!”
“With onions!” said a third, sniffing at the pot as he
passed.
“And cinnamon!” added the last man. “Is there any-
thing you can’t do, comrade ?”
“Yes. I can’t keep it hot, so fall to.”
Soon there came to Rob’s ears the clatter of spoons on
plates. There was nothing said except a mumbled word
or two in praise of the meal. Then a question set Rob’s
pulse leaping.
“Where’s the boy ?”
“Abed and asleep. He helped me with the cooking and
got dead tired. The youngster is of some use; he has
to be!”
“He’d be of more use if we could turn him into hard
cash. You said you could do so, Le Loup; when are
you going to keep your promise ?”
“Patience, André, my friend; these things are not done
in a day.”
“No, nor a week, nor a month. It is as long-winded as
your redskin councils.”
“Look you, André,” cried Le Loup, thumping the table,
I84


THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
“never forget I am as good a Frenchman as you, and
my father was a noble of the best. I tell you one can not
hurry in these matters. Albany is far away; so is New
York; with Le Bossu on the one hand and the English on
the other, one has to go carefully. If I only knew where
the boy’s father is, I should be many steps nearer the
end.”
“Is there no news from Le Vautour ?”
“None, and that is not surprising. Le Vautour, spite
of his name, isn’t a bird; and how many of you, I’d like
to know, would make the journey to Albany and back
on snow-shoes inside of a couple of months? Le Vau-
tour will do it; therefore have patience. Fill your
plates, comrades, and your glasses; the brandy is as good
as the governor’s, I warrant you.”
The conversation again dropped. Rob had listened
eagerly; and it seemed to him that the men must almost
hear his heart beating, so furiously it throbbed. Will
was here, then, asleep. Clearly he was not with the party
in the kitchen. He must be in the room from which
Le Loup had come. Raising himself, Rob crept on hands
and knees up the few remaining stairs, paused for a
moment on the topmost, then stood erect and stole gently
to the door.
Then he waited again. The men were still eating and
drinking, with a word here and there between mouthfuls.
Pray Heaven they might gorge their skins full! He
peered in at the half open door. The room was in pitch
darkness. He edged cautiously in, careful not to move
the door. Then he stopped and listened. From the left
hand came the faint sounds of gentle regular breathing.
With his heart in his mouth he went on, groping with his
hands. He touched a low truckle-bed: the sleeping boy
was just below him.
Knowing that a single cry would mean ruin, Rob, for
185


ROB THE RANGER
a moment, felt at a loss. How should he wake the boy
safely? There was but one chance. He dropped gently
to his knees, and began to stroke his brother’s cheek
softly. At first, the breathing continued with the same
regularity; then it became slower, and the boy moved
slightly. Rob withdrew his hand.
“\Vill!” he whispered. “Not a word; ’tis I, Rob.”
The boy’s movement ceased; Rob could no longer hear
him breathing; had he wakened and understood? A few
moments of a strained silence; then he felt his hand
grasped, and knew that all was well.
“Quick! Slip on your clothes! Don’t make a rustle !”
he whispered.
Without a word the boy got up, groped for his clothes,
and dressed gently, Rob, meanwhile, standing on watch
at the door. In a couple of minutes Will was ready.
Then, stealing out, the two tiptoed across the landing
and began to descend the stairs. Horror! The second
stair creaked. In the excitement of the upward journey,
and the noise made by the men ascending, Rob had not
noticed how crazy was the woodwork. Another creak,
still louder! The more cautiously he trod, the louder, as
it seemed to him, the creaks became. That this was not
merely the effect of overstrung nerves was proved before
they had reached the first bend in the staircase. “What’s
that ?” cried a sharp voice from the kitchen.
The conversation instantly ceased. Rob stood stock-
still; but the boy, scared by the cry, began to run down
the stairs, heedless of the noise he made. Rob heard
chairs being pushed back, heavy feet moving across the
room. There was no help for it now. He followed his
brother at full speed, stumbling in the darkness. Down
he went, and taking two and three stairs at a time, he
overtook Will at the landing of the first floor. There
was a loud clatter of footsteps behind. If the pursuit
186


THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
were not checked, they were bound to be run down
when they reached the street, for Will at any rate could
not hold his own in a race with the pursuers. Catching
the boy by the arm, Rob whispered:
“On you go! Open the door: turn to the left; there
you’ll find a friend. Quick!”
Then, as Will disappeared down the last flight, Rob
turned to meet the rush. He had not had time to con-
sider how one youth could check four or five men. He
had no weapon, and the pursuers were thundering down
towards him. They had already reached the floor above,
when, as his eye swept the flight of stairs and the little
landing, bare of everything except the flickering oil-lamp
and the tall cupboard clock, an idea flashed upon him.
Springing to the lamp he blew out the light; then seized
the clock-case in both arms and dragged it to the foot of
the stairs. The men were now just at the head of the
flight, cursing at the sudden extinction of the light.
Before they were down two steps Rob had tilted the clock
lengthwise up the staircase. Then, breathless, he sprang
down after his brother.
He was barely half-way down when there was a crash,
followed by a heavy thud. A few seconds later another
crash, another thud, and an outcry of oaths and groans.
By this time Rob had gained the front door, which stood
wide open. Hastily feeling for the key, he quickly trans-
ferred it from the inside to the outside of the door. As
he was gently pulling the door to, he heard a harsh voice
within cry: “What is this hubbub? Plague\ on it !”
Rob shut the door, locked it, pocketed the key and-sped
away. As he passed the archway he was joined by Will
and La Claviére.
“It’s all right,” he said, with a half-laugh. “We’ve
a minute or so to spare.”
Then, each taking a hand of the boy, they ran- up the
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ROB THE RANGER
street, turned a corner, dived into a lane, and before their
bruised and maddened pursuers had satisfied Maurin’s
angry questions and gained the open by the back of the
house, the fugitives were half a mile away.
Mademoiselle Renée la Claviére was waiting anxiously
the issue of the adventure. Her imagination had been
fired by the romantic incidents which had been woven
into her hitherto quiet, uneventful life. In her eyes Rob
was trebly a hero, first, of course, for saving her
brother’s life, but scarcely less for his long pursuit of his
brother’s captors, and now for his daring scheme of
rescue.
At the interview with Rob in the warder’s room Made-
moiselle Renée had been very emphatic in her approval
of his plans. But when she got home, and during the
succeeding days, when she insisted on Alphonse giving
her the details as they were arranged, she felt a little less
enthusiasm.
“Monsieur Rob might be killed!” she said once to her
brother. ~
“Truly, Monsieur Rob might be killed,” echoed her
brother, “and our hereditary foes would be one the
less.”
“How can you speak so lightly, Alphonse l” cried the
girl, with a flush of indignation. “He saved your life,
and if I were a man, and my life had been saved by any
one, do you think I would care if he were an English-
man ?”
“Or a redskin, or a negro, or even an oily Esquimau.
I am sure you would not, Mademoiselle ma soeur; you
would forget everything but his heroism, and fall on his
neck, and—”
“You are perfectly horrid, Alphonse!” the girl inter-
rupted, stamping her foot. “You know I can not bear
the look of the Indians, with their hideous painted faces
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ROB THE RANGER
am! Come along into the house; there’s a beautiful fire,
and I will get you some warm food. It is delightful to
have you. I am so glad, Monsieur Rob.”
Alphonse hurried them into the house, double locked
and bolted the door, and rebuked his sister for her in-
discretion.
“We don’t want all the neighbors to know we have a
young visitor,” he said.
“I am sorry; I will be careful,” she replied. Then
she took possession of Will, somewhat against the boy’s
inclination, and carried him away to be warmed and fed,
“as if I was a baby,” he told Rob afterwards. “But
she’s a very nice lady,” he added.
Renée and Will having disappeared, Rob and La
Claviére held a serious consultation in the latter’s par-
ticular den.
“You’ll have to stay here, to-night,” said the French-
man. “There’s not much doubt that Maurin has heard
by this time how the boy was stolen away, and it will
hardly be safe to go into the streets near the house.”
“But what would happen in the morning? I should
be missed; there would be inquiries in the prison; the
whole story would come out, and you may be sure they’d
put the two things together—my escapade and the dis-
appearance of the boy. Then it would come out that you
were a constant visitor at the prison, you would get into
hot water; and Will would not be safe. The only chance
of safety for all of us is that I should get back into
the dormitory, to-night.”
“Well, I can’t help agreeing with you, but you must
wait, at any rate, until the hue and cry has died down.”
By and by Renée returned to say that Will had
eaten a good supper and gone to bed, but was calling for
his brother. Rob went to the little room prepared for
the boy. It was clear that Le Loup had not ill-treated
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THE CLOCK ON THE STAIRS
him; his cheeks were ruddy and firm, his eyes bright.
He was almost too sleepy to answer Rob’s questions, but
he managed to give him a general account of all that
had happened since he had left Fort Frontenac with
the Hurons.
“And what became of Redwing?” asked Rob, when
the boy told of the night raid on the Indian camp.
“I don’t know. The fire was alight when I last saw
him; I’m afraid he was burned, Rob.”
“Poor fellow! Now, listen, Will; you will stay with
these kind friends until I can find a means of escaping
and getting back to our own country.”
“But you will be here, too?”
“No. We can’t get away yet; we must wait, and you
will only be safe if I go back to my prison. But they
will be very kind to you here, I know, and I will come
for you as soon as ever I can.”
It was then that Will admitted that Mademoiselle la
Claviére was “a very nice lady.”
The brothers said good-by, and VVill was soon fast
asleep. Rob sat talking with Alphonse and his sister
until midnight struck. Renée warmly seconded her
brother"s suggestion that Rob himself should remain in
the house, not merely for the night, but until he could
leave the city. Having succeeded so far, she said, it
would be a pity not to take the most of an opportunity
for getting quit of his prison. But Rob was obdurate.
“I must keep my promises,” he said, as he rose to go,
“and I shall be easier in mind, now that I know Will is
safe.” .
“Monsieur, I will take the very greatest care of him.”
Rob and La Claviére stepped cautiously into the street,
looked around to see that the coast was clear, and,
choosing the devious ways by which they had come,
hastened back to the empty house. The sky was even
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ROB THE RANGER
murkier than before. It was impossible to see whether
the shutters of the dormitory were closed, but a cast of
the weighted worsted, when the sentry was at a safe
distance, made a gentle thud; this was followed by the
scarcely audible sound of the shutters being opened; and
in no long time Rob, crossing now more confidently than
before, was safe within the room by Pringle’s side. And
while he still hung on the rope, he felt little moist dabs
upon his hands and face. The threatened snow was
falling at last.
\
192


CHAPTER XV
REnw1N(;’s WINTER QUARTERS
During the winter months the frozen St. Lawrence
was the main highway of traffic between Quebec and
Montreal. On sledge, or skates, or snow-shoes, _men
passed to and fro, and there was a constant exchange of
letters and despatches between the officials in the two
cities. The broad river was, on dry days, as busy as a
highroad.
The country on the banks, however, was but sparsely
populated. Most of it remained in the state in which
the French had found it. Here and there were small
seigniorial settlements where the petty lords of the
manors maintained as much as they could of the feudal
customs of old France; but a few miles beyond these
riverine estates, the hardy traveler would have entered
the wilderness--happy hunting-grounds for the Cana-
dian trapper or the Indian brave. To the north, only a
few hunting lodges of Indian tribes dotted the wastes
between the St. Lawrence and the Arctic Circle. To the
south, the country stretched away for league after
league, unbroken save by sparse Indian settlements, and
a line of French forts connected by a military track.
Some miles above Quebec, a little stream, flowing
southward into the St. Lawrence, gave the easiest pass-
age into a particularly wild and inhospitable region,
desolate in the best seasons of the year, and doubly
desolate when held in the iron grip of the Canadian
winter. At this time of the year, few of those who went
I93


ROB THE RANGER
up or down the broader river turned to ascend the nar-
rower stream. Only a hunter more than usually ener-
getic or adventurous, would find any attraction in the
bleak hillsides from which it sprang. For a few miles
the track of travelers might perchance be traced—hunt-
ing parties, possibly, from Quebec; but when the stream
became still more narrow, its bed broken by stones and
boulders and trunks of trees, the tracks were fewer, and
by and by ceased altogether. There was no sign in the
channel, except the slight footmarks of wild animals, to
show that any one had visited this part of the stream
since the last fall of snow, many weeks before.
Yet even here, an experienced tracker or a backwoods-
man might, by careful searching, have been led to suspect
that the way was not so untrodden as it appeared. Some
distance above the point where the last clear track
ended, he might have discovered, between two boulders
on the bank, a spot, well hidden, where the snow-clad
surface had been disturbed, though he would also have
seen that a clever attempt had been made to disguise that
fact. If he had been curious enough to pursue his
search, he would have found further indications of the
same character, always following inequalities of the
ground. If, again, he had been sufliciently persevering
to continue, in spite of the rough walking needed, he
would have been rewarded, some fifty yards from the
bank, by finding unmistakable signs of snow-shoes, sev-
eral distinct tracks, some running one way, others the
reverse; some apparently made by large snow-shoes,
others by small; winding uphill in a direction generally
parallel with the stream, but at times nearly a mile
from it.
Following these tracks for a considerable distance over
the rugged hillside, our patient tracker would have come
again upon the stream, some three miles from the point
194


REDWING’S VVINTER QUARTERS
at which he had left it. Here he would have found that
the track disappeared. If he was easily satisfied, he
might suppose that the two persons by whom it had been
made had penetrated thus far and then returned. But
if he were dogged and inquisitive, he might have noticed
that among the many divergent and radiating trails at
this stage of his journey, there was one that skirted the
stream itself, and approached a spot where the snow,
supported presumably by overhanging trees and shrubs
growing out of the bank, formed a kind of natural tunnel.
At the entrance to this tunnel lay a number of small
boulders, which had scarcely the appearance of having
come accidentally together, albeit they were arranged
with scrupulous inexactitude.
By this time our traveler’s curiosity and interest would
doubtless have been effectually aroused, and he would
have penetrated a yard or two into the tunnel, until he
found his farther progress blocked by snow. The over-
hanging bank had clearly extended only a few yards.
Even the most experienced tracker might have been ex-
cused if he had now wheeled round and followed up the
trail in other directions. It would never have occurred to
him that the wall of snow on which he had come was
other than part of a drift six feet deep, like the snow
all around, and not to be penetrated except with the labor
of the shovel. A touch would have shown that the snow
wall was harder and more compact than could have been
accounted for by the pressure of the drift above; but
there was nothing to suggest that it was, in fact, only a
six-inch partition dividing him from a tunnel scooped in
the snow itself and extending some thirty feet along
the bank of the stream.
If the tracker had had the wit, however, to get thus
far, and had broken through the partition and crawled
through this narrow tunnel of half-solid snow, he might
195


ROB THE RANGER
have made an interesting discovery at the farther end.
Here the stream, during the rainy season, had scooped
out, in the course of centuries, a large hollow space be-
neath the overhanging bank. And in this space our
patient investigator would no doubt have been surprised
to find, seated on a moose-skin, and engaged in some
task appropriate to the situation, the human tenant of
this snow-covered refuge—the young Mohawk, known
to his English friends as Redwing. _
There the tracker’s luck might probably have ended,
for his approach through the tunnel would certainly
have been heard, and in a country where every man’s
hand was against him, the young Indian would have
given short shrift to the intruder.
When Redwing, some months before, had freed him-
self from the stake at the cost of agonizing burns, and
bounded away into the darkling forest, he had not fol-
lowed a chance course or been bent merely upon the
saving of his life. All through that night, though every
step was painful, he stalked the half-breed and his
companions, followed them as they carried Will Somers
and their booty past the fort at a discreet distance from
it, and never left them during their long journey to
Quebec. From a secure hiding-place he had watched
them enter the gates, and the following night he had
stolen to the walls, in the hope, a dim one at the best,
of discovering something about his friend’s younger
brother. He had had little experience of towns. Once
or twice he had accompanied Rob to Albany, where the
trim streets and the neat Dutch houses had been dis-
tasteful after the wild irregularity of his own home. He
knew enough, however, to be sure that within the gates
of this walled city of Quebec he would not be safe, for
even if the French did not mark him as an intruder and
an alien, the discovery must certainly be made by the
196


REDWING’S WINTER QUARTERS
Indians there. Yet he would have taken the risk if he
had known the city and had any means of finding out
where the boy was detained. Without this knowledge it
would be merely foolhardy to place his head in the lion’s
mouth, and the bravest Indian, though bold enough for
the most desperate enterprise when the need arises, is
never disposed to run unnecessary hazards. Redwing’s
choice lay between striking across the St. Lawrence to
gain the British border, and waiting in the neighborhood
of Quebec, on the chance of coming across traces of the
boy and his captors.
The alternatives did not cause Redwing much per-
plexity. The brother of his white brother was captive
with the enemy; it seemed to him no more and no less
than his duty to do what he could to deliver the boy out
of their hands. He even preferred this duty to the more
obvious course of returning to the neighborhood of
Frontenac, where he supposed Rob to be still imprisoned,
and making an attempt to effect the elder brother’s
escape. He knew instinctively which of the two services
Rob would prize the more. Besides, was not Le Loup
the captor of Will? Redwing knew little, good or bad,
of Frenchmen; but he knew enough of Le Loup to be
sure that, of the two brothers, the younger was in the
more pitiable plight. He had no definite plan of action;
with the city shut against him he saw no present possi-
bility of acting at all; but even if he could not act it
seemed to his simple loyal soul that he could watch, and
watch he would, for the sake of his friends.
It was essential to his purpose that he should find a
secure place of refuge. Striking inland, away from the
inhabited districts, he came upon the narrow stream, and,
exploring its course, found the scooped-out portion of the
bank, overhung with bushes, which seemed an ideal place
for his headquarters. He knew not how long he might
I97


ROB THE RANGER
have to remain there, so he lost no time in laying in a
stock of food. With his knife, a musket and ammuni-
tion he had snatched from the Huron camp, and a
fishing-rod he made for himself, he soon had enough
fish to last him for two or three months when smoked in
the Indian way.
When the snow began to fall, he recognized that he
could greatly improve his hiding-place. In the night he
banked up the snow to form a solid rampart over the
entrance; then, taking advantage of the overhanging
shrubs, he hit upon the plan of making a tunnel to his
quarters that should betray no sign of his frequent
passage to and fro. The moose which had fallen to his
musket gave him materials for stringing snow-shoes. In
order to mystify possible visitors he made two pairs,
one larger than the other, hoping to suggest that the
tracks, if discovered, were due to a couple of hunters out
from Quebec.
His quarters, lying several feet deep in the snow, were
fairly snug and comfortable, for the floor of trodden
snow was strewed with the skins of the animals he had
slain. From time to time he required fire to cook his
food and to melt snow for his drink, and this was a
serious matter. A fire required a vent of some kind, and
he knew well that wherever he allowed the smoke to
escape the snow would be blackened, and the telltale
marks would certainly excite the suspicion of any Indian
or hunter who chanced upon the spot. To lessen the
risk he used only the driest wood he could obtain, and
pierced his vent upward through the snow in such a way
that the wind blowing down the gully carried the smoke
away from instead of against the snowbank.
With this well-hidden refuge as his headquarters the
young Mohawk, traveling as a rule by night, and taking
with him a sufficient quantity of provisions to last
198


REDWING’S WINTER QUARTERS
throughout the following day, made frequent visits to the
St. Lawrence. From a thick copse near the bank, within
a few miles of the city, he narrowly watched the traffic
passing up and down the frozen river. The distance at
which even the nearest travelers passed was so great
that none but an Indian could have recognized their
features. It was thankless work. Once or twice he saw
some of the party which he had followed from the
neighborhood of Frontenac, and them he dogged to some
cabins farther up the river, inhabited by half-breeds of
the same kidney. But the boy was never with them:
Redwing gained nothing by his pains. Still, with Indian
patience he clung to his self-imposed task, hoping that
some chance circumstance would suggest a way of help-
ing his friend.
Rob’s companions of the dormitory were very curious
to know what had happened on the night of his escapade.
But he laughed off their inquiries as best he could, giving
them to understand that it was not an adventure he
would care to repeat. Some of them, however, notably
Pringle and the three or four who had supported Rob
against the grumblings of the rest, seemed to him to be in
better spirits than before. His safe return, indeed, and
his air of reserve, had inspired them with the notion that
his exploit was only the preliminary to a general plan
of escape. They said nothing to him on the subject, and
inferred from his reticence that he wished to work out
thoroughly by himself, whatever scheme he might have
conceived, so that he might not raise their hopes without
reason.
Two days after the adventure, Rob had a visit from
La Claviére. He saw by the F renchman’s face that he
had news of some sort, and asked anxiously:
“Is all well ?”
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ROB THE RANGER
“The boy is well and safe; Renée and he are like sister
and brother already. But I have news for you. There
has been a fine to-do. The tenants of the first floor of
Maurin’s house have made a fuss about the destruction
of a valuable clock by the tenants of the attic: you know
something about that! And it happened that Maurin
himself was in the house that night, unusually late for
him, and was drawn out of his room to the foot of the
stairs just in time to hear the door locked and to see
the men balked. He called on Le Loup to explain the
pother, and the fellow said that he and his friends,
coming down-stairs in the dark, had stumbled against
the clock and upset it. As it stood in the corner of the
landing remote from the stairs, the explanation was
pretty lame, and it only made Le Bossu angry.”
“Stay, how do you know all this?”
“My friend, it isn’t necessary to say. The tenants on
the first floor were aggrieved, you remember; men will
talk; and there are cabarets in Quebec where even I,
Alphonse la Claviére, dare venture myself. Let me go
on. Maurin haled the men into his room, locked the
door, and began to worry them. We in Quebec know
what he can do in that way. He pushed his questions
rather too closely for Monsieur le Loup, who contra-
dicted himself; then he turned his attention to the other
men, played with them as a cat does with a mouse, and
by and by learned the whole story—that they had had a
little boy a prisoner among them for many weeks past;
that Le Loup had been trying to get a ransom out of his
friends across the frontier; that his messenger had not
yet returned; and that some evil-disposed persons had
stolen the boy away, no doubt with a view to defrauding
Le Loup of his rightful spoils.”
“They have no idea who, then ?”
“Not a whiff. But here’s a curious thing. My in-
200


REDWING’S WINTER QUARTERS
formant tells me that one of the men happened to men-
tion your brother’s 'name. There was immediately a
change in Le Bossu’s manner. Up to that moment he
seemed to be delighting in having checked the pursuit;
but now he rang for his servant, gave him a note that
he had scribbled, abruptly dismissed the men, and hur-
ried out of the house more quickly than any one had ever
before seen him move. What the precise cause of this
excitement was I don’t know, but next day a reward was
offered for the discovery of your brother; the kidnappers
were ordered to return him at once; the guards at the
gates were warned to keep a good lookout and to arrest
any suspicious character: and the long-suffering in-
habitants of Quebec were informed that, failing the dis-
covery of the boy within a week, their houses would be
subjected to a domiciliary visit. All this was placarded
in a bill signed by our worthy intendant, Monsieur Bigot,
and Renée was so much frightened that she ran up-stairs
with your brother and hid him in a little recess between
the roof and the rafters, where she kept him until I
managed to persuade her that there was no present
danger. Now, why was Le Bossu so much interested in
your brother’s name, and why so anxious to get hold of
him?”
These were the questions pressing on Rob’s mind. He
bent forward with his head on his hands, thinking. All
at once he looked up, his eyes.shining with a light of
joy-
“I think I see, Alphonse,” he said. “My father must
have been a prisoner in Quebec; he has been ransomed.
and Maurin, having got a good picking of the money, is
naturally eager to make something out of the boy, too.
This is good news, my friend; I feel convinced that my
father is now safe in Albany or Fort Edward.”
“God grant it may be so! But I have another piece of
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ROB THE RANGER
news; and there’s no uncertainty about this, at any rate.
I have seen Redwing.”
“Good heavens! Is he a prisoner, too ?”
“No; he is very much at large. I was sleighing up
the river yesterday to visit Monsieur de Noillac, my old
uncle; he used to be a pleasant enough old fellow, but
lately, since Monsieur Bigot and his crew have taken to
squeezing him, he has turned quite sour and miserly.
He was knocked down and robbed in the street a few
months ago, and has been rather shaky ever since, so I
occasionally brave his ill-temper and visit him.
“Well, I was just skirting a stretch of very rough
ice, and my horse was going rather more slowly than
usual, when an Indian flashed out of a copse on the
bank and began to run after me. I thought at first he
meant to attack me, but he called after me in a way that
was certainly not warlike, and I pulled up. In a moment
I saw it was none other than your Mohawk friend. You
would have smiled if you had heard us try to talk. I
know no Mohawk and very little English; he knows no
French; but we managed somehow to understand each
other. He wanted to know where Le Loup is; did I
know? I said yes. Then he explained to me, more by
signs than by words, that Le Loup had captured your
brother; did I know the boy’s whereabouts? I was hesi-
tating whether to answer or not—would it be wise to
trust the Indian ?—when Redwing caught sight of people
approaching in the distance. Signing that he would be
at the same spot in a couple of days, he slipped into the
copse and disappeared.”
“He didn’t explain why he was there, and what he
was doing?”
“Not a word. He was with me only a minute or two;
he was evidently afraid of being seen—and well he might
be, if an Abenaki or a Huron caught sight of him.”
. I _ , ,
202


REDWING’S WINTER QUARTERS
“Was he armed?”
“He had a musket and a knife. Looked in good con-
dition, too; rather smoke-begrimed, but plumper than
when I saw him last. He is evidently very well-fed.”
“I wonder what his purpose was. It was sheer folly
to suppose that he could do anything to get Will out of
Le Loup’s hands; yet the good fellow must have had
some such notion in his head. You will see him again?”
“Yes, I shall go and see him to-morrow; and I will
take care that our conversation—such as it is—is not in-
terrupted. But, now tell me, has any hint of your ad-
venture come to the warder’s ears?”
“There has been no sign of it. And if any of my
fellow-prisoners wished to betray me, they would have to
use signs, like you and Redwing, for they know no
French. After what you tell me, I hope Le Bossu will
not take it into his head to make inquiries of any kind
in the prison, for if he learned my name he would cer-
tainly be suspicious, and I fear neither Will nor I would
be any better off if he took an interest in us.”
They sat talking for some time longer, but La Claviére
noticed that Rob’s part in the conversation became less
and less, and that he sometimes answered absently and
at random. By and by the Frenchman rose to leave.
Then Rob said: '
“You are going to see Redwing to-morrow. Can you
come here first?”
“Yes, if old Dominique will allow visits on two days’
running. Do you wish to send the Indian a message ?”
“I will tell you to-morrow.”
La Claviére looked at him hard, but could read noth-
ing from his face. In the midst of their conversation an
idea had flashed into Rob’s mind and engrossed his at-
tention. Was it after all impossible to escape during
the winter season? He had already proved that he could
293


ROB THE RANGER
leave the prison safely. Was there any possibility at all
of getting clear of the town itself? If he could once
reach the outside, and join Redwing, there was just a
chance that by his help he might gain British territory.
The Indian had a musket and a knife; they would not
want for food. The long journey southward over the
frozen wastes would be attended with manifold risks
and perils; but Rob felt that he might hold these light
compared with the dangers of the escape from the city.
He spent several hours that night in thinking over the
position.
He was utterly weary of prison life, specially burden-
some to one accustomed as he was to untrammeled free-
dom. All he had to look forward to was many months
of the same confinement, for he had begun to despair of
the British beating the French, while the possibility of
their capturing this strongly fortified city on the cliffs did
not enter his mind. The only change he could expect was
to be hired out as a laborer to some Canadian seignior
when the snows melted. He had certainly nothing to
gain by remaining where he was. ‘
On the other hand, he seemed as far as ever from
succeeding in the purpose for which he had originally
left Fort Edward. He had no news of his father, and
saw no chance of obtaining any. He had found his
brother, indeed, and had been able to place him in safety;
but it was uncertain how long the La Claviéres could
shelter him, especially if Maurin carried out the rigor-
ous search which had been threatened. The boy would
not really be secure until he was among people of his own
race. Would it not be better, if only for his young broth-
er’s sake, to attempt_ to dash with him to the frontier,
could some means of escape be found?
That was the rub! Think as hard as he might, Rob
found obstacles in every direction. He could not leave
994


ROB THE RANGER
him to be in better hands. But he must come with
me. I am going to make a dash for it.”
“Sheer lunacy!” said La Claviére impatiently. “You
will get yourself shot. How can you escape from a
walled city, with all the gates guarded?”
“I do not know yet, but I mean to try. I won’t make
you a party to it, Alphonse. You have already done
more for me than I can ever repay, and it would be a
poor return for your kindness to involve you with the
authorities. I’ve told you of my intention. All I want
you to do is to tell Redwing when you see him to-day
that you will intrust Will to his care, and that I will
join him as soon afterwards as I can.”
“But have you really counted the cost, you mad fel-
low? Think of the difliculties even if you escape from
the city, which seems to me impossible—the cold, the
frozen, desolate country, the snowdrifts. I have heard
you English called madmen, and think it is true.”
“I have thought of it all. You will do what I want ?”
Seeing that Rob was determined, La Claviére gave way
and promised, though reluctantly, to do as he wished.
“But I warn you, you have Renée to reckon with. She
will not lightly part with the boy.”
“Tell her that I will not carry him into danger un-
less I see a good chance of success. Give me two days,
then come again. I will tell you if I see my way clear-
though I will not tell you my plan.”
“I don’t want to know it. It would give me night-
mare. And I should have to report it; a definite plan
is a different thing from the ravings of a lunatic. Why,
now I come to think of it, you don’t even know the way
to the St. Louis gate.”
“No,” said Rob, smiling. “I did not even know there
is a St. Louis gate. You had better not stay longer, or
you will find yourself an accomplice unawares.”
206


CHAPTER XVI
THE s1.. LOUIS GATE
“The St. Louis gate!" reflected Rob. “That is the
first step, for which I have to thank Monsieur Alphonse
la Claviére.”
Dominique, the head warder, was never unwilling to
chat with the only one of his prisoners who could speak
French, and on the afternoon after La Claviére’s visit,
his tongue was kept more than usually busy. So tactfully
and artlessly did Rob manage the conversation, that the
Frenchman was quite unaware, when it closed, that the
prisoner had learned a good deal more from him than it
was right for any warder to impart or prisoner to know.
The St. Louis gate was the westernmost entrance to the
city. It might be reached either through the Upper
Town, by way of the ]esuits’ College and the Ursuline
Convent, or, more directly, by skirting the king’s redoubt.
The duty of mounting guard throughout the city fell to
each of the French regiments in turn, and the next on the
rota was the Roussillon Regiment.
This information was the seed of a plant which grew
to quite a respectable size before the next morning.
When Rob left the dormitory with his fellow-prisoners
his head ached with thinking, but his heart beat high with
hope. After the breakfast of coffee and black bread
he took Pringle aside.
“Are you ready to make a break for liberty?” he
asked quietly.
\ “At last, my son,” said the man, with a strange little
207


ROB THE RANGER
gasp. “ ’Tis what I’ve been waiting for. and I'm ’tarnal
glad to hear it. You needn’t ask me, my lad; I’m more’n
ready.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Surprised! Not a bit. I never expected nothin’ else
after that little night’s divarsion of yourn. And I’m not
the only one neither.”
“Well, I’m glad of it, for it makes things easier.
You had better sound the other men in our dormitory,
and tell me what the result is.”
“But how will it be done?”
“I’ll get their answers first. We mustn’t have any one
who is not prepared to take a risk. I’ve thought out a
scheme. It is full of danger, and will be diflicult to work,
even with the best of luck, so that no man who isn’t
ready to trust me and do exactly what is arranged for
him without arguing will be of any use.”
“That’s sense! I’ll speak to ’em.”
Rob had rightly thought that Silas Pringle, one of
themselves, would be the best man to open the subject to
the other prisoners. In a short time he was able to tell
Rob that four in addition to himself were ready to throw
in their lot with him. The rest, some less bold, some less
fit to stand the strain of such an adventure, were doubt-
ful; but they were quite willing that Rob and the five
should try their luck, even though they saw that their
tacit connivance might bring on them the resentment of
their guards afterwards.
Two days passed. Rob had let the five adventurers
into the details of his scheme, and they awaited the time
for putting it to the test with a feverish impatience
which they had much ado to conceal from the warders.
Nothing could be done until Rob had once more seen
La Claviére.
On the third day the Frenchman arrived.
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THE ST. LOUIS GATE
“Well, have you given up your mad idea?” he asked
with a smile.
“I am not going to tell you anything about my ideas.
But I want you to promise that you will place Will in
Redwing’s care to-morrow.”
“To-morrow ?”
“To-morrow without fail.”
“Rash youth!” said La Claviére with a smile. “It
shall be done. I had a tussle with Renée. She refused
at first to listen to me. She declared she would not
part with the boy. But I have brought her round; only
she vows she will never forgive either you or me if he
comes to any harm. Well, I can’t ask any questions.
Unluckily Renée will ask a good many. I shall have a
bad quarter of an hour, my friend.”
They remained talking for some time, and when La
Claviére went away, he gripped Rob’s hand with spe-
cial heartiness.
“Good luck, my friend,” he said.
They looked into each other’s eyes, knowing it was
good-by. '
Next morning Dominique, the warder, with a smile
and a wink, pressed a small piece of paper, folded and
sealed, into Rob’s hand.
“A billet-doux, Monsieur,” he said mysteriously. “Just
to keep up your courage, Monsieur.”
Rob broke the seal and glanced at the paper, then
crushed it in his hand. It was a small plan, showing
the best route from the prison to the St. Louis gate. And
then he noticed, in the corner of the leaf two words writ-
ten in a small feminine hand. “Bonne chance!” “Good
luck indeed !” he thought as he folded the paper and put
it carefully into his pocket. Mademoiselle Renée had
questioned her brother to some purpose.
Some twelve hours later the sentry in the narrow lane
209
.


ROB THE RANGER
on the south side of the prison, pacing his monotonous
beat in a bitter wind from off the frozen wastes of the
Arctic, was wishing himself back on the farm in La
Belle France, from which he had been dragged to serve
his Majesty King Louis, when, passing the doorway of
the empty house on the opposite side of the street, his
ear was caught by a slight rustle. He might have no-
ticed it a fraction of a second sooner had he not been
so well muffled up against the icy wind; but this frac-
tion of a second was sufficient to decide the fate of an
enterprise of which he was the first victim. Rather per-
haps from curiosity than from any sense of danger, he
turned to discover the cause of the slight sound that had
attracted his attention—a sound certainly unusual at this
dead hour of night. But his movement was slow. As
he was turning, a light figure, unencumbered with a
heavy coat such as the soldier was wearing, flashed from
the blackness of the porch.
The man threw up the arm carrying his musket to
shield himself from this amazing attack, and at the same
moment opened his mouth to sound an alarm. Neither
the instinctive movement of defense nor the instinctive
cry was in time. Reeling under a well-planted blow,
the man staggered, and the half-articulate sound froze on
his lips. Before he had recovered his wits he was flat
on the ground, and a gag was being forced into his
mouth.
At the same moment an agile figure swarmed down
a rope, dangling from the dormitory window of the
prison. By daylight it might have been seen that the
rope was made of knotted strands of a blanket. In a
trice the sentry was disarmed, and, his wits quite scat-
tered by the sudden and swift assault, was dragged into
the porch and thence through the main door of the empty
house. Meanwhile four other figures came with vary-
210


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
ing degrees of quickness and steadiness down the rope.
The number was apparently complete, for the rope was
cast off from the bars above and fell upon the ground,
where it was hastily coiled by one of the men, who
shouldered it and disappeared after his companions into
the empty house. When all were inside, the door was
closed, a light was struck and carefully screened; the
sentry was stripped of his military greatcoat and tunic
and swiftly bound.
The first step was successful, but it was the easiest.
The passage through the streets to the gate would not
be without danger, for there was only one greatcoat
among six, and the appearance of five men unprovided
with this protection against the bitter cold would cer-
tainly excite remark and suspicion in any person who
saw them. Yet the risk must be taken. Rob thought
he might possibly find somewhere in the house tools
that would serve as defensive weapons, but he discov-
ered only a few rusty pokers and bits of iron. He gave
these to the men; then, donning the sentry’s greatcoat
and hat, and carrying his musket, powder-flask and bul-
let-pouch, he led the way out by the back entrance, al-
ready familiar to him, up the narrow alleyway into the
street. Fresh from his careful study of Mademoiselle
la Claviére’s plan, he was in no doubt about the route.
Unerringly he led the way, some paces distant from the
rest, as if he did not belong to their party, but was
passing on duty through the street. Only here and
there was a window lighted up; most good citizens had
already retired to rest; yet the hour was not so late that
the passage of wayfarers need excite remark, if only
they were suitably clad. Quebec was a gay city in win-
ter ; the time had not yet come when her citizens had no
spirit for reveling.
Rob walked rapidly, yet warily, taking the quietest
211


ROB THE RANGER
streets. Every moment was precious. Unless for-
tune favored him, the enterprise, plan it how he might,
was doomed to failure. If a single pedestrian should
chance to notice the ill-clad, hatless men, and address
them, and get an answer in English, or no answer at
all, the alarm would be raised, and all Quebec be at his
heels. Fervently he hoped that the happy augury he had
drawn from the two little words in a lady’s hand would
not be belied.
All went well. A few minutes brought the adventurers
within a short distance of the open space in front of the
St. Louis gate. To the left, as Rob knew from his plan,
stood a barracks; a little way beyond the gate, along
the wall, was a powder magazine; outside the gate the
road ran between low hills, and within a hundred yards
there were buildings to the right. Within and with-
out there was danger; one false step, one turn of ill-
luck, and all was lost.
Allowing his partners in the escapade to join him,
Rob peered anxiously ahead into the darkness, on the
lookout not only for possible obstacles, but also for any-
thing that he might turn to account. There was a light in
the guard-house over the gate, throwing a bright beam
upon the snow and rendering the surrounding darkness
blacker by contrast. He thought he could distinguish,
against the dark starlit sky, the figure of a sentry mov-
ing along the wall. At the spot where Rob had halted
there was a series of low sheds, connected, he surmised,
with the barracks. Bidding his companions crouch
there in the black shadow under the eaves of these pent-
house shelters, he stole forward through an alleyway
between them and the barracks to reconnoiter. As he
came to the end of it he had the sentry in full view, and
felt for the moment balked. Luckily, the tramping of
many feet had so darkened the snow that a man might
212


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
cross the space without his figure being thrown into too
vivid relief, though he could not escape an attentive eye.
But Rob noticed with joy that the wall, a little to the left
of the gate, bent round almost at right angles, forming a
salient, and this being included in the sentry’s beat, the
man’s back was towards him for at least half a minute-
just time enough for him to sprint across to the wall.
When next the sentry tramped round the bend, Rob, with
beating heart, ran across on tiptoe and reached the shelter
of the wall before the man turned.
Waiting a moment to recover breath, and knowing
that he was secure from the sentry’s observation unless
he happened to peer over, Rob looked around, and saw
to his right, towards the gate, a short flight of steps lead-
ing up to the top of the ramparts. He stole along un-
til he reached it, and crawled up until his head was
nearly level with the top. He heard the measured tramp
of the sentry above, and the voices of men in conver-
sation in the guard-house to his right, and he knew that
he carried his life in his hand. But he trusted that at
the worst, should he be discovered, he might rely on
the military coat and his knowledge of French to bluff
it out. His idea had been to overpower the sentry and
lead his companions over the ramparts; but he saw that
the plan was impossible, for he could not mount the wall
without being seen by the sentry if he were coming to-
wards him, while if he were going away from him he
could scarcely hope that his footsteps would not be
heard.
As he crouched there, racking his brains for a likely
course of action, an idea was suggested by an incident
in which.the sentry himself was concerned. The soldier
had passed above him, tramping in the direction of the
guard-house. Suddenly there was an uproarious burst
of laughter from within the room, and the sentry halted,
.
213


ROB THE RANGER
evidently curious as to the cause of the merriment. He
resumed his walk after a moment, but in that moment
Rob thought: “If only the attention of the man and
his comrades could be held for a little we might
manage to open the gate and dash through.” But how to
get this short respite ?—that was the difliculty. Fortune
had favored him so far, but it was impossible to hope
that at this critical moment Fortune would come so mar-
velously to his aid. The diversion must be the result
of some deliberate act on the part of himself or his as-
sociates, and he could conceive of nothing that would
serve his purpose without at the same time defeating its
own end.
But as he crouched on the steps, looking ruefully across
the space towards the spot where his comrades were
waiting, shivering in the cold, he had an inspiration.
The sheds! Nothing he knew from his own experience,
was so absorbing and at the same time so terrifying to
the average person as a conflagration. Had he not seen
hardy settlers, who would face calmly the dangers of
the chase and even of combat with painted savages,
scared almost out of their wits by the sudden outburst of
a forest fire? Why not set fire to the sheds? The flame
would be seen instantly by the sentry on the wall; he
would give the alarm; men would come out of the guard-
house. Whether all would leave their post, or even a
considerable proportion of them, Rob could not tell; but
at least their whole attention would be attracted to the
blaze, and if the sheds happened to contain anything val-
uable, they would probably be more intent on saving the
contents than on keeping an efficient watch upon their
quarters.
Then on the top of this idea came a further and a more
daring notion. He wore a military greatcoat, bearing
the badge of the Royal Roussillons, a detachment of
214


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
whom were on duty at the gate. When the men dashed
out, as he expected them to do, might not a bold move
on his part have the effect of deciding their wavering
minds, hesitating between their duty and the impulse
to save the sheds?
His mind was made up. Waiting until the sentry was
at the far end of his beat, Rob dashed across the open
and safely rejoined his comrades. A few words ac-
quainted them with his purpose, and the prospect of
action raised their drooping spirits. Careful to make
as little noise as possible, Pringle and another put their
shoulders to the door of the shed by which they stood
and easily forced it. Striking a light with the flint
and tinder taken from the soldier, who still lay bound,
as they hoped, in the empty house, they looked around.
The shed was almost empty. It appeared to have been
used as a stable, for part of it was divided off into stalls.
A couple of wooden sleighs stood against the wall. There
was nothing else but a few scraps of rusty iron, and—
yes! strung up to the penthouse roof were some trusses
of straw. These were pulled down and untied in a
trice. The woodwork of the stalls was crazy; it cost lit-
tle effort to demolish a great part of it, and soon, in a
corner of the shed there was piled as goodly a heap of
combustibles as any incendiary could desire. Once more
tinder and flint were put to use; the heap was kindled;
then, leaving the fire to do its work, and closing the door
behind them, the whole party followed Rob down the
alleyway, and, adopting his previous precautions, dashed
quickly with him to the shelter of the ramparts.
There he left them, bidding them keep as much in the
dark as possible, and returned to the shed. Swiftly and
confidently as he was acting, he felt nervously anxious.
Time was passing. At any moment the escape might
be discovered at the prison; at any moment some un-
- I —- __.|Il||_ _
.

.
215


ROB THE RANGER
lucky chance might reveal the presence of his comrades
to the sentry on the wall. Even if no discovery was
made, and the first alarm was given by the burning shed,
the odds were against the complete success of his des-
perate plan. But the die was cast; he certainly could not
go back; and, crushing down his apprehensions, he
waited between the sheds and the blind barraek wall for
the flames to burst forth.
The fire had been kindled in a corner remote from the
ramparts, and would not be seen from thence until the
shed was well alight. The combustibles, being dry,
burned very freely, and in less than a minute after Rob
came back to it the shed burst into flame. Watching the
sentry, he saw him suddenly halt, then, across the open
space, heard him call loudly to his comrades in the guard-
house. Instantly a dozen men came pouring out of the
door opening on to the wall, talking excitedly among
themselves. Now was the moment for his desperate ex-
periment. Running out into the open, he raised his arms
and shouted, “Au feu! Au feu!” beckoning the men for-
ward. In the light of the burning shed they could see
that the shouting figure wore a coat like their own. Not
one of them doubted that this was an oflicer of the Royal
Roussillons from the barracks beyond. They ran towards
him; he turned and doubled back towards the shed, and
waiting only to assure himself that no more men were
now running from the guard-house, he slipped round the
corner into the alleyway and dashed towards the ram-
parts.
He was now fully visible to the sentry, but the man
would undoubtedly take him for one of his comrades
returning to the guard-house, perhaps for some imple-
ment to tear down the burning shed and prevent the fire
from spreading. Instead of making for the guard-house,
however, he ran straight to the steps leading up the wall,
216


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
beneath which his five companions were awaiting his
return.
“Now for it !” he said. “Up the stairs, two of you!
Tie up the sentry; bring his musket and ammunition to
the gate. Pringle and you others, follow me to the
guard-house.”
The sentry was approaching the steps, already won-
dering what the man he had seen run across was doing.
He had but just time to shout before two sturdy figures
sprang up the staircase, threw themselves upon him,
snatched away his weapon, and stretched him flat on the
wall. It was the work of a few seconds to tie his legs and
hands together with his own belts. Then, heedless of
his cries, which would never be heard amid the crackle
of the flames and the shouts of the men engaged about
the shed, the two adventurers dashed down the steps and
ran towards the gate. .
Meanwhile, Rob and the others had run up into the
guard-house.
“I’ll get the key of the gate,” he said to them. “You
seize as many muskets and powder-horns and bullet-
pounches and greatcoats and hats as you can lay hold
of. The place is probably empty; the men will all have
run to the sheds; but if there should be any inside, knock
them down, dispose of them anyhow the quickest way.”
They came to the open door and dashed in. The
guard-room was lit by a lamp. It was empty. The men’s
arms were lying here and there in some disorder. Sev-
eral greatcoats were suspended from pegs on the wall.
As Rob expected, the huge key of the gate hung from a
nail inside the door. A wooden staircase led from a cor-
ner of the room to the upper story, containing the men’s
sleeping quarters. ]ust as Rob seized the key, and his
comrades were collecting the arms, a voice above asked
whether he was wanted.
217


ROB THE RANGER
“A la bonne heure! Dormesl” shouted Rob in re-
sponse, guessing that the speaker had been disturbed
from sleep.
“Now, mates, are you ready?” he said. “Now for
the gate !”
They ran to the door, down the stairs, to meet three
men of the Roussillon Regiment, who had been sent
back from the blazing shed to fetch hatchets. Coming
so suddenly upon them, Pringle was betrayed into an
exclamation. The Frenchmen halted; a foreigner among
them! What did this mean? That something was wrong
was speedily proved, for while Rob dashed to the gate,
and the three men burdened with weapons stood in help-
less perplexity, the two who had disposed of the sentry
came up at full speed, and, taking in the situation at a
glance, at a word from Pringle they sprang at the French-
men and felled two of them with sledge-hammer blows
that would keep them quiet for some time. But even an
Englishman could only knock down one Frenchman at a
time. The third Roussillon did not wait to try conclu-
sions. Swinging round, he made off towards the sheds,
shouting at the top. of his voice, vainly, for the alarm had
reached the barracks, and soldiers were pouring out to
aid in extiriguishing the flames or at least to prevent
them from spreading, and amid the general hubbub even
Stentor’s voice might have been inaudible.
Meanwhile, Rob was at the gate, groping for the key-
hole. He found it, inserted the key, and exerting all
the strength of his fingers, turned it and swung the heavy
gate open.
“Now, out with you l” he cried to his companions.
“Make for the woods on the right, and keep straight on.
Don’t go far in, or I shall lose you. Look out for ene-
mies. This glare will draw people out in spite of the
cold. Pringle, you’ll be responsible for this squad.”
218


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
“What about you, then?” asked Pringle, as he ran
through. _
“I’ll join you presently. Quick !”
The last man was out. Rob shut the gate, locked it,
and, slipping back into the shadow of the arch, he threw
himself face downwards on the ground near the prostrate
Frenchman. He would probably be taken for one of
them when the men who had escaped came back with as-
sistance, and it was above all things necessary that he
should gain time for his companions. A group of pant-
ing Roussillons came rushing from the sheds. They
made for the gate and cried out in amazement on finding
it locked. For a few moments they stood, evidently non-
plussed, asking one another what could be done. The
gate could not have been locked from the outside; there
was no keyhole. What had become of the men who had
attacked their comrades?
At length one man dashed up the staircase into the
guard-house to see if the key was there; another ran to
the barracks to inform the officers; two others sprang up
the steps to the wall to see what had become of the sen-
try. In their haste none of them stopped to examine
the men lying on the ground. Rob’s heart was beating
frantically, as he lay awaiting the moment for the com-
pletion of his plan. He knew that he had but a few
minutes, perhaps indeed only seconds, to spare. As soon
as the soldiers recovered their wits, they would set about
tending the wounded. But at any moment soldiers might
come from the barracks, and, if by that time he was not
safely beyond the walls, it was all up with him.
He ventured to look up cautiously. All the men were
gone; he was alone, save for the Frenchman on the
ground. Gently rising to his feet, he ran once more un-
der the dark archway to the gate, once more turned the
key, once more opened the heavy door. Fortunately it
219


ROB THE RANGER
was in daily use; the lock was well oiled, and it made
scarcely a sound. Rob slipped out, drew the door after
him, and then, bending low, crept along the wall until
he thought he was out of sight from the guard-room.
Then he straightened himself and sprinted as fast as his
long heavy overcoat permitted towards the nearest clump
of trees. The snow was hard and crisp, but his feet often
slipped, and he felt no little anxiety as he recognized,
after running a hundred yards, that when the pursuers
got on the track of the fugitives they must soon run
them down, for they would certainly provide themselves
with snow-shoes. But that was a danger for the future;
the present fact was that he and his comrades had left
those frowning walls behind them; and he set his teeth
grimly as he reflected that he would at any rate give the
Frenchmen a run for it.
He had gained the woods. Fervently he hoped that
he would not miss his comrades. But the same thought
had occurred to them, and they had not gone far. In a
short time a voice hailed him from among the trees.
“Here we are !”
“All well, Pringle ?”
“Yes, lad, and yourself ?”
“Without a scratch. Don’t you think we’d better make
for the road? Our tracks won’t show so easy there, lad.
We’ve sunk two or three inches in the untrod snow, and
any fool can track us down.”
“You’re right. But the road won’t help us much if
they send some of their rangers or perhaps Indians after
us. Upon my word, Pringle, a pair of snow-shoes apiece
would be more useful to us than these muskets, at pres-
ent. If we only had snow-shoes it would puzzle the best
of them to distingush our tracks from the thousands up
and down. Still, we haven’t ’em, and must trust to the
good luck that has befriended us so far.”
220


THE ST. LOUIS GATE
They left the woods and took to the road. All voices
were hushed as they passed some wooden houses on the
right. The windows were unlit; all was silent; but the
fugitives held their breath until they were past.
Rob knew that the road he was following would bring
him soon to the Quebec plateau. The pursuers would al-
most certainly take the same course. It was hopeless to
expect to outpace them, and Rob felt that the best chance
of eluding them, at any rate for a time, would be in
doubling on his tracks as soon as a favorable opportunity
offered. But in his ignorance of the country he feared
that, if he left the road, he might blunder into danger
and possibly lose himself, and he had always to remem-
ber that he could not make good his escape until joined
by Redwing and Will.
He put the case to Pringle.
“I allow you’re right,” said the man. “If they’re
already on the scent we’ve no chance agin’ ’em on the
road. But, say, now, Reeves, warn’t you working in the
summer somewhere in this direction?”
“That’s correct,” replied the man addressed. “I was
hired to a skinflint of a mounseer, Noillac by name, about
eight miles up river and a mile and a half from the bank.
A small cart road leads to the house, and we soon oughter
strike it. But I’ve never seed the country under snow
afore, .and what with that and the darkness I’m not the
man to say I could tote you thar’.”
“Special as the cart track’ll be covered with snow, for
sartin,” added Pringle.
“Well, we’ll try to find it. If we scatter a little to-
wards the right—but not to get out of touch—one of us
may hit on it. What is the Frenchman’s place like,
Reeves ?”
“A low house, stone built and thatched, with a sloping
roof and windows, I have heard called dormer windows.
22:


ROB THE RANGER
It’s in a bit of a hollow, with a meadow in front and a
farmyard and orchard behind.”
“And granaries ?”
“Big uns.”
“Does he employ many hands ?”
“A dozen or so in the summer, but, if I knows him,
the old miser, precious few in the winter. He ain’t the
man to pay wages when thar’s not much work to do.”
“We’ll certainly pay him a visit, then. One thing that
has troubled me, Pringle, has been the matter of food.
We can bring down enough meat with our muskets, but
if we hadn’t vegetables or grain of some kind we should
all be down with scurvy probably. The Frenchman’s
big granaries will provide us with what we need. We
must find that house.”
They went along, keeping as close to the right hand
side of the road as possible, some of the party leaving it
occasionally to seek for traces of the cart track. After
a few false casts, one of the men hit on a pathway made
through the snow by the passage of snow-shoes. It ap-
peared to be generally in the direction described by
Reeves, and Rob determined to follow it up. The whole
party struck inwards, and tramped along the path, which
was beaten fairly hard for several miles. Every now
and again they stopped to recover breath and to listen
for signs of pursuit, though Rob and Pringle at least
knew that if the Indians and rangers were indeed en-
gaged in tracking them down, there was little likelihood
of their hearing any sound until they were saluted with
a volley.
At length Reeves, who was ahead, came to a halt and
pointed.
“Thar’ ’tis, sir,” he said.
Rob looked, and saw a dim light, a mere speck in the
distance.
222


. THE ST. LOUIS GATE
“Single file after me, as softly as cats,” he said. “The
light shows that somebody’s awake. We mustn’t fore-
stall our welcome.”
He led the way, the little party of five moving with
stealthy steps behind him.
233


CHAPTER XVII
FORCED LOANS
The path led down a gentle slope, straight to the porch
in the center of the wall. It could now be seen that the
light came from a small window exactly above the porch.
The approach to the house was quite open, and if any
one should chance to look from one of the windows he
could not fail to see the dark forms moving against the
virgin snow. At Bob’s suggestion the party made a
slight detour, stealing towards the house under cover
of some stunted snow-laden willows to the left hand.
Arriving at a spot in line with the house front, Rob
bade his companions remain there, sheltered by the trees,
while he went forward to reconnoiter.
He had noticed that there were two small windows,
one on each side of the porch, and two larger windows
in each wall between the porch and the angle. They
were only above five feet from the ground. Stooping so
that his head was below the level of the sill, he crept
along, making no sound save a slight crunching of the
crisp snow beneath his feet. He saw with satisfaction
that the windows were heavily shuttered, and ventured to
stand erect. Coming to the porch, he found that the
door was a very massive one, and suspected that it was
strongly protected inside. But an entrance must be ob-
tained somehow, and very quickly. Apart from his wish
to get a supply of food, Rob was determined to provide
his party with snow-shoes. The former might possibly
224


ROB THE RANGER
lar, and a bright but diffused glow to the left indicated
that in that direction, but out of Rob’s sight, a large fire
was burning. .
At the old man’s left hand, on the table, stood a large
wooden box, open. Every now and then the seignior’s
hand dived into the box and lifted out a bundle of pa-
pers. At the same moment his right hand moved to an
ornamental snuff-box on the other side, and Rob sur-
mised that while the one hand placed the papers on the
table before him the other conveyed a pinch of snuff
to the seignior’s nose. From what Reeves had said of
the Frenchman’s Inisenliness, Rob guessed that the pa-
pers were notes of the Canadian paper currency; the
old man, with a miser’s mania, could not resist the temp-
tation to count over at quiet moments his hoarded
wealth.
Rob took all this in in a few moments. A fitful wind
was playing around the eaves of the house, whistling
over the chimneys, and causing the shutters, which
clearly did not fit so well as those on the windows below,
to rattle. _ It seemed possible, under cover of these un-
suspicious sounds, to carry out the plan which he had in
mind when he bade Reeves bring with him the iron bar.
He whispered to the man to hand it up, then inserted it
in the hole of the shutter, and making sure of his lever-
age, suddenly wrenched the two leaves apart. In a trice
he thrust in his hand, forced up the bar stretching across
the shutter inside, and throwing the leaves inward,
vaulted through the unglazed space into the room.
So quickly had this been done that the old Frenchman
had only just risen and faced round when Rob’s feet
touched the floor. He uttered a sharp cry, and began
to move totteringly towards the door as if to call for
help, or perhaps to obtain arms. Then, remembering
the open box on the table, he swerved round, slammed the
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FORCED LOANS
lid, caught up his treasure with both hands, and turned
again, stumbling desperately towards the door.
His hesitation, however, was his undoing. Before he
reached the door Rob slipped past him, turned the key in
the lock, and faced him.
“A word with you, Monsieur,” he said in his best
French. At the same time, feeling the heat of the room
oppressive after the cold of the outer air, he threw open
his greatcoat, revealing the white-striped uniform of the
Roussillon Regiment beneath. The Frenchman, still
clasping his box, drew himself up and gazed haughtily
at the intruder.
“What does this mean?” he said angrily. “How dare
you, a soldier of France, make this violent and unwar-
rantable entry into the house of a seignior of France?
Are you a deserter? By heaven, Monsieur de Montcalm
shall know of this.”
“Calm yourself, Monsieur. I regret my unceremoni-
ous entry, but I found your door too firmly barred to
allow an entrance below.”
“But—but—” stammered the old man. -
“Pardon me, Monsieur, I will be frank with you. I
am, it is true, dressed in the uniform of a famous reg-
iment of France, but, as perhaps you have already per-
ceived from my somewhat halting tongue, I am not a
Frenchman; I am an Englishman.”
The seignior gazed, speechless with amazement. He
was on the point of crying out for help, when Rob in-
terrupted him.
“Do not make a sound, Monsieur. I have five com-
panions outside. If you will assist me and them, you
need fear no injury to yourself or your property.”
He glanced significantly at the chest. The French-
man looked from him to the snuff-box.
“I give you my word of honor,” added Rob.
327


ROB THE RANGER
"In that ease, Monsieur,” said the old man, placing
his box on the table with a look of relief, “permit me to
offer you a pinch of snuff.” I‘
Rob declined with a smile. The seignior returned to
his chair, indulged in an extra large pinch, and said:
“I await your explanation, Monsieur. Will you favor
me by closing the shutters—if that is possible? I feel
the cold, and the candles are guttering.”
Rob complied. He was on thorns to bring the inter-
view to an end; perhaps at this very moment pursuers
were closing in upon him; but the old man’s courtesy for-
bade too forceful methods.
“Briefly, Monsieur,” he said, “we—my five comrades
and I—were prisoners in Quebec; we have escaped; we
desire assistance; we must have it.”
“And you come to me? Learn, Monsieur, that I René
de Saint-Evremond du Noillac, am a subject of King
Louis of France. You ask me to commit an act of trea-
son; you have come to the wrong person.”
“I can not stop to argue the case, Monsieur,” said Rob
firmly. “All I will say is this. My home has been de-
stroyed by your countrymen and their savage allies; I,
though not a soldier, was made a prisoner of war. By
good fortune I have escaped; and I feel perfectly entitled
to do with you and your home as my enemies have done
with me and mine.”
“And that is ?” said the seignior, pausing in the act of
taking a pinch of snuff.
“To burn the place and all that is in it.”
The Frenchman absently let the snuff fall upon his
coat, which was already plentifully bespattered. Rob
noticed that he threw an anxious glance towards the fire-
place. In the wall at the side of it a panel stood half-
open; within this, no doubt, the seignior concealed his
valuables.
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FORCED LOANS
“You have only a few moments to decide, Monsieur,”
added Rob quickly. “Your countrymen are no doubt
already on our track, and I do not mean to be caught,
like a hare in a trap.”
“Certainly not, Monsieur; the hare, according to the
fables, is a timid animal!” He appeared to deliberate
for a few moments. “What is it you require?” he asked
at length.
“I shall be content with snow-shoes for six men, a fair
quantity of meal, two sleighs and two horses.”
At the mention of horses—valuable animals in Can-
ada—the old man’s mouth hardened.
“Impossible! Ridiculous!” he exclaimed.
“Then, Monsieur, we must proceed to help ourselves.
And as your countrymen are largely in my debt—to say
nothing of my comrades’ claims—I shall call upon you
for settlement.”
“This is sheer robbery!” cried the seignior, rising.
“Not at all, Monsieur. It is a fair reprisal, author-
ized by the customs of war. Your troops do not hes-
itate to rob, ay, and to murder helpless settlers. Come,
Monsieur, am I to give my comrades the word ?”
He moved to the window and had his hand on the
shutters when the Frenchman hurriedly exclaimed:
“I yield to force majeure. I protest. I pray that for-
tune may attend the pursuit, and I console myself with
the thought that I shall yet see you laid by the heels in
the citadel of Quebec.”
He uttered these words with considerable vigor, and
Rob felt it necessary to warn him against arousing his
household.
“You will lead me quietly to your stables and grana-
ries, Monsieur. It will be well to complete our business
without disturbing your servants. My promise, let me
remind you, was conditional.”
229


ROB THE RANGER
“True. You gave me your word of honor. Take a
pinch of snuff.”
Pausing only to wrap his fur coat more closely
around him and to pull on a fur cap and gloves, he led
the way down-stairs to the back door, and thence to the
outbuildings. Rob quietly summoned his comrades, and
bade them keep watch while he selected the articles he
required. There were four horses in the stables, and
when the seignior had pointed out the two he was pre-
pared under stress to part with, Rob chose the other two.
Leading these forth, he returned with two of the men,
with whose assistance he carried out two strong sleighs,
several bags of meal, and trusses of hay. The old man
mumbled and snuffed while this was going on, but made
no articulate protest.
“Now we require nothing but the snow-shoes,” said
Rob, when the horses were harnessed. “You have those
in the house, I presume, Monsieur. I must ask you to
give me those also— all you have.”
“Three pairs, no more, on my life,” he said, leading
the way back to the house. The snow-shoes, well cleaned
and oiled, were suspended from nails on the wooden
wall of the principal room on the ground floor. Over
the fireplace, resting on elks’ horns, were three mus-
kets.
“These also will be very useful,” remarked Rob. “I
will take them, with a suflicient provision of powder and
shot.” Then, catching sight of some heavy woolen
cloths piled in a corner of the room, he lifted several of
them. “These will serve to defend us from the cold,
Monsieur,” he said. “I regret much the necessity I was
under of disturbing your interesting business up-stairs,
but you will admit that the necessity is great. Needless
to say, I rely on you, Monsieur, to keep this visit a.
secret, but beyond that you will know nothing."
23°


FORCED LOANS
The seignior snuffed, and smiled somewhat sardon-
ically. _
“Believe me, it will be to your interest to know noth-
ing,” added Rob. “Indeed, it will be to your interest
to throw your countrymen off the trail, if possible. You
have been treated with too great forbearance—”
“Parbleu, Monsieur! forbearance, when—”
“It is as I say, Monsieur,” interrupted Rob. “Your
box up-stairs; the panel in the wall? I have made no
use of the discovery I unwittingly made of your ar-
rangements. If I am captured by your countrymen, a
little word from me, and—well, you doubtless know the
cupidity of Monsieur Maurin’s creatures better than I
do. But, so long as I am under no necessity to divulge
your secret, it is safe with me—-of that you may be
assured.”
“You give me your word of honor?”
“I do.”
For a moment the seignior looked thoughtfully on
the floor. Then, with a sigh of resignation, half of re-
lief, he said:
“I thank you. You will not take a pinch of snuff ?”
“I take my leave, Monsieur,” replied Rob with a
smile.
Hurrying out with the load of things he had gath-
ered up, he rejoined his companions at the sleighs. Prin-
gle, Reeves and a third man named Bulman strapped
on the snow-shoes; the sleighs had already been loaded
up, and half an hour after their arrival at the house the
party resumed its march, following a continuation
of the cart track, which, as, Reeves explained, led past a
second manor house to the bank of the river. This
house lay about two inches from the seigniory of Mon-
sier de Noillac. As they approached it, they reduced
the trot at which the horses had been going to a walk, so
231


FORCED LOANS
It soon became clear from the winding valley that
they were working up the course of a stream. The
banks were very irregular, the bends abrupt, and at many
spots snow-drifts had so blocked the way that Rob and
the other driver had the greatest difficulty in getting
their vehicles through. They thought it desirable to
lighten the horses’ burdens, and the three men with
snow-shoes got out and trudged ahead on foot. In spite
of all his care, the driver of the second sleigh, a ranger
named Ockenden, failed to follow exactly in the track
of Rob, and a corner of the low vehicle striking a
boulder, the sleigh was overturned and its load scat-
tered over the snow. Rob called all hands to repair the
disaster, and the exertion was beneficial, for the air was
becoming more and more piercing, and even the men on
snow-shoes had found it difficult by the mere exercise
of their legs to keep their blood sufliciently warm.
They went on again. It was impossible to judge
either time or distance, but after what seemed to Rob
several hours, he began to fear that he had passed the
spot where the Indian lay concealed. He had been
keenly on the lookout for the tree which La Claviére had
mentioned as the sign-post; but in the darkness a snow-
laden tree might_easily prove indistinguishable from the
bank.
“I think we had better halt,” he said to Pringle, who
had kept pace with the sleigh. “We don’t want to over-
shoot the mark, or lose ourselves.”
“Jest so, and if I’m not mistakin’ thar’s a gully right
thar’ ahead; we can get a kind o’ shelter_from the wind,
that’s bitin’ my nose and ears in a durned onfriendly
way.”
"The gully which Pringle’s sharp eye had detected
proved to be fairly well sheltered, running at right an-
gles to the direction of the wind. Entering it, Rob cov-
.
333


ROB THE RANGER
cred up the horses with the thick cloths he had brought
from Monsieur de Noillac’s, gave them a feed, then col-
lected the men in a group, and sat with them while they
ate some of their dried meat. Then they huddled together
for warmth, and spent three very uncomfortable hours
waiting for the dawn. When the wan gray glimmer of a
winter morning at last broke through the sky, Rob
sprang up, and, returning to the main track, uttered a
low cry of gladness. There, not a hundred yards above
them, was the tree for which he had so anxiously looked.
But he was almost startled when, from some spot near at
hand, came the howl of a wolf. Instinctively he grasped
his musket; then, as the howl was repeated, he laughed
aloud, for he now recognized that it was but an imita-
tion. To no one else, perhaps, certainly to none of his
present companions, would the sound have been distin-
guishable from the cry of a veritable wolf; but Rob had
heard his Indian friend mock the beast too often to be
mistaken. Hastening forward, he saw, well-cased in
skins, the form of Redwing emerging from what seemed
to be a tunnel of snow, and next moment the two friends
had clasped hands in silent, but heartfelt, greeting.
L
234


ROB THE RANGER
to be parted from you again—though the French lady
was very nice.”
“No, sonny; I hope we shall be able to stick together
now until we get home again.”
“But we have no home, Rob.”
“Home is wherever the flag flies, VVill. We shall find
friends at any outpost when we get within our own lines.
But come; you must help us carry these pelts and things
to our sleighs. We’ve a long and hard journey before
us; you’ll have to be brave and show what pluck you’ve
got.”
“I’m not afraid. I was only afraid once, when Le
Loup first caught me.”
The Indian had already brought up the other mem-
bers of the party. It was the work of but a few minutes
to load the sleighs with the pelts and dried meat with
which the snow hut was stored, and barely a quarter
of an hour after Rob’s meeting with Redwing they were
off, striking southwest across the hills on the homeward
trail.
If any member of the party had paused to weigh the
chances in cold blood, he would have had to confess him-
self that the probability of reaching the British lines
safely was very slight indeed. But they were one and all
so much elated with their success up to this point, so
cheered by the mere fact of being free after so many
months of captivity, that the difficulties of their enterprise
scarcely troubled them. It was only after some hours of
steady plodding that their cheerfulness began in some
cases to flag. Their long confinement had not tended to
fit them for the hard exertion they were now called upon
to endure. Four of them wished heartily that they had
followed the example of Rob and Pringle, and not
shirked the daily exercise, in all weathers, in the prison
yard.
236


A RUNNING FIGHT
“Which is as good as a sarmon to you,” remarkee
Pringle to Bulman, when he began to complain of fatigue.
“If you get cotched again, mind to keep your muscles in
working order, ’cos you can’t tell what your -call may
be.”
But even to men in good training this arduous journey
in the depth of winter would have been very trying. The
country was hilly, and the blanket of snow so thick
that to choose the easiest path was impossible. Rob
thought it desirable to spare the horses as much as pos-
sible in the early part of the flight; on their staying
power and speed the safety of the whole party might de-
pend if the pursuers pressed them hard. The animals
were sutficiently taxed to draw their loads of food and
skins and weapons over the rough ground, without hav-
ing the burden increased by the weight of men. Ac-
cordingly Rob required all but the drivers to walk—and
one of the drivers was Will Somers, whose early training
on the farm made him quite equal to his task.
The journey was not without mishap. Every now and
then one or other of the horses would sink into a crev-
assee hidden by the snow, and some delay was caused
while it was being hauled out. Then a man would com-
plain that his toes were frost-nipped, and a halt had
to be called, while his comrades took it in turns to rub
the circulation back into his numbed limbs. But on the
whole the progress was good and even rapid. When
the weaker members of the band began to lag behind,
Rob asked them to take a turn at driving while the
former drivers walked. Of all the party of eight, only
he and the Mohawk were on their feet incessantly. Red-
wing went ahead; his instinct for the lay of the coun-
try and for pitfalls on the route far surpassed the craft
of the most experienced woodsman. As for Rob, he
felt the responsibility of the whole adventure. He seemed
- 237


ROB THE RANGER
to have an eye for everything and every one. It was he
who arranged the turns of walking and driving;
he who was first to lend a hand when one of the horses
was in difficulties. Yet he contrived also to keep a keen
lookout for the enemy; and it was with great gladness
that, when the short day began to darken he was able
to say that no sign of the expected pursuers had caught
his eye.
They chose for their camping-place the lee side of a
steep hillock. Under the Mohawk’s instruction they
rapidly built up a snow shelter large enough to accommo-
date themselves and the horses; then collecting a quantity
of brushwood, they made a small fire, and carefully
banked it on all sides to prevent, as much as possible, the
glare from being visible to the enemy, if they were
within a few miles. There they made a hearty supper.
Under the influence of warmth and food even the least
confident of them gained some measure of cheerfulness;
and after Rob had arranged for short spells of sen-
try-go, for watching the camp and replenishing the fire,
they wrapped themselves in the skins, and lying close to-
gether, settled down to the comfortable sleep of free
men.
Before day had fully dawned, they were up again
and on the move—with stiff limbs, indeed, but, as Prin-
gle said, “There was nothing like steady marching to
make ’em loose.” Now, carefully avoiding the hilltops,
they threaded a way through the hollows of a long
stretch of undulating country. Then, when an eminence
of more than usual height loomed up in front of them,
Rob and the Mohawk sprinted forward, skirted its base
and climbed the southern face, leaving their comrades
to continue on their course.
Approaching the top, the two climbers bent double
to prevent their figures from being seen on the sky-
238


A RUNNING FIGHT
ahead, and to change our direction a little. If they
reach the wood to-night at all, which is doubtful, it will
be so dark under the trees that they won’t be able to
follow the track. That may gain us a little time.”
“I allow thar’s reason in the idee,” said Pringle.
“What does the Injun say ?”
“Ough!” grunted Redwing.
“Which fixes it,” added Pringle with a grin.
Rob’s plan was carried out. On entering the wood
they took a sharp turn to the left, emerging on the east-
ern side, and then pushed on, while the least remnant of
daylight allowed, in a direction due south, as near as the
Mohawk could judge. They were dead-beat after their
forced march; the horses were showing the effects of
the strain; and it was essential that they should all con-
serve their strength as much as possible. By the change
of direction, rendering it very little likely that the enemy
would close in during the night, Rob hoped to avoid
the necessity of keeping more than one man awake at a
time to guard the camp.
On this, the second night of their journey, they did
not venture to light a fire. It grew still colder as the
night deepened; their breath froze as they slept, and
it was a haggard, cheerless company that arose before
daybreak to set off again towards friends and safety.
Rob, during his turn of watching, had thought over
the position, and suspected that the pursuers who were in
sight the previous day were but an advance guard
pushed forward to keep in touch with the fugitives.
The authorities in Quebec, and especially Maurin, whose
interest in the prisoners was greatest, would certainly
leave nothing to chance, and would despatch a sulfi-
cient force to make capture certain. How far behind
the main body might be it was impossible to guess.
Some time after daybreak, as the fugitives were mak-
241


ROB THE RANGER
ing their way across a wide stretch of fairly level and
open country, the pursuers were again descried, a patch,
little more than a speck, on the horizon. They appeared
to be even farther behind than when they were last
caught sight of, late in the previous afternoon. It
seemed to Rob likely that, having no horses, they had
suffered even more than his own party from the fatigues
of the chase. Encouraged by this belief, he took occa-
sion to urge his comrades to put forth their best efforts,
and they marched rapidly along, in Indian file, Redwing
first, then Rob, then Reeves and Bulman, the two sleighs
coming next, Pringle and the remaining man bringing
up the rear.
After an hour’s steady progress, partly along the chan-
nels of frozen rivers, they entered upon a somewhat
extensive belt of woodland. The trees, though sparse,
were sufficiently close together to reduce their speed
considerably, for while those on foot could have contin-
ued without much alteration of pace, they could not leave
the sleighs, which required more room, and were some-
what diflicult to guide in the broken ground. For the
first time the possession of horses was a disadvantage.
The pursuers were not so inconvenienced, and must in-
evitably gain on their quarry. Rob made up on Redwing
to ask him if he knew the country, and how broad the
belt of woodland was.
A pace still separated the two, when, with a sudden-
ness that startled Rob, the Mohawk, uttering a low grunt
of warning, darted like a flash behind the nearest tree.
With the instinct of a backwoodsman, Rob took cover
in the same way; the two men behind followed his exam-
ple, and the sleighs, the first of which was about thirty
yards farther back, instantly stopped. The quickness
with which the warning was acted upon proved very for-
tunate for the fugitives, for only a few seconds after-
343


A RUNNING FIGHT
wards there was the crack of a musket, and a shot from
behind one of the trees chipped a splinter from the body
of the foremost sleigh, and it flew up, striking Ockenden
in the cheek.
Peering through the trees, Rob saw the smoke from
the musket some two hundred yards ahead of him. Only
the fact that the sleigh was almost out of range had
saved the driver’s life. At one and the same moment
Rob wondered how it happened that the enemy had got
in front of them, and felt anxious for the safety of his
brother. He had the presence of mind to shout to the
drivers of the sleighs to turn at once and withdraw en-
tirely beyond range. They had hardly obeyed his order
when another shot followed them, without doing any
harm. I
It was clear that only the keen sight of the Mohawk,
who had caught the glint of a musket-barrel among the
trees, had saved the party from an ambush that must
in all probability have cost them three or four of their
number.
What was to be done? Beyond the two shots they had
fired, the enemy gave no sign. Not one of them was
in sight; it was impossible to tell what their strength
was. Rob was perplexed and anxious. Had the whole
party of the pursuers by some extraordinary exertion
outpaced them? Were the men who had fired members
of another body which had followed another route and
outflanked him? He could not answer these questions;
but rapidly calculating the possibilities, he came to the
conclusion that the greater danger was still in the rear.
The men in front clearly did not outnumber his party,
or they would have taken immediate advantage of the
surprise to encircle the fugitives. They must be a few
men, perhaps only one or two, who had been detached
during the night or at early morning to outstrip the
243
O


A RUNNING FIGHT
kind; it would either provoke an attack or counsel a re-
treat, for the party in ambush, if as weak as he supposed,
would scarcely wait to be taken in reverse. In antici-
pation that the ambuscaders would scuttle from cover,
Rob arrangedthat he and the Mohawk, with Pringle,
Reeves and Bulman, should pursue them while the rest
returned to the sleighs and pushed on through the wood.
Scarcely had he explained his intention when four fig-
ures broke from the trees in front of him. Quick as
thought he raised his musket and fired at the nearest, a
half-breed, who staggered and fell. His comrades fired
at the same moment, but they were less fortunate, for
the other three men, two of whom were Indians, sped
out of range, and before they could reload had disap-
peared.
Pouring powder into their barrels, and shaking bul-
lets after it without waiting in their haste to use their
ramrods, the five men spread out with the object of again
outflanking the enemy. From the fact that they had
only three now to deal with, Rob inferred that one of
them had been seen by both his scouts in common, and
that the party had numbered four, not five. The ambus-
caders had not gone far, but as Rob’s movements threat-
ened their rear, they saw that, having no raw hands to
contend with, it was impossible to hold their position,
and they again made off, keeping well out of range. But
they halted after retreating for a certain distance, thus
forcing Rob and his companions to approach them cau-
tiously on an extended front. These tactics caused Rob
as much anxiety as annoyance. He could not help think-
ing of the larger party which must moment by moment
be drawing nearer. But his own party was so small that
he dared not discard caution, for a single shot might re-
duce his numbers by a sixth, and the enemy who fired it
was no doubt sufliciently wary not to endanger his own
245


ROB THE RANGER
9
skin, after the fate of his comrade whom Robs musket
had brought down.
Thus the two parties crawled slowly through the wood.
At last the enemy reached the farther edge. Beyond was
an open plain where they could take no cover. At once
they broke and sped out into the open, taking a course to
the southeast. Rob and his men dashed in pursuit. Now
he understood how it was that the ambuscaders had been
able to outstrip his party. The three men, all wearing
snow-shoes, showed an extraordinary turn of speed.
They covered the ground in great leaping strides which
bespoke long practice on their seemingly cumbrous foot-
gear. They had three hundred yards’ start, and though
Rob and the Mohawk were fast runners, it seemed that
by no efiorts could they reduce the gap. Bulman and
Pringle soon began to drop hopelessly behind. Reeves
kept doggedly pounding away a few yards from Rob’s
heels. Redwing was the same distance ahead. The three
fugitives kept pace together, and seemed to maintain
their lead with ease.
Rob felt that he was being drawn farther and farther
away from the course of the sleighs, which by this time
were pressing on at an angle, increasing with every yard
their lateral distance from him. Yet he hesitated to
abandon the pursuit, for he would then leave three of
the enemy on his flank, capable, as their speed showed,
of again getting ahead of the party and laying another
ambush. He dared not risk another check. The skir-
mish in the wood had occupied fully half an hour, an
invaluable gain to the main body of the pursuers, who
had no doubt reduced the fugitives’ lead by some miles.
Every consideration prompted one desperate effort to
prevent another delay, and, gathering himself together,
Rob called to the man behind him to join him and the
Mohawk in a determined spurt. If it did not succeed,
246


A RUNNING FIGHT
no other course was open to them but to rejoin the
sleighs at once.
They sprinted forward gallantly. Yard by yard the
gap between them and the three men diminished. The
latter, glancing over their shoulders, saw what was hap-
pening and increased their speed, so that in a few mo-
ments they had regained their former lead. Then for
a short distance they held their own. But Rob and
Redwing, now running side by side perceived that the
gap did not increase; nay, it was diminishing. The
enemy’s exertions during the night were clearly telling
upon them. Nearer and nearer the two friends drew
towards the panting fugitives, and Reeves’ slight and
wiry form was only a dozen yards behind. Yard by yard
the distance between the two parties lessened; now two
hundred yards, now little more than a hundred and fifty.
But the race was not yet over. Hitherto the party in
front had kept together; now it appeared that they meant
to divide. The Indian in front of Rob inclined some-
what to the left; the others continued in almost the same
line as before, but a little apart. Rob followed hard on
the tracks of his man, motioning to Reeves and the Mo-
hawk to deal with the others.
In something less than a minute, Rob saw that he
was gaining ground. He was bathed in sweat, his legs
were trembling under him, but he braced himself for a
final eifort, venturing to slacken speed for a moment
while he flung off his coat. As he ran on again he could
not help wondering what the object of the Indian he was
pursuing had been in separating from his companions.
He was certainly not following an easier course, for the
ground towards which he was speeding was somewhat
rougher, the snow having the appearance of waves, evi-
dently covering an expanse of uneven soil.
Rob was feeling somewhat perplexed at the Indian’s
247


ROB THE RANGER
strange action, when suddenly he lost sight of him. In
the twinkling of an eye the red man had dropped out of
sight. Thinking that possibly his snow-shoe had given
way, or that he had tripped over some obstacle, Rob
redoubled his efforts. But with a suddenness as remark-
able as that of the Indian’s disappearance, he, too, ceased
running and flung himself face forward on the ground.
He had just caught sight of half the barrel of the sav-
age’s musket protruding from the snow less than a hun-
dred yards in front of him. So quick is thought, at one
and the same instant the meaning of the Indian’s ma-
noeuver had flashed upon him, and he had instinctively
thrown himself down. The merest fraction of a second
after there was a flash and a report, and a bullet sung
its way harmlessly over his head. -
Rob was on his feet as quickly as his snow-shoes would
allow. Springing forward, his musket at half-cock, he
closed with the Indian. The white man showed him-
self more alert than the red. Instead of allowing for the
failure of his shot and speeding away, the Indian was
now feverishly endeavoring to reload. But the distance
between the two was only eighty yards, and long before
the savage was ready for a second shot, Rob, halting
within twenty feet of him, peremptorily ordered him to
throw up his hands. There was a second’s hesitation;
the man’s hand stole toward his tomahawk; but Rob in-
stantly brought the musket to his shoulder and covered
him. With a look of sullen rage the Indian then dropped
his musket and raised empty hands.
“Now throw down your scalping knife and tomahawk,”
cried Rob.
The man flung the knife down, but as he fingered the
tomahawk it seemed to Rob that he was calculating
whether a bullet from the white man’s musket or his
own weapon would travel the faster. Apparently he
248


» A RUNNING FIGHT
came to the conclusion that the bullet would win; with
an angry gesture he flung the tomahawk from him.
At this moment Rob heard the distant sounds of two
shots, fired almost simultaneously. He did not turn his
head, but, keeping his eye fixed on the Indian, bade him
move a few feet away and then halt. While the Indian
stood wondering what was coming next, Rob collected
the surrendered arms, and then, moving round the man,
turned at last to see what had become of his companions.
Far away to the left he observed Reeves still struggling
on in pursuit of the half-breed, and Pringle following up
at a rather long interval, carrying Rob’s coat. The Mo-
hawk and the other Indian of the ambuscading party
were out of sight, hidden by the inequalities of the
ground. Nothing could be seen of the sleighs.
Bidding the captive Indian to precede him, Rob set
off towards the line the sleighs must have taken. In a
few minutes, descending the further slope of a slight
eminence, he discovered Redwing and Bulman hurry-
ing towards him. At first he thought they had aban-
doned the pursuit and come to his assistance; but as they
drew nearer he noticed a scalp dangling at the Mohawk’s
belt.
“Yes, Mr. Somers,” said Bulman, when they met,
“ ’twas only ’tarnal hard luck as kep’ me out of the fight.
I would ha’ said I had a fair turn of speed on snow-
shoes, but hang me if I hain’t turned out the lame duck
of the party—though Pringle hadn’t much to boast of
neither. I seed it all. This young redskin closed in on
the varmint till they was no more’n fifty yards apart.
He might ha’ stood and shot him, but seems as if he
didn’t like the idea of shootin’ at his back. Anyway,
the varmint knowed it, and thinkin’ to surprise this young
tenderfoot, he swings round, he does, flings up his musket
and fires. But Redwing ain’t so tender as he looks. Up
349


ROB THE RANGER
comes his musket; he fires well-nigh at the same instant.
’Tis a miss for both, and no wonder, considerin’ the pace
they’d bin goin’. I was only forty yards off then, and
I was cockin’ my piece to try a shot when the youngster
dashed forward, gets between me and the varmint, and
makes for him with his tomahawk. T’other had his
hatchet ready, too, and I was just sayin’ to myself ’twas
to be as good a fight as if ’twas two buffaloes in a
rage, when Redwing, ten yards off his man, swings his
hatchet above his head and hurls it with all his force.
The varmint caught it on the shaft of his tomahawk,
but he was a trifle staggered, and before he could steady
himself, gosh! thar’ was Redwing under his guard with
the scalping-knife, and in a brace of shakes the fight was
over.”
While Bulman was giving these particulars, the three
were moving on in the direction Rob had been follow-
ing. The remaining members of the party were still in
sight, but their figures were growing smaller and smaller
on the horizon, and Rob fervently hoped they would not
indefinitely continue the chase, since this would merely
be to play into the enemy’s hands. He was soon re-
lieved to see the two men stop. The quarry was quite
out of sight. Then the two could be seen returning.
When Rob had made sure that he and his party had
been recognized, he set off with Redwing, Bulman and
the captured Indian to follow up the sleighs, but at half-
speed, so that their two comrades could easily overtake
them. The Indian had at first been apprehensive that
his scalp would join that of his comrade at the Mohawk’s
belt, but Rob reassured him, telling him that if he made
no attempt to escape he might regard his life as safe.
In the course of an hour Pringle and Reeves overtook
them. Both were fairly exhausted and not a little crest-
fallen.
250


A RUNNING FIGHT
“That durned mongrel showed us a clean pair of
heels,” growled Pringle. “The further we went, the
further he got away. Why, he even stopped more’n once,
hang him, and ventured to waste his breath in calling
of us names. Not as we understood ’em, bein’ French,
but we knowed what they meant without tellin’, same
as you know what a cougar means when he snarls at
you. And ’tis the first time in all my ranging days I’ve
ever knowed a half-breed man outpace a true Injun.”
“What Indian?”
“Why, this Injun what’s marchin’ with us. The
Frencher must have outpaced him, ’cos he’s cotched and
the Frencher ain’t.”
“Isn’t it likely that he was caught because I happened
to be able to outpace you ?”
Pringle considered for a moment. Then he smiled.
“Wal, I guess I never thought o’ that argyment,” he
said.
251


CHAPTER XIX
. rmcx T0 COVER
Without loss of time, Rob and his comrades, fatigued
as they were, hurried on after the sleighs. The captive
Indian was made to walk with them, his hands having
been tied loosely behind his back as a precaution. The
other men eyed him somewhat resentfully, and after
hinting once or twice pretty broadly that it was folly
to spare him, Pringle said outright: .
“Why not let the Mohawk take his scalp and ha’ done
with it, Mr. Somers? This ain’t nohow what we are
used to, nor it ain’t what the Injun or the Frenchers
would do theirselves. Besides, if he comes with us the
varmint ’ll want food, and we can’t spare none. Might
as well kill him right off as starve him slow.”
“Maybe,” said Rob good-humoredly. “That’s com-
mon sense, as Lone Pete used to say. But I simply
couldn’t do it, and that’s an end of it.”
“Ah! I used to feel like that myself once,” said Prin-
gle. “But when I’d seed a few Injun raids, and houses
burnin’, and men and women sliced and scalped, and
little uns killed, and all that, I got over that thar’ squeam-
ishness. However !”
Their pursuit of the ambuscaders had carried them
at such a wide angle from the course they had been fol-
lowing that it took them nearly three hours to come up
with the sleighs. They did so at the summit of a low
hill, and Rob, looking back over an expanse of fairly
open country, was surprised to see no sight of the enemy.
252


BACK TO COVER
He had expected that the long delay would have enabled
them to reduce considerably the gap between them and
the fugitives, if not actually to overtake them. But the
day passed—a day of dogged tramping and sleighing
over the pathless waste——without so much as a glimpse
of the pursuers.
During the march Rob tried once or twice to draw
the captive Indian into conversation, framing his ques-
tions and remarks in the simplest French. But the pris-
oner said no word in reply. He maintained an air of
sullen resignation. Only when, with the fall of dark-
ness, the party halted for their third night’s encampment
did the man at length break through his reserve. Rob
himself loosed his bonds and brought him food. He
gave Rob a hard look; then suddenly, in a low passionate
tone, he said:
“Does the wolf give the squirrel nuts? Why does not
the white man kill me at once?”
“I don’t mean to kill you at all, unless you try to
escape.”
The Indian appeared incredulous. The only reason he
could conceive of for having been spared so long was
that his captors might enjoy the spectacle of his torture
and slow death. He began thoughtfully to eat the meal
and dried meat given him. By and by he said:
“An Abenaki does not fear to die.”
“The red man is brave; no one will gainsay it,” an-
swered Rob, congratulating himself that the ice was
at last broken. But for some time further, the man main-
tained a sullen silence, paying no heed to Rob’s tactful
questions. He appeared to be still doubtful of the white
man’s good faith; it was not the Indian’s way, certainly
not the custom of the Abenakis, to spare a helpless pris-
oner. At last Rob’s patience got the better of the
prisoner’s distrust.
253


ROB THE RANGER
“Perhaps the white man has learnt to speak truth,” he
said. “But I say again: an Abenaki does not fear to die.
He. can bear the fire and the knife without a moan.
Truly I do not wish to die until I have finished my
hunting.”
“None of us wishes that.”
“When we are hunting a man !”
He paused. Rob was struck by the intensity of his
tone, and the fiery gleam of his eyes.
“I have hunted him for many moons,” he continued
presently, “but I have always lost the trail until now;
and now, when it seemed my hunting-knife would soon
taste his scalp, you, white man, have crossed the trail;
you have stood between me and my prey. It is shame
for an Abenaki to be thus balked.”
Rob listened in surprise. What did the Indian mean?
“Hear, O white man,” he went on after another
pause. “Many moons ago, I had a father. He was chief
of the Turtle Tribe of the Abenakis. He had a sister,
who was foolish and became the squaw of a white man.
There was no good in that. She had a son. He was
neither white nor red; in him there was the bad of the
red man and the worse of the white. He had two faces;
never did he learn to speak truth. But my father was
wise and knew the bottom of his heart; he hated my
father, and one day, when his liver was hot, he struck him
and slew him.
“But his father was a white man, a servant of the great
White King. To the men of my tribe it was right that he
should be hunted and killed; but the white men spoke
fair words, and gave them gifts and much fire-water, and
the Abenakis shut their ears to me and for these gifts
promised to bury the hatchet and quench their wrath
against him. The white man said he should be punished
in the white man’s way. That was the white man’s
truth! He was not caught; he went out of sight, even
254


ROB THE RANGER
Abenaki chief. Yet his son declared that the vengeance
of the tribe had been bought ofi with gifts.
“You have told me your story,” he said to the Indian.
“Let me tell you one. Not many moons ago a band of
Abenakis was pursuing a man through the woods near
the English fort of William Henry. He stumbled and
fell, and was saved by two white men and a Mohawk who
happened to be near at hand. That man was Le Loup.”
“And it was you, white man, who saved him!” cried
the Indian, springing up in excitement. “Twice, twice,
you have crossed my trail! Why does the Great Spirit
mock me thus? Why has he sent you, O white man, once
and twice, to turn the edge of my scalping-knife? It was
I who led that band in on the trail of Le Loup. We
were with the army outside the fort: Le Loup came in and
went out like a snake; but I saw him; I followed him
and I led some braves of my tribe after him. Ah! I did
not tell it in my story; shame held my tongue; for it is
shame to an Abenaki to confess that his enemy escaped
him twice. The Manitou is against me ; my heart is like
an empty skin; it were better for me that you had taken
my life.”
It was, indeed, a strange sequence of events; that Rob
should twice have stood between Le Loup and certain
destruction—Le Loup, the man whom he himself had the
best of reasons for regarding as an enemy. But, inter-
ested as he was in the Indian’s story, he was still more
interested to learn the composition of the party that was
pursuing him. The Indian was no longer reluctant to
talk, but readily told that Le Loup had left Quebec with
a band of Hurons, half-breed coureurs du bois, and six
Abenaki braves. All were on snow-shoes. They had
followed up the trail of the fugitives to the seigneurie of
Monsieur de Noillac, and there learned with rage, that
he had allowed the Englishmen to appropriate his sleighs.
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There was a talk of going back to Quebec, or farther
along the river to another manor, in order to secure
horses and sleighs for the pursuit: but Le Loup had
overruled this suggestion, grudging the loss of a minute.
He had had cause later, when he failed to overtake the
fugitives, to regret his impatience.
Rob now understood why the pursuers were no longer
in sight. He could not doubt that his having outmarched
them was due to the possession of the horses. But he
began to fear that this might no longer prove an advan-
tage. The fodder brought from Monsieur de Noillac’s
stables would scarcely hold out until the party reached a
British settlement; yet without a plentiful supply of food,
the horses could not stand the strain of continuous travel-
ing over the heavy ground. They had already shown
signs of overwork; and when the party started again,
after a very brief rest, taking advantage of a moonlit sky,
it was clear from the poor beasts’ drooping heads and
laboring breath that their strength was failing.
The men were in better case, for they had plenty of
food, and by alternate spells of marching and riding in
the sleighs they lightened the toil of the journey. The
fact that they had managed to leave the enemy behind
and out of sight inspired them with confidence; and
when, on the morning of the fourth day, they struck a
beaten track which the Abenaki explained was the mili-
tary road to Lake Champlain, they were cheered by the
knowledge that nearly. half of their journey was over.
But a new element of danger had now to be reckoned
with. Though it was unlikely that movements of troops
took place between the French forts at this season of
the year, there would certainly be kept up a post, regular
or irregular, by means of trained Indian runners. If the
party should be met or overtaken on the road by such a
runner, the news would be carried to one of the French
257


ROB THE RANGER
posts, and an overwhelming force might be despatched to
capture them. If they left the road, there were two
courses to choose between. They might make their way
across country to Lake Champlain, and travel on its
frozen waters; this was perilous, for on the flat they
would easily be seen from a long distance; or they might
pass along the east side of the lake, between it and the
Connecticut River, and try to find their way to the
borders of New Hampshire. But this would prove a very
difficult route, for there were no roads, and it would be
easy to lose themselves in the bleak inhospitable hills.
On the whole, it seemed best to stick to the road. It
skirted the west side of the lake, running direct to Crown
Point and Ticonderoga or Carillon, the French forts;
but with careful scouting they might avoid observation by
couriers or hunting parties, and they could always take to
the forest-clad hills to the west if danger threatened.
When they came to the neighborhood of the forts they
could strike off to the right and keep at a safe distance
until they approached Fort Edward. Most important
consideration of all, there were scattered at long intervals
along the road, as Rob learned from the Abenaki, a series
of huts built for the shelter of parties of troops moving
between the forts, and large enough to accommodate
not merely a body of men, but horses as well. The
Indian declared that at this season the huts would not
be occupied. Vi/eighing all the chances, Rob came to the
conclusion that it was worth while to run the risks in-
volved in sticking to the road; and the men, who, though
older than he was, had accepted him unquestioningly as
the commander, gave a cordial assent when he consulted
them.
The wisdom of the decision appeared amply justified.
Not only did they travel faster during the day, but they
spent a far more comfortable night. The first hut they
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came to was thickly covered with snow, and was, indeed,
hardly distinguishable from a snow mound; and the in-
terior, even without a fire, proved many degrees warmer
than the outside air. They rose in the morning more re-
freshed than after their cheerless nights in the open, and
made the better speed. They had struck the road at a
point south of Fort Chambly. When they approached Fort
St. ]ohn, it was necessary to make a wide detour. They
dared not take to the ice-covered lake, and spent a whole
laborious day in skirting the wooded slopes of the hills
to the west. Men and horses alike were dead-beat when,
at the fall of night, they came to another hut, like the
first, but not so deeply imbedded in snow. Rob feared
that this was the last time they would be able to avail
themselves of such shelters, for the Abenaki said that
they would next day approach Fort Carillon, or Ticon-
deroga, as he called it, and again they would have to
make a long detour. The Indian had been so much im-
pressed by his captors’ magnanimity in sparing his life,
that he now readily gave them information.
The hut they occupied on this, the sixth night of their
journey, stood on a little knoll in the center of a clump
of trees, through which a road had been cut. It was
but a short distance from the lake side. The surrounding
forest, for some little distance, had been felled, partly
to provide timber for the construction of the hut, partly,
no doubt, with a view to possible defense. Its walls were
built of roughly hewn logs bound closely together, the
interstices filled up with earth and mosses, thus rendered
impenetrable to all but cannon. As the belt of trees, at its
nearest point, was about a hundred and fifty yards dis-
tant, it was not very likely that shots fired from the
shelter of the wood would find the few weak spots where
the fillings had fallen out. It was Reeves who called
Rob’s attention to this fact, remarking that he had him-
259


ROB THE RANGER
self assisted in the building of a very similar hut for a
party of the Royal Americans in the neighborhood of
Oswego.
Before he went to sleep that night Rob somewhat
anxiously consulted his comrades as to the route they
were to follow next day. Reeves and Bulman had been
brought as captives past Ticonderoga, before they were
embarked in bateaux on Lake Champlain; but the ap-
pearance of the country was so entirely different, now
that it was covered with snow, that they were unable to
guess at the distance that separated them from the head
of the lake where Carillon stood. But the Abenaki
proved to be still ready to answer questions. He said
that he had many times visited Ticonderoga; in the
autumn of the previous year he had been with the force
marching against William Henry; and he knew that
starting early in the morning a man on snow-shoes would
easily reach the fort before sunset.
“That thar’ settles it,” said Pringle, when Rob re-
peated this to him. “We’ll have to leave the road as
soon as we start and make another round, for with only
a day’s march atween us and the fort, and Crown Point
in atween, we’d be sartin to meet a hunting party 0’
Frenchers.”
“You’re right, Pringle,” said Rob. “ ’Tis unfortunate,
for the round we had to make before cost us four or five
good hours, and I only wonder the enemy haven’t caught
us by this time.”
“Maybe they’ve got sick of it and give it up,” sugges-
ted Pringle at last.
“Not if I know Monsieur le Loup. We’ll have to set
a specially good watch to-night;,though if they do over-
take us we stand a poor chance of escaping. We could
hold our own here as long as food and fodder lasted, but
they might keep us shut up while they fetched enough
260


ROB THE RANGER
The Mohawk took a long look at them, Rob grudging
every moment that was lost.
“Thirty,” he said at length.
“How far away?”
“An hour’s march.”
“By jing!” said Pringle, joining Rob. “we’re cotched,
that’s sartin.”
“Not yet,” replied Rob, with a cheerfulness that his
anxious expression belied. “They’ve gained on us, to
be sure; but when we come to the forest again they might
hunt for a week without finding us.”
“I know the forests,” said Pringle gravely. “To be
safe, we’d have to go into ’em deep; we’d lose ourselves,
and be fair starved. We dursn’t come nigh the road or
the lake again. We’d better give in.”
“And not make a fight for it? Give in to a parcel of
half-breeds and varmints? That’s not like an English-
man, Pringle. We’ll go back to the hut. Though there
are only eight of us, and one a youngster, we can defend
ourselves there against six or eight times our number.”
“But what on earth’s the good of that?” said Pringle.
“Our food won’t last for ever; they can starve us out;
they’ve only got to send a man ahead to bring a whole
regiment from the Frenchers’ fort. I don’t see no use
in it !"’
“Neither do I,” said Rob quietly. “But in the one
case we’ll certainly be caught, and probably scalped. In
the other case, we can at least make a fight of it, and
who knows? Perhaps the luck that has favored us so
far will show us a way to escape altogether. Put it to the
vote. Who comes with me to the hut?”
The men looked at one another dubiously. Then
Reeves spoke up.
“We sticks together, that’s what I say. If we’ve got
to be killed, let’s put it off as long as we can. Why, even
262


THE LOG HUT
Rob raced forward with his comrades. But glancing
back, he saw that the sleighs were falling behind. The
horses were being urged to their utmost speed consistent
with safety, but it was clearly impossible that they should
reach the hut before the enemy. As he ran, he racked
his brain for some means of delaying the pursuers until
the sleighs could come up. And it was almost with
despair that he saw a group detach itself from the main
body of the enemy, and make at a terrific pace in ad-
vance of them towards the hut. He was now near
enough to see that these half-dozen men were Indians;
their purpose was clear; they were the swiftest runners
of the party, sent forward to gain the hut before him.
He redoubled his efforts, his comrades close at his heels.
If they could only reach the copse beyond the mound in
time, there was just a possibility of holding the Indians
at bay until the sleighs had caught them up.
Both parties were now on level ground, hidden from
each other by the hillock. Neither would know until
they were actually among the trees which had won the
race. The only course open to Rob was to make a bold
dash into the copse in the hope of reaching its farther
fringe before the enemy. If he succeeded, he might be
able from the shelter of the trees to hold them off just
long enough for the sleighs to join him. In a word he
explained his aim to his panting companions. Taking
fire from his eagerness they leaped after him with
tremendous strides; moment by moment they drew
nearer to the edge of the little clump of trees; were they
in time?
It was an anxious moment. Had the enemy got there
before them? If so, they would be met with a volley as
they came within range, and the game would be up.
Rob strained his eyes: there was no sign of Indians
among the trees; but the belt of the wood was fairly
265


ROB THE RANGER
dense, and gave good cover. Four hundred yards—three
hundred—two hundred and fifty—the enemy must now
be within range, but still there was no sign; all was
silent, save for the quick panting of the men, and the
swish of their snow-shoes. Two hundreds yards! The
woods seemed to dance before Rob’s eyes in a mist. He
was now within point-blank range; surely by this time
the enemy, if they were in position, would have delivered
a volley! But never for an instant did he slacken his
pace. Dashing along, he raced across the open space
between the foot of the hillock and the surrounding
trees, and halting, breathless, a-quiver with excitement
and anxiety, he saw the half-dozen Indians some three
hundred yards away on the road leading up from the
lake, not rushing in a line for the hut, but spreading
out fanwise among the trees, and the main. body of the
the enemy half a mile behind.
Rob leaned panting against a tree; his lips trembled
as he smiled at Pringle. The race was won! But by
how small a margin! It had been won by the moral
superiority of the white man over the red. Rob and
his friends had known the danger and risked it; the
Indians, had they been willing to take- the chances, could
certainly have reached one side of the copse by the time
that Rob reached the other. But the possibility of
failure, of arriving too late, had paralyzed their will;
it was not the Indian’s way to jump risks thus: their
hesitation had saved the day for the fugitives.
Rob saw the Indians before they saw him. When
they caught sight of him and his comrades moving
towards them through the thin outer fringe of trees,
they raised their war-whoop and dashed forward, as if
even now they might gain cover. But their movements
brought them within range of the muskets of Rob and
his men. They were still some fifty yards from the
266


THE LOG HUT
trees when Rob and Pringle, each selecting a convenient
trunk, took aim at the nearest of the advancing Indians
and fired. Two men dropped silently and lay still. The
rest, seeing that behind the marksmen were other men
ready to fire in their turn, with instinctive Indian cau-
tion spun around and scurried out of range. Not all
of them escaped. A bullet from Pringle’s musket over-
took the rearmost; he stumbled, swayed, and fell head-
long.
At the firing, the main body of the enemy quickened
their steps and came on until they were about a quarter
mile from the copse. There they halted, waiting for the
Indians to join them.
“By jing! The durned idjuts!” said Pringle.
“Yes,” replied Rob, “but we must make the most of
their mistake. They evidently think we have all got
here, or they’d spread out to surround us and cut us off.
You and the others hold on here as long as you can,
while I run back and see if the sleighs are coming up.”
“Right, sonny.”
Rob ran back, and up the knoll. When he reached
the hut he could just see the sleighs entering the copse.
Redwing had already thrust open the door and hustled
the Abenaki in. Rob looked anxiously over the ground
around the building. The nearest trees were out of
-range. There was a stump here and there, and a
number of slight irregularities. These he knew indicated
the presence of logs beneath the snow, for on the pre-
vious night one of them had been hauled into the hut
and cut up for fire-wood. In the few moments before
the sleighs arrived, he thought of a use to which some
of the logs might be put, both by the enemy and by him-
self.
“Quick, Ockenden!” he said, as the first appeared.
“Unharness the horses. While you are doing that, Will
257


ROB THE RANGER
and I will unload the sleighs ; they’re too broad to get in
the doorway.”
“Have we won ?” asked Will, springing from his
sleigh a few seconds behind Ockenden.
“Yes, old boy, but we’ve a lot to do yet. Tumble the
things from your sleigh into the hut; leave plenty of room
at the door. No, Ockenden, don’t take the horses in yet.
Those logs will make good battering rams; we must
have them inside. Scrape away the snow and loop the
reins about the end of one of ’em: the horses will drag
it into the hut more quickly than you could. Hurry!
we don’t know how long we’ve got.”
In a very short time all the stores had been carried
into the hut, and the five or six logs dragged in at the
heels of the horses. No more were left; if the enemy
wanted a battering ram, they would have to make it for
themselves. All the time the work was being done Rob
listened and looked anxiously: what was going on
beyond the copse? But he neither heard nor saw any
sign of the enemy; an intense stillness reigned around.
Rob waited but to see the horses haltered in the hut,
and to bid Ockenden collect two or three stout balks of
wood for barricading the door when the moment came;
then he made his way downhill to rejoin his comrades.
So deep in thought was he that his ears did not catch a
light footfall behind him, and he had almost reached the
trees when he became conscious that he was being fol-
lowed. Swinging round, and raising his musket at the
same time, he found himself faced at the distance of a
couple of yards by his brother. The tenseness of his
features relaxed; he dropped his musket as he said
kindly:
“Go back, Will; this is not for you.”
“Oh, I say, Rob, let me come. I want to help.”
“Not here, Will. You will be able to help by and by,
268


THE LOG HUT _
perhaps to set fire to them as they stood, and in either
case the defenders were in a hopeless plight.
Rob felt a gripping at the heart as he realized how
desperate his situation was. If only he had time, he
thought he might possibly devise some more eflicient
means of defense. There was just a chance that a few
minutes might be gained for, after all, the enemy were
not Frenchmen or regular troops, but Indians and
half-breeds. Frenchmen would probably have attacked
at once, endeavoring to carry the position by sheer
weight of numbers: it was characteristic of Indian
warfare to adopt more stealthy means. As Rob thought
of this, he saw a small group detach itself from the main
body of the enemy, and engage in what was apparently
a heated discussion. After a few minutes they rejoined
their party, and the whole band retired among the
trees.
“Gosh!” cried Pringle, who had watched the scene
through a loophole; “if they ain’t a-goin’ to come at us
it gives us time to stiffen things. Eh, Rob ?”
“You’re right. We must do what we can—and
quickly.”
The enemy might adopt either of two courses. They
might make a direct frontal attack on the door, with the
idea of breaking it in and capturing the whole party: or
they might, as Bulman had suggested, creep up on three
sides to the walls and either attempt to demolish them
or set them on fire. The latter would be the Indian
way; it remained to be seen whether the admixture of
French blood in the major part of the force would lead
them to adopt the French method.
The door was sufficiently stout, so far as its timber
was concerned, to withstand any pressure save the vio-
lent shocks of a battering-ram. But Rob feared that the
hinge and lock, even reinforced by the cross-bar, would
271


ROB THE RANGER
not hold. His first business, therefore, was to use some
of the logs, which had been brought from outside, as
struts to support the two sides of the door. This was
the work of a few minutes.
To provide against the second course of action was a
matter of greater difliculty. Think as he might, for
some time Rob could see no way of organizing the defense
so that the approach to the walls would be rendered im-
possible, or even so dangerous as to discourage a second
attempt. There were only three spare muskets among
the eight, and if the task of reloading the pieces as soon
as they had been fired were given, as Rob intended, to
Will, there would still be long intervals while four
members of the party were ramming their charges home.
Thus the enemy would have plenty of time between the
volleys to make forward rushes.
The difliculty of the defense would not be so great
if only the enemy could be seen. That seemed impossi-
ble, for the only window gave on the northern slope of
the knoll, and to expose oneself there would be to invite
shots; while it would be almost equally dangerous, and
not very effectual, to make holes in the walls large
enough to afford a comprehensive view. But as Rob
was puzzling, he happened to catch sight of the square
gap in the roof, that served as a chimney. If only he
could reach that, he might with care be able to see the
movements of the enemy without himself being seen.
But how to reach it! There were no rafters; the
slanting roof rested only on the walls. It was impossible
to improvise rafters, even had there been time to cut
holes in the roof for their projecting ends; for the logs
brought from outside were none of them long enough to
stretch across from wall to wall. It was impossible also
to reach the roof-hole by standing on the back of one of
the horses; the apex was fifteen feet above the ground,
_ _i_~
272


ROB THE RANGER
immediate attack, but it might come at any moment; and
having seen all that could be seen Rob let himself down,
to do anything that could be done below to strengthen
the defense. As he descended, he made another dis-
covery which mightily cheered him. The eaves of the
roof somewhat overlapped the walls on each side, and
he noticed, what had escaped his observation from below,
that there were in places slight gaps between the roof
and the logs of the walls. The hut, being only a tem-
porary caravansary, had been roughly finished; the logs
were not all of a length; and the builders had not taken
much trouble to fit the two surfaces exactly.
Rob’s eager mind at once seized on a means of turning
these gaps to good account. They could not be seen by
the enemy until they came close beneath the eaves: they
could even be enlarged without attracting attention.
If platforms were erected at a sufficient height above
the floor to enable men to rest their muskets on the walls,
they could bring an enfilading fire to bear on the at-
tackers, and thus hinder, if not wholly prevent, any
attempt to dismantle or fire the hut.
The men seized Rob’s idea the moment he mentioned
it to them. Pringle chuckled.
“One can do a power o’ thinkin’ in half a minute,” he
said.
“And more’n thinkin’,” added Bulman; “the var-
mints’ll wish they hadn’t bin so dilly-daddlin’.”
“The best places for our platforms will be the two
front corners,” said Rob. “From there we shall com-
mand three sides of the hut, and the fourth, to my think-
ing, won’t need attention. There are two of our logs
left; if we cut them up with our hatchets we may find
we’ve got enough wood for both the platforms.”
“We’ll do it, my son,” said Pringle. “Jest you mount
aloft again, and keep your eye skinned for the critters.”
374


CHAPTER XXI
A PARLEY
Some ten minutes after the preparations for defense
were complete, Rob, watching from his perch, saw a
movement among the enemy. At last! They came from
the trees, spread out in a long line, and then moved
swiftly forward, converging upon the hut. Rob slipped
down to the floor.
“They’re coming !” he said. “Now, keep cool.”
“ ’Tis freezin’ weather, to be sure,” said Bulman with
a grim chuckle.
Rob knew that it was impossible to check the rush
with the comparatively feeble fire he could bring to bear
from the loopholes. The enemy must come within a
very short distance of the hut before they became ex-
posed to fire from the eaves. He gave the word to his
comrades not to shoot until they could mark their men
not more than thirty yards away. The enemy were
coming straight for the door; evidently that was to be
the objective of their attack. Rob and Pringle had
stationed themselves at loopholes on the right. The
other men and Redwing had taken their places on the
improvised platforms at the corners, from which they
could direct a cross-fire on the enemy as soon as they
came within range.
The Indians, impatient to get to close quarters, had
outstripped Le Loup and his companion half-breeds, and
came first within the danger zone. Rob gave the word;
the four muskets spoke almost as one; there were yells
276


A PARLEY
of rage and pain from the advancing line; it was point-
blank range, and every bullet had found its billet. In-
stantly three of the four slipped back to where Will
crouched on the floor, placed their empty muskets by
his side, snatched up those he had loaded, and dashed
back to the loopholes. Short as the interval had been, it
was long enough for several of the enemy to reach the
wall of the hut.
But just as the first blows of hatchets on the door
proclaimed that the assault had begun in earnest, the
men stationed on the platforms, resting their muskets
sideways beneath the eaves, fired into the mass of men
crowding below. Their shots were answered by the
cries of wounded men outside. As soon as they had
fired, they dropped down to reload; and when the ham-
mering, which had ceased for a little, began again, two
more shots were fired into the crowd. Again, piercing
yells told that the marksmen, firing by pure guess-work
through the smoke, had not fired in vain. The enemy
had been taken by surprise. They had reckoned only
with direct volleys through the loopholes, and knowing
that when they were at close quarters these could no
longer be effective, they had apparently believed that they
could belabor the door with impunity. The shots from
such unexpected quarters had upset all their calcula-
tions, and, seeing that while they crowded about the
door they would continually be exposed to the enfilading
fire unless some means of silencing it could be found,
Le Loup shouted to his men to drop on all fours close to
the wall, where they would be out of harm’s way, creep
round to the sides, and run to the foot of the knoll.
It was necessary to concert to some other plan of opera-
tions.
A shout of triumph broke from the defenders when
they saw that the attack was beaten off.
277


ROB THE RANGER
“It’s too soon to shout,” said Rob. “We’ve driven
off the first attack, but only because they weren’t pre-
pared. Now that they know something of our arrange-
ments they won’t try the same plan again. I wonder
what they will try next?”
“We’d best clean our muskets, anyway,” said Pringle,
the practical.
The men were following his suggestion when Rob,
preparing to mount once more to his perch, glanced up
and saw the painted face of an Indian peering over the
edge of the hole in the roof. For an instant he stood
as if fascinated, so startling was the appearance of an
enemy in this quarter. Then, catching up a musket Will
had just loaded, he brought it to his shoulder. He was
partly concealed by the apparatus for climbing, and the
Indian, apparently intent on spying out the means by
which the attack had been frustrated did not perceive
him.
Rob fired; there was a rustling sound above, then the
fall of a heavy body from the roof to the ground at the
rear of the hut. Rob sprang up the tripod, and, raising
himself very cautiously to the hole, he saw that the
Indian as he rolled off had carried away a good deal
of snow with him. Another Indian was running down
the slope of the knoll with the speed of a deer. Pre-
sumably he had hoisted his companion up to spy through
the hole. He rejoined the rest of his party among the
trees; then all disappeared. Rob guessed that the feat
would not be attempted again. -
Perfect silence reigned save for the moans of the
wounded by the door. Acrid fumes of gunpowder per-
colated into the hut, and Will said that he was thirsty.
Rob descended, and in a few moments a small fire was
burning cheerfully in the center of the hut, by means
of which snow was melted for the men and the horses
=78


.
asffi“





A PARLEY
orders are to take you alive, if possible; if . not—Mon-
sieur, I beg you to reflect.”
“I can make no other answer, Monsieur,” replied Rob
with earnestness.
There was now a look of trouble and anxiety on La
Claviére’s face. For a few moments he remained silent;
then, in a tone charged with feeling, he said:
“I regret your decision, Monsieur--I regret it more
than I can say. I beseech you to think again. I will
give you time. Consult your friends. If, as I hope, you
change your mind, fire a shot into the air; it will be a
most welcome signal. If you remain obdurate, my duty
will compel me—”
He stopped; his voice broke; he left the sentence un-
finished.
Rob was unable to speak. He simply bowed. La
Claviére and his flag-bearer turned, rejoined their com-
panions, and withdrew to the edge of the copse. Rob
closed the door, replaced the bar, and leaned against it,
looking blankly at his silent comrades. La Claviére’s
selection for the task of capturing the party was a master
stroke of Maurin, the hunchback. The flight of the
prisoners from the dormitory had been discovered a few
minutes before the firing of the shed. Some time had
been wasted in fruitlessly searching the neighborhood.
Then the head-warder, trembling in his shoes, made his
way to Maurin’s house and reported the escape. In the
course of his interrogation by Le Bossu, he let out that
La Claviére had been a frequent visitor to the prison.
Maurin at once sent for La Claviére and accused him
of assisting in the escape. This the young Frenchman
denied. At that moment the colonel of the Royal
Roussillon regiment entered hurriedly,with the news of
the doings at the gate, and requested Maurin to provide
him with Indian runners to accompany a detachment of
his men in pursuit of the fugitives. With the malicious
283


ROB THE RANGER
irony for which he was notorious the hunchback asked
the colonel to leave the matter to him. Canadians would
cover the ground more swiftly than regulars, and,who
more fit to command them than the lieutenant under a
cloud?
“Catch the runaways, Monsieur,” he said blandly, to
the unhappy Frenchman, “and thus prove the truth of
your denial and the sincerity of your devotion to the
king.”
It was a plain command and La Claviére had no
alternative but to obey.
Strange turn of the wheel! Who could have expected
that these two, foes by race, friends by circumstance,
were to be pitted against each other? What was to be
the issue of the coming struggle? That La Claviére
would strain every nerve in the performance of his duty,
Rob was convinced; that he himself would resist to the
utmost he was determined. It was a malign and cruel
fate which had set them in antagonism, but duty, how-
ever distasteful, must be done. Death might come to
either; and as he thought how in the chances of the
fight a bullet might put an end to La Claviére’s life,
Rob could not but remember the sister in Quebec-
Renée, the fair girl who had been so kind to Will, and
whom, as he suddenly became aware, he regarded with
more than the lukewarm interest of a friend. What
would her feelings be if her brother lost his life in this
struggle? Even though she should never know that
the fatal shot was fired by one of Rob’s comrades—
perchance by Rob himself—he would never be rid of
his feeling of responsibility; never cease to see her
accusing tears. There was no help for it; the fight
must be fought; and Rob indeed felt the presence of La
Claviére as an incentive; how unworthy of his friend
he would prove if he faltered now!
234


A PARLEY
“I reckon ’twill be a warm night, said Pringle qui-
etly, breaking in upon Rob’s reverie.
The men had watched the colloquy, of which they un-
derstood not a word, with different feelings according to
their temperaments. The young French officer was
Rob’s friend; that fact added to the piquancy of the
situation; and perhaps every man hoped at bottom
that the two friends would make an arrangement
by which the smaller party would escape further dan-
ger, without loss of honor on either side. But when
they saw the end of the brief conversation, they were in
no doubt of its tenor, and every one of them was ready
to accept the consequences cheerfully.
“Yes, Pringle,” replied Rob, “we’ve a hard fight be-
fore us. Shall we give in?”
“Never; not to Injuns nor Frenchers, neither. But
I’m thinkin’ of the boy. Axin’ your pardon, Mr. Clav-
yair is a friend o’ yourn, and belike he’d take charge o’
the boy. Thar’s no call for him to be meddled wi’
flying bullets.” ,
“I’ll not go,” cried Will stoutly. “I’ll not leave Rob.”
“I think he is right, Pringle,” said Rob. “Monsieur
La Claviére would treat him kindly, of course, but there
is Le Loup.”
“True; and tis sartin he’s not to be trusted. Wal,
we can only do our best. By gosh! If some of Rogers’
Rangers happened to be within earshot, we’d make them
Frenchers skip, but that ain’t to be expected this time
of year, more’s the pity.”
They then fell to discussing the mode of attack the
enemy were likely to adopt. Ockenden was confident
that the whole force would once more make a direct
attack on the hut, profiting by their former experience
to avoid the fire from beneath the eaves. But Pringle
and Reeves maintained that nothing would be done un-
.
'..__ %
285


A PARLEY
“About ten, I should think, judgin’ by the length of
it,” replied Rob. “They have to bring it uphill, you
see."
“Wal, we shan’t hit more’n three of ’em, ’cos they’ll
be in single file and not in a bunch,” said Pringle. “And
if thar’s ten of them to begin with, thar’ll still be seven
left, enough to drive the ram at the door if thar’s nat-
’ral strength in ’em.”
“Yes,” added Bulman, “and while them ten are makin’
straight for the door you may be sartin’ the rest will
be swarming all round, and thar’ ain’t enough of us to
prevent some of ’em from making holes atween the
logs of the walls and firing point-blank at us—ay,
through loopholes belike.”
Silence fell on the group; the problem seemed in-
soluble. Pringle and his mates frankly gave it up; Rob
was not disposed to yield so soon, and was racking his
brains for some means of hindering the enemy’s ap-
proach, when he was suddenly interrupted by a call
from Redwing above.
“What is it?” he cried, clambering up the poles to
the Mohawk’s side.
Redwing pointed to the southwest. The faint glow
of departing day still hung over the hilltops in that di-
rection, but Rob gazed for several seconds before he de-
scried four or five dark specks on the horizon; he would
not have seen them at all, if they had not moved.
“Men!” said Redwing.
“Are you sure? How do you know they are not
animals ?"
“Redwing is a hunter,” was the brief reply.
Rob strained his eyes again. The specks grew no
larger, and in a minute or two vanished. The spot where
they had appeared was only a few points west of the
straight line to Crown Point, and though Rob saw at
287


ROB THE RANGER
once that there had not been time for the two messen-
gers whom he had seen leave in the morning to have
made the journey to Crown Point and back, the men
might be a hunting party from the Fort, and would
certainly come up at the sound of firing. Rob hesitated
at first whether to tell his comrades of the discovery.
The odds against them were already so heavy that the
possibility of a further addition to the enemy’s force
might break down their courage altogether. But on
reflection, he decided that perfect frankness was de-
sirable, and he bade Redwing slide to the floor and give
them the information. He himself wished for a few
minutes of even the partial solitude his slightly elevated
position afforded.
Again he thought over the knotty problem: how to
check the party bearing the battering-ram. The wood-
work of the door had been but slightly weakened by
the hatchets of Le Loup and his men in the brief morn-
ing attack; but one vigorous blow would split it asunder,
and then the case of the defenders would be hopeless,
indeed. Some means of preventing it must be found;
and Rob, as he cogitated, became so abstracted that the
voices of the men below, discussing the news brought
by Redwing, fell on his ears like a far distant rumble.
He looked round the fast-darkening scene. In the
distance, at the copse, were the fires of the enemy. The
branch had been felled and carried out of sight. Be-
tween the enemy and him was a clear expanse of snow,
so thick and hard that it bore scarcely any traces of
the events of the day. Here and there the level was
broken by a hummock which he suspected to be the
snow-covered stump of an old tree which had been
felled during the clearing operations. Rob at first paid
no attention to these hummocks, but presently he noticed
that they occurred only north and south of the rough
288


A PARLEY
track leading up from the lake; no doubt trees had at
one time grown on this track also, but their roots had
been removed for the easier passage of men and ani-
mals from the boats. Drawing this inference half un-
consciously, Rob suddenly became aware that an idea
had sprung up in his mind—an idea that promised the
solution of the problem which had been puzzling him.
To put it into effect would involve considerable risk to
the person attempting it, but the position was desper-
ate, and he himself was willing to undertake the task
and meet the peril. How great the risk might be he
could not for the moment tell; it would depend on
whether the enemy posted sentries about the hut. There
had been no signs hitherto of any such precaution, and
it would surely have been taken by this time if at all.
It seemed indeed improbable to Rob that the enemy
would place any sentries, for their whole object was to
drive the defenders out of the hut, in the full confidence
that, when once well out in the open, their fate would
be sealed. On foot they would be no match for the
Indians; and even if some of the party tried to escape on
horseback, the horses could not be got out of the hut
except by the doorway, and, this facing the copse, their
exit must be immediately seen.
When Rob had thought out the details of his scheme,
he slid down, and, breaking in upon the conversation
of his dispirited comrades, explained it to them in a
few words. . .
“By jing!” cried Pringle, with a laugh, “that’s mighty
spry. It’s raised my spirits quick. A man feels kinder
downed if he has got to sit still and do nothing, but if
thar’s a chance o’ doin’ somethin’, he can bear the worst,
as Redwing has just given us, and more like it. I’m the
man for this job, my son.”
The other men all clamored to be intrusted with the
239


. ROB THE RANGER
task; they would have welcomed any opportunity of
active service, whatever the risk. But Rob pointed out
that he was a lighter weight than the rest of them,
which was a matter of some importance; and that, hav-
ing so thoroughly observed the lay of the land, he would
be able to move with more certainty than any of the
others.
“Besides,” he added, “it is my notion, and ’tis only
right I should myself risk the dangers of what is, after
all, a dangerous experiment. But you can all help, and
the sooner we set about our preparations the better.”
2“.


CHAPTER XXII
DONE PETE
Monsieur la Claviére would no doubt have been might-
ily astonished could he have seen how the garrison of
the hut now employed themselves. The rope traces and
cords which had not been required in rigging up Rob’s
climbing apparatus were firmly knotted together to form
one long rope. A second rope, with a loop at the end,
was made from the reins of the second horse. By the
time the simple preparations were completed the hut
was in utter darkness, the fire not having been relit
after it had been extinguished to allow Rob to sit at
the watch-hole in comfort.
Judging the time to be ripe, Rob mounted once more.
He bore on his head the longer rope, coiled up.
Pringle and Bulman clambered up after him, finding it
by no means easy to gain a firm foothold on the cranky
structure. Rob looked out to see that all was clear.
The sky was intensely black, but it was clear and lit
with myriads of stars. Below the knoll, at the edge of
the copse, the fires of the enemy shone with fitful glow;
but they were_ too far below the reach of the hut to
illuminate the ground around it.
“Now, gently,” said Rob.
His comrades slipped under his armpits the rope made
from the reins, and, firmly gripping it, lowered him
carefully down the sloping roof, which had been partly
cleared of snow by the fall of the Indian who had
so indiscreetly played the spy. Rob came safely to the
291


LONE PETE
sagged? Had the knots given way? These questions
chased one another through his mind, and he was be-
ginning to fear that his stratagem had come to naught,
when the answer reached him. There was the sound of
a heavy body thudding upon the snow, and the unmis-
takable grunt of Indians told every man in the hut that
the scheme had not failed.
Then all sounds from without were lost in the crash
of a volley from the hut. The veriest tyro could not
have wholly missed the crowd of men that had sud-
denly come to a halt within thirty paces of the doorway,
and all Rob_’s comrades were seasoned hands. Now the
air resounded with groans from the injured and cries
of fury from the rest; scattered shots flashed from the
ranks of the enemy; they were too much amazed and
confused to volley; the slugs pattered vainly on the
roof and walls. Young Will was already on his feet,
handing up two loaded muskets and taking from the
men above the pieces they had effectively discharged.
“Don’t fire till we have all reloaded,” cried Rob, “un-
less the enemy make a rush.”
It was clear that there were determined spirits among
the mob outside; and Rob fancied he heard the voice
of La Claviére calling to his men. A few moments
passed; then against the snow he saw four or five men
staggering forward with the ram. Encouraged by their
boldness and by the cries of La Claviére, now clearly
distinguishable, the whole pack rushed up the hill on
all sides, shouting furiously. More shots were fired;
then the door of the hut shook under a violent blow, and
the sound of the two muskets aloft was drowned by the
loud crash of splintering wood.
After the first volley Rob called to his comrades to
plug up the loopholes, in order to prevent the enemy
from making use of these when they got to close quar-
295


ROB THE RANGER
ters. They had reloaded in all haste, but their bullets
had not been rammed securely home when the ram
struck the door. Only one musket was at the moment
available—the third of the reserve pieces. This Rob
seized from the hands of Will. He vaulted on to the
platform in the corner, and, resting his musket on the
wall, fired point-blank into the throng beneath, who were
now delivering a furious onslaught on the splintered
woodwork with their axes. A fearful yell proclaimed
that the shot had told. For a moment the rain of blows
on the door ceased; then the crash of axes was again
heard, and Rob, springing to the floor, noticed that
the stout door was broken in half a dozen places and
the muzzle of a musket was actually protruding through
one of the cracks. There was a flash and a roar. Rob
heard a sobbing groan behind him, and his fear that it
was Will who had been hit was relieved by a cry from
his brother:
“ ’Tis Ockenden, Rob.”
It was impossible to pause to help the poor fellow.
Round three sides of the hut the enemy were now
swarming, some belaboring the door, others the walls,
others seeking the holes through which to thrust their
muskets. Rob felt the hopelessness of attempting any
further to organize the defense. Every man must do
his best. Bulman and Reeves had now sprung from
their perch, from which it was no longer possible to fire
upon the enemy. They mounted the platform in the left-
hand corner, and, reloading as fast as they could, fired
over the wall at the yelling crew. At the walls Pringle
and his comrades pulled the plugs from the loopholes
and fired with the regularity of machines. In the cen-
ter of the hut Will, forgetting Rob’s injunction to
crouch upon the floor, stood erect, charging any empty
musket that was handed to him, with a dexterity that
296


LONE PETE _
would have won praise from an experienced warrior.
Cries from without showed that the defenders were not
firing in vain; but there was no longer any sign of
wavering; the enemy was so numerous that their losses
passed almost unnoticed, and the damage which in day-
light might have caused them to shrink, had, in the
darkness, no effect upon their ardor.
It was an unequal fight. Fire as the defenders might,
the crowd without seemed not to diminish, and the crash-
ing blows upon the doors were redoubled; larger gaps
appeared. Now not one, but several muzzles were thrust
through into the hut. Rob struck up one, Pringle an-
other, so that when the shots were fired they sped harm-
lessly into the roof; but the others spoke their fearful
message, and although the enemy had no means of di-
recting their aim, the hut was so small that it -would
have been a miracle if all their bullets had failed to
find billets. A scream from the rear showed that one of
the horses had been hit, and Rob feared that they would
break loose and trample Will or the men. But there
was no time to secure them. He turned, and, by the
flash of one of the muskets, saw Redwing stagger, then
recover himself and begin to reload his piece. The air
was thick with smoke; it was already impossible to dis-
tinguish the forms of his comrades; soon it would be
impossible to breathe.
Still the axes crashed and thundered on the door. It
must soon be shivered to fragments. Rob realized that
only by a simultaneous volley from the little garrison
could an effective blow be struck at the enemy. Call-
ing to his men to hold their fire for a moment, he shouted
to those on the platform to join him on the floor of the
hut, and grouped them with him close to the front wall,
where they would at least be safe from shots fired through
the breeches in the door. The enemy took advantage of
997


ROB THE RANGER
the pause to deliver a volley from half a dozen muskets
through as many holes. The muzzles had no sooner
been withdrawn than Rob and his comrades rushed for-
ward to the gaps in the door and the loopholes in the
walls, and at his word of command all their weapons
spoke together. As he had hoped, this riposte not
merely struck down several of the men nearest the door,
but created a temporary panic. All at once the black
mass disappeared; Frenchmen and Indians were pelt-
ing down the hill; and the garrison, gasping in the
pungent fumes, wiped their muskets and again rammed
their charges home.
The minutes passed, and the enemy gave no sign of
returning. Surely they had not given up the fight! Bul-
man, who had returned to his post as watchman, reported
that he saw nothing of them, except a few dark figures
flitting now and then across the space, still faintly lit
by the dying fires. Rob was binding up Redwing’s
wound, as well as he could in the darkness; Pringle
was attending to the two other men who had been hit
—Ockenden, alas! was beyond reach of help—when the
hut and all its inmates reeled under the shock of a ter-
rific explosion at the doorway.
They had scarcely recovered their wits, when the
enemy, springing from unsuspected lurking-places, were
once more upon them in their full strength. A great
breech had been made in the door by the explosion; one
of its hinges had been wrenched from the woodwork,
and the strut behind hurled to the other end of the
hut, striking the captive Abenaki. With a shout to the
men to shore up the tottering woodwork, Rob flung
himself into the breach, fired his musket at the surging
throng without, and, grasping the weapon with both
hands, just in front of the stock, swung it above his
head and brought it down with all his force on the
293


LONE PETE
dark forms at the threshold. Again and again the heavy
iron barrel got home with a crash and a thud. Men
were shouting and yelling, shots were flying, the screams
of the horses added to the din. Rob was unconscious
of all around him; all his energies were spent on the
work immediately under his hand. What the end would
be, even if he succeeded in keeping the infuriated enemy
out for yet a little while, did not enter his mind. The
pandemonium was at its height. The war-whoops were
rising shriller than ever; the remaining timbers of the
door were giving way; the fusillade from without seemed
to grow all at once enormously in volume, when, as if by
magic, all the noise was hushed into an immense still-
ness; and before he had time to realize what had hap-
pened, he found himself smiting at thin air. The enemy
had vanished!
For a few moments the silence was unbroken. Then
Rob, dazed at the sudden change, heard shots, but fired
at some distance, and too far off to have been aimed at
the hut. His first impression was that the enemy must
have quarreled among themselves, and remembering the
unrequited injury Le Loup had done to La Claviére,
it seemed to him not unlikely that the half-breed, furious
at the Frenchman’s method of conducting the attack,
had induced his fellows to turn their arms against their
white allies. But then, with a rush of hope and joy,
the true meaning of the incident flashed upon him. The
besiegers must have been attacked in their turn, and the
siege, at least for the moment, had been raised!
If that was indeed the case, it behooved him and his
comrades, weary as they were, to do all they could to
assist the unknown helpers who had arrived so oppor-
tunely at the crisis of their peril. Calling to Reeves to
be ready to close the door—what remained of it--in
case the new development should turn out to be a feint
299 .


ROB THE RANGER
on the part of the enemy, Rob loosened the bars, and
with some difliculty, in spite of the damage it had re-
ceived, dragged the crazy door open. Pringle and the
rest followed him out. Several men, killed or wounded,
were lying close against the wall of the hut, but there
was not a man upright upon his feet, not a sign, either
of the enemy or of those who had caused the diversion.
Still there came from the distance the occasional crack
of a musket. Rob paused, hesitating what to do. If
the new-comers were indeed friends, it was clearly his
duty to help them; but what right had he to be certain?
Was it wise to venture far from the hut until he had
some means of knowing? His comrades were as du-
bious on the point as he. But while he stood in per-
plexity, he saw the dark form of a man come from
the belt of wood and move forward towards the hut.
He came slowly, halting every now and again, as a man
halts to recover breath, or to ease his pain. Still he
came nearer. Rob could see him clearly against the
snow; but it was probable that he himself, with the
hut behind him, was not equally visible to the man.
“Be on your guard,” he said quietly to his companions.
“Come no farther yet.”
Then, leaving them a few yards in advance of the
hut, he sprang forward and ran downhill towards the
approaching figure. The man’s movements, he now
saw, were those of one hard hit. Could it be La Cla-
viére? Coming painfully up to the knoll, he stumbled,
and was on the point of falling, when Rob arrived
within arm’s length of him. Uncertain whether Rob was
friend or foe, the stranger put his hand to his belt to
draw his knife. But his strength failed him; he tot-
tered, fell forward, and Rob, flinging out his arms,
caught in them the fainting body of his friend and com-
rade, the trapper, Lone Pete.
30°


LONE PETE
At a call, Pringle and Bulman were at his side. Cars
fully they carried the old man into the hut. A fire was
immediately kindled. Rob felt in Pete’s pocket for
the gourd of spruce beer he knew he carried there, and
pouring a quantity of the liquid between his lips, he
soon revived him.
“ ’Tis you, sonny !” said the trapper faintly, as he saw
by the light of the fire the face of the man ministering
to him. “Almighty be praised! I didn’t know it was
you.”
“And me, too, Pete,” cried Will. “We are all to-
gether now, all safe except father.”
“Almighty be praised! I didn’t know. We heard the
firin’ and thought as how it was our mates at grips
with the varmints and Frenchers. ’Tis better’n that;
’tis better’n anythin’ as ever I dreamed of. I guess if
I’ve got to die, I’ll go more easy than if I’d never
knowed what become of you and the young un.”
“You won’t die yet, Pete,” said Rob. _
“Not if I can help it. I’ve bin knocked about a good-
ish bit in my time, and I don’t reckon this is the last
knock I’ll get. But this won’t do, lad. You’ve got to
make tracks, ’cos you’re too near Crown Point to be
safe. I’ve a lot to hear, that’s sartin, and a lot to tell
if you cares to hear it, but not jest yet. The time’l1
come, if you can manage to take me along with you to
Edward. Can you do it, lad? Thar’s reason for doin’
it at once. For you may be sure some o’ they varmints
has now pelted off to Crown Point, and we’ll have a
crowd of Frenchers on us afore we knows it.”
Q)!


CHAPTER XXIII
ROGERS’ rumcaas
The trapper’s advice was obviously so well founded
on common sense that Rob began instantly to follow it.
One of his party, poor Ockenden, the sleigh-driver, had
been killed outright; two others were wounded, but not
incapacitated, and the horses, though hurt, were
still able to draw the sleighs. The men set to work to
fit the traces and reins for their proper functions; their
few belongings were collected and loaded upon the
sleighs; and only when all was ready for leaving the
hut was it discovered that the captive Indian, who had
been throughout the fight in the rear corner, had dis-
appeared. At Pete’s suggestion, Rob had conveyed a
supply of provisions from the enemy’s abandoned camp.
It was well to have a good store of food, for none could
tell how long they might have to wander in the wild
hills before they could gain Fort Edward. Again, at
Pete’s suggestion, Redwing gave a shrill bird-call, which
had the effect, within a few minutes, of bringing to the
spot a dozen Rangers who had accompanied Pete. Then
the whole party set off, in a southwesterly direction,
away from the lake, into the bleak solitudes of the hills.
Rob sat by Pete in the first of the sleighs. Though
evidently suffering great pain, the trapper had benefited
by food and drink, and at intervals during the journey,
related all that had happened to him since the ambush
on the Oswegatchie. At the moment when Rob had
started in pursuit of Le Loup and the Hurons, Pete had
302


ROB THE RANGER
thar’ was no chance o’ the army goin north, so it
seemed as if I’d have to go by myself, loner than ever.
But Rogers’ Rangers was always goin’ about by here
and thar’, and when I heard, a week or more ago, that
they was on the point o’ settin’ out on a scoutin’ expe-
dition about Ticonderoga or further, the idee came to
me that I’d been Lone Pete long enough, and that here
was a kind of a chance, with luck, of gettin’ on your
trail. Rogers had axed me often enough to jine his
men, but up to then I’d rayther liked to stick to my
name for loneness. Howsomever, I went to him straight
and axed him if he’d care to take me on. ‘My gosh,’
says he, ‘don’t I wish I’d a hundred like ye!’
“So I turned myself into one of Rogers’ Rangers, and
set out with ’em from Edward, as I said, a week or more
ago. Thar’ was a hundred and eighty of us, and Colonel
Haviland what’s now in charge o’ the Fort, sent us out
with orders to scout about Ticonderoga, to see if there
was any chance of takin’ the Frenchers’ fort, and to find
out if they kept up their communications at this time
of year atween the fort- and their settlements on the
river. We came up the ice on Lake George by night,
the Frenchers bein’ none the wiser; then, not to get too
near their outposts, we landed by Rogers’ Rock and
worked up into the hills.
“Wal, Rogers always had a tidy good ’pinion o’ me,
so he picks me out to lead a dozen Rangers a goodish
bit beyond Ticonderoga, to examine the trails to the
north. There was danger in it; he knowed that as well
as me; but I liked the job, ’cos I’d had an idee I’d find
out something worth findin’ out; and more’n that, I had
a cur’ous feelin’ as I’d l’arn summat about you. Thar’s
no common sense in feelin’s o’ that kind; but no more
thar’ ain’t in silver bullets; but they’ve got me out of
tight places when nothing else wouldn’t. _
394


ROGERS’ RANGERS
since their last meeting. The trapper was deeply in-
terested, still more deeply impressed.
“I never heard the like of it,” he said. “No woods-
man has gone through more of the or’nary dangers
of the life than me, but this is extraor’nary. We may
talk as we like of luck, good and bad, but I’ve alway’
had a feelin’ that thar’s summat beyond luck in the
rulin’ o’ this wonderful world. Many a time when I’ve
been alone in the woods, with nothin’ but the sky and
the trees above me, and the wild critters round about,
I’ve thought deep of things, and bin no end puzzled
to understand why this happens, and that don’t hap-
pen. And it all comes to this in the end: that thar’
must be some Almighty Power a-thinkin’ and a-workin’
behind the things as we can see. What other way can
you account for that Frencher, eh, lad? S’pose he’d bin
a bad sort, like that hunchback you told me about, what
would ha’ become o’ you? Though when you come to
think of it, ’tis oncommon strange that the Almighty
should have allowed that very Frencher, what has a
good heart and behaved to you like a rale friend, to be
sent in charge of a party to follow you.”
“It is strange, as you say. But I can’t help thinking
that there was a Providence in that, too. If Le Loup
had caught me, I should probably have been killed, and
Will would have been lost again. But if La Claviére
had captured us we should certainly have been well
treated, and in course of time, when the war is over,
we should have been allowed to go back home.”
“That’s whar ’tis, you see. Nayther cotched you,
and the Almighty must ha’ knowed they wouldn’t, ’cos
He’d arranged it that I should step up in the nick of
time. Howsomever, ’tis no use puzzlin’ about it; we
shall see it all clear some day.”
“I only hope that La Claviére was not killed. His
307


ROGERS’ RANGERS
hills and forest-clad valleys. But their guide was equal
to the task, and they struggled on, skirting deep snow-
drifts, avoiding dangerous chasms, picking their way
through clumps of stunted trees.
Suddenly Rob, walking beside the sleigh at a dis-
tance of some twenty yards behind the guide, heard him
utter a low cry. The party instantly halted, and Rob
with one or two others, clutching their muskets, hur-
ried forward to the man’s side. By the time they
reached him they saw that he was not alone. Two men,
in the costume of the Rangers, lay on the snow at the
foot of a tree. They were pale and haggard, and seemed
almost at the last gasp. The guide was stooping over
them, pouring cordial from his gourd into the throat
of the man who seemed the worse of the two.
“Who are they?” asked Rob.
“Larkin and Campbell—two of Rogers’ men,” re-
plied the man. “My gosh! There must have bin bad
work for ’em to have come to this.”
The rest of the party had now gathered round the
prostrate men. They were so much exhausted, so terri-
bly bitten by the cold, that it was long before they re-
vived. But their comrades chafed their frozen limbs
and gave them copious drafts of cordial, with by and
by a little solid food, and one of them, whom the guide
had called Larkin, was at length able to explain their
plight.
About three o’clock on the afternoon of the previous
day, Rogers had brought his Rangers to a point west of
the rocky hill that bore his name. It was one of the
wildest spots that could have been found, even in that
rugged region. Giant trees grew all around; to the
right of the hollow where they halted rose a steep hill;
to the left a brook well known to the Rangers, called
Trout Brook, now a solid road of snow and ice.
309


ROGERS’ RANGERS
less than a third of those who had started with him, to
follow him to the mountains.
In the fast-gathering darkness Larkin and Campbell
became separated from the rest. They had lost their
snow-shoes in the fight, and, ignorant of the country,
unable to exercise their Woodcraft in the gloom of the
forest, they wandered about footsore and famished, all
the night long. They dared not stop to rest, lest they
should be overcome by the cold. Without food, even
without their overcoats, which they had thrown off in
the thick of the fight, they were defenseless against the
rigors of the winter night, and, becoming half delirious,
they at length, just as day was breaking, threw them-
selves down in utter despair. But for the arrival of
their comrades they would within a short time have been
frozen to death.
Such was the story of this woeful incident as Rob
heard it afterwards in Fort Edward. At the moment
he learned nothing but the bare outlines of the fight and
the subsequent misadventures of the two hapless fugi-
tives. The firing he had heard that morning was still
unexplained, and he wondered, in common with every
other member of his party, whether Rogers and the
score or two of men who had escaped with him had
been chased and caught by the enemy and slaughtered.
His uncertainty was a strong motive for pursuing the
journey to Fort Edward as rapidly as might be. The
two half-dead Rangers were placed on the second sleigh,
and the party again set off, making a wide circuit so
as to avoid any bands of the enemy who might be still
scouring the hills in search of stray members of the
routed force.
The fall of night found them still several miles from
Fort Edward, and they were all suffering so severely
from the prolonged strain of the past few days, that they
311


ROB THE RANGER
decided to camp once more. It was the afternoon of
the next day, before, in a blinding storm of snow and
sleet, half-dead with fatigue and exposure, they stag-
gered through the gate of the fort. Rob’s first inquiry
was for a surgeon to attend to Pete; Pete’s was for the
safety of Rogers.
“ ’Tis more good to me than medicine,” he said, when
he learned that the famous captain had come in with
the remnant of his band only a few hours before. They
had been harassed for miles by their relentless enemy;
the firing heard by Rob in the hills was now explained.
The new arrivals were treated with all the rough kind-
ness of which the garrison was capable. Colonel Hav-
iland himself sent wine and broth to the hut to which
Rob and his brother had been taken, with a message
that he wished to hear from their own lips the story of
the surprising adventures of which rumors were, al-
ready circulating through the camp. And Rob, as he
laid his head on a pillow for the first time for many a
long day, thought that Providence had been very good
to him. If only he had been able to rescue his father,
or at least to learn something of his fate, he felt that
he would have had nothing else to wish for.
31a


CHAPTER XXIV
TICONDEROGA
Rob’s escape from Quebec, and his adventurous flight
southward, became a nine days’ wonder in Fort Edward.
It was perhaps a little fortunate that his health broke
down; Minna Koop declared that it was providential.
The Dutchwoman, who had found protection in Albany
with good Madam Schuyler, a widow of its most emi-
nent citizen, hurried to the fort within an hour of receiv-
ing the news that the two boys she had nursed from
infancy had returned. She found Rob in a state of col-
lapse, now that the tremendous strain upon him was
removed, and she rigorously closed his door against all
comers. Her view that his illness was providential was
formed when she saw the result of military hospitality on
Pringle and his gallant comrades. Being older and
tougher than Rob, they recovered their full strength af-
ter a day or two; and the garrison of the fort, British
and American, showed such a partiality for their so-
ciety, and were so fond of entertaining them at the can-
teens, where they told over their adventures again and
again, that they were likely to suffer from indigestion,
both physical and mental.
“Deir heads, dey be swelled turnips,” quoth Minna
with a hard mouth. “ ‘Be not puffed out,’ says de min-
isters; but dey are puffed out colossal. Dat old Pete
have some sense; he got a wound and keep quiet; de
Mohawk more so; he gone back to his father; you—”
“I only wish I could go back to my father, Minna,”
313


ROB THE RANGER
interrupted Rob ruefully. “I went off to find him, be-
fore I knew or suspected that Will was in any danger;
and I haven’t found him or learned a single thing about
him.”
“Dat is so, but do not trouble. When de summer
come, dere will be more fighting, and I think de French
will be beaten. It is time.”
“What makes you think so ?”
“Why, dere is a new general, for one ding, and new
soldiers. One of de oflicers, I see him in Albany, and
I love him. So do Madam Schuyler. We all lose our
hearts to him, so young and handsome and charming-
Lord Howe dey call him. And de new soldiers—my!
dey are fine men, though deir dress is not decent. Never
did I see such men !—or such knees! Dey wear pet-
ticoats, and deir knees are seen above deir stockings.
Dey were so cold dat de good ladies of Albany make
woolen hose to cover dem. But dey are soldiers! Dey
will fight; and when dey take Quebec, be sure dey
will find your father, and we shall all be together again.”
Ten days’ rest under Minna Koop’s care restored
Rob to health. When he was convalescent he had sev-
eral visits from Colonel Haviland and other oflicers of
the garrison, and he was somewhat astonished to find
what a person of importance his exploits had made him.
So far as he himself was concerned, this was only em-
barrassing, but he took advantage of it to do some-
thing for his father. At his request Colonel Haviland
sent a special letter to General Abercrombie, the new
commander-in-chief, who had his quarters in Albany,
asking that a messenger might be sent to the Marquis de
Montcalm to inquire about the fate of Mr. Somers.
Some time must needs elapse before an answer could
be received, but he had no doubt that as the result of
his representations a search would be made for Mr.
314


TICONDEROGA
l

.
:
Somers among the English prisoners in Canada, and if
he were still alive an exchange could easily be effected.
He would not have been so confident if he had known
Monsieur Maurin. General Abercrombie’s messenger
duly arrived in Quebec. Montcalm returned a very
polite letter and promised that the matter should be
attended to; but it was placed in due course in the hands
of Monsieur Bigot, who deputed it to his satellite Mon-
sieur Maurin, and he, as the reader may suspect, re-
ported after an interval that all inquiries for James
Somers had proved fruitless. He had not yet given up
hope that the prisoner Brown, who was still in the serv-
ice of Monsieur de Noillac, would be reasonable and
purchase his freedom at a price which he, Monsieur
Maurin, would regard as satisfactory.
Meanwhile Rob had migrated with Will to Albany,
where he found generous hospitality with a business
friend of his father. The pretty little Dutch town was
already bustling with preparations for the campaign
of the approaching summer. At an evening party at
Madam Schuyler’s he had two minutes’ conversation
with General Abercrombie, a big, red-faced soldier, half-
crippled with gout, pompous in manner, and insuffer-
ably condescending to the colonists. Rob did not like
him as a man, and felt doubtful whether as a soldier
he would prove more eflicient than his predecessor, Lord
Loudoun. But, like the whole society of Albany, he fell
under the spell of Lord Howe’s winning personality.
Howe was thirty-three years of age. Brigadier in rank,
he was in reality the life and soul of the army. No
carpet knight was he. He had no airs, neither showed
nor felt any contempt for the rough-mannered pro-
vincial soldiers, but made himself one with them and
gained their unbounded admiration and respect. Sev-
eral times he joined Rogers’ Rangers in their scouting
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TICONDEROGA
challenge. But the word was scarcely past his lips when
there was a sharp crack, a flash from the thicket, and
dashing forward, he was just in time to catch the form
of Lord Howe, shot through the breast.
“Quick! a surgeon !” he cried, as he gently lowered
the general’s form to the ground.
A man dashed to the rear. Meanwhile Pete and his
comrades had returned the enemy’s fire. Bullets spat-
tered all around, unheeded by Rob, who, one knee on
the ground, supported the dying general. The sound
of firing brought back in hot haste Rogers and a small
party of Rangers who had gone ahead. The French,
who had stumbled directly across the British line of
march, were caught between two fires. Rogers on one
side of them and Major Putnam on the other, rallied
their forces and began to hem them in. There was a
desperate struggle, men firing point-blank at one another,
English stumbling against French as they dodged be-
hind trees, meeting so suddenly that they had neither
time nor space to fire, but fell to it with clubbed mus-
kets and even with fists. At length the Rangers, more
experienced in backwoods fighting than the French de-
tachment, consisting of regulars and Canadian militia,
gained the upper hand. When the firing ceased, a hun-
dred and fifty of the French were prisoners and nearly
fifty lay dead among the trees.
On the English side the loss in numbers was slight,
but the death of Lord Howe was an overwhelming ca-
lamity. He never spoke after falling into Rob’s arms.
Even in the first moment of shock, Rob dimly realized
that a fatal stroke had fallen upon the army. As the
news spread like wild-fire through the ranks, the numb-
ness of consternation seized upon the troops. Howe
was the one general in whom all, regulars and provincials
alike, had unbounded confidence. It was he, they very
32:


.


TICONDEROGA
orders for the day were brought to them. Rogers
called his officers together, and when the brief confer-
ence was over, Rob strolled over to the stump on which
Pete was sitting, cleaning his musket and smoking a
cherry-wood pipe. The trapper gmnted when Rob told
him briefly what he had just heard from Rogers.
“So we’re to go over the portage! Might ha’ done
that yesterday, ’stead o’ wastin’ time in the forest and
losin’ a vallyble life. How are we to get across the
river? The general don’t suppose the Frenchers have
left the bridge, does he?”
“Colonel Bradstreet has gone forward to repair it.”
“That’ll be a day’s work at the least. Thar’ll be no
fightin’ till to-morrow. P’raps that’ll give time for the
general to come to his senses.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, what’s the good o’ rushin’ up against a fort
when you can starve it out? Same as those French-
ers might ha’ done wi’ you in the hut. If we marched
round and occupied the narrows of Lake Champlain
we’d starve the marquee out in a week. By what I hear
he hasn’t got more’n three thousand men, and with our
sixteen thousand we could smother him if we marched
out. But ’tis a very different thing to attack him be-
hind walls. Look how you eight in the hut kept out
fifty o’ they Frenchers and varmints.”
“I heard a lieutenant of the Forty-second say there’d
be no fighting at all.”
“Then he’s a born fool. The Frenchers ain’t like
rabbits, that run when you shout.”
“Well, there’s the bugle order for marching. We’ve
got to do our best to avenge Lord Howe. We’re to go
first.” I
“And who better? That’s one bit o’ common sense, if
thar’s no more to follow.”
323


ROB THE RANGER
The portage road was about four miles long, forming
the chord to the arc of the bending river. The army
was put in motion, Rogers’ Rangers leading, with a reg-
iment of the provincial militia. It was a sweltering
day, and, lightly equipped as they were, the Rangers
made but slow progress over the rough ground. When
they reached the river they found that Bradstreet and
his men, though they had toiled like demons since early
moming, had not completed the repairs to the bridge
broken down by the French. A sawmill stood beside
its southern end, and there General Abercrornbie took
up his quarters, and the army slept that night on the
site of the camp abandoned the previous day by the
French.
Rob was up early, feeling a strange restlessness at
the prospect of his first fight as an oflicer of the king.
What would be the issue of the day? He did not share
Pete’s forebodings. In his excitement even the shadow
of Lord Howe’s death had well-nigh passed away. It
seemed impossible that sixteen thousand troops, in-
cluding the fierce Highlanders and provincial regiments,
seasoned by long warfare against the Indians, should
not vanquish three thousand Frenchmen and Canadians,
even behind walls. True, some one had reported that
the whitecoats had thrown a few logs across the western
face of their fort, but what Ranger would be daunted by
an obstruction of that kind! He was half-inclined to
believe that the young lieutenant of the Forty-second
was right when he wagered that Montcalm would not
wait for the assault, but that, by the time the British
reached the fort, the French would be scuttling down
the lake in their boats.
The advance was to begin at noon, but soon after
nine the troops were surprised to hear the rattle of mus-
ketry from some distant point on their right. Had a
324


ROB THE RANGER
the intrenchment, it appeared somewhat higher and more
compact than the scouts’ reports had given out. But
no Ranger would be worth the name who made much
ado about scaling a simple barricade.
“Come on, boys,” he said, “we’ll give one another a leg
and tumble right on top of the whitecoats. We can’t
see ’em, but they’re there, and some of us have met ’em
before.”
Away to his left he heard Rogers shout the order to
advance at a run. Lodking round for a moment, he
saw the first line of the army rushing forward in a long
crescent, the men leaping with long strides, hurrahing as
they ran. It was a splendid, inspiriting sight. He
raised his voice in a joyous shout—and it lost itself in
a deafening roar and crash; the whole length of the
breastwork disappeared behind a cloud of flame and
smoke; and Rob found himself flat on the ground,
thrown down by the impact of a man who had got a
pace ahead of him, and fallen suddenly back with a
choked scream. .
Up again, in a trice. “Cold steel!” had been the or-
der, and though the French had fired, cold steel it should
be for him. A glance to right and left showed him the
line of men, now with gaps in it, springing forward to
the breastwork. Yelling to the Rangers to follow him, he
sped straight for the nearest point. He was within a
yard of the rampart when once more the ground reeled
under the shock of another murderous discharge, this
time from salients where marksmen had posted them-
selves at loopholes between bags of sand. Once more the
assailing line crumbled away. Rob, amazed to find him-
self still unhurt, threw himself forward, cheered by the
voice of Pete close in his rear. But, half-blinded by
smoke, he drove full at a sharpened branch, and fell
back, involuntarily crying out with pain as it pierced
M?
326


TI CONDEROGA
his arm. Recovering himself, he sprang at the tangle of
branches, tore a way through it, he hardly knew how,
and found himself at the base of the rampart. He felt
a hand under his foot; leaping up, he caught at the
topmost log, a.nd next moment was astride the wall,
dazed, panting, deafened by the yells and the crash and
the singing of the bullets above his head.
Gathering his wits, he saw a white-coated French-
man below him within a couple of yards. He had just
raised his musket when he heard his name called; the
Frenchman rushed towards him, and, springing on to
the narrow platform at the foot of the rampart, caught
him by the arm.
“Back, Rob! It is madness l” The exclamation came
sharp and clear.
Before he had time to answer La Claviére gave him
a mighty shove, toppling him back over the wall. He
came with a thud to the ground. Trying to rise, he
sank back again with a groan; his ankle was twisted
under him. Looking round, furious at being thus thrown
out of the fight, he saw that the line was irretrievably
broken. Hundreds of men lay on the ground, many
had impaled themselves on the jagged branches; a few,
like him, had torn a way through and tried to scale the
wall; none had crossed it, and the survivors were stag-
gering down the slope.
The attack had failed. It was bound to fail. No
pluck, no dash could avail against defenses so cunningly
devised. Men cursed and asked where was the artillery.
A couple of guns posted on Rattlesnake Hill, where the
Mohawks were stolidly watching this amazing fight,
would have demolished the breastwork in half an hour.
But the guns had been left at the landing-stage; they
could not be brought into position before night. and
General Abercrombie, sitting in the sawmill two miles
327


TICONDEROGA
ha’ bin dead, and we’d have had to fight to-morrow
without you. I declar’ he don’t hear what I’m sayin’,
he’s so sleepy,” he muttered, “so I guess I’ll leave him.”
Amazed as the army was at its general’s ill-handling,
it was with a shock of consternation that it awoke to a
new day. The order had been given to return to Fort Ed-
ward. What! was nothing to be done to avenge Lord
Howe? A British army was to run away from French-
men? It was to be daunted and baflled by a rampart
which a dozen well-planted shots would smash to splin-
ters? It was inconceivable; but it was true. Regulars
and provincials vied in cursing Abercrombie’s poltroon-
ery; the Rangers scoffed and dubbed him Mrs. Nabby-
crombie, Nabby being the homely form of Abigail, a
name common in New England. The people of Albany
shared their disgust to the full, and groaned for a man.
The prevailing gloom was relieved a little later when
news came of the capture of the great. fortress of Louis-
burg in the northeast by Amherst and Wolfe. Rob’s
blood tingled as he heard of the great exploit, and he
longed with all his heart that he could serve under
such gallant soldiers. He was burning now with mil-
itary zeal, and when he was selected to join Colonel
Bradstreet’s expedition against Fort Frontenac, and
was one of the first to enter the fort when Monsieur
de Noyan surrendered with his garrison, he felt that-
the tide was turning at last in favor of the British arms.
When winter again put a stop to the fighting, he longed
eagerly for the coming of spring. There were rumors
that great things were to happen next year; an expe-
dition against Montreal and Quebec was talked of,
and he determined to join it as a volunteer, even if
Rogers’ Rangers as a corps were not included in the
striking force. The news that the expedition was to
be led by Wolfe, the fiery hero of Louisburg, clenched
320


CHAPTER XXV
THE HEIGHTS OF ABRAHAM
It was a bright day in Iune, I759, when Rob again
set eyes on the fortress city whence he had escaped fif-
teen months before. How different was the view now!
Then, he had known it from the inside, with its nar-
row streets deep under snow. Now, he looked at it
in the full glare of the summer sun, from across the
blue waters of the St. Lawrence. He was attached as
a volunteer to a regiment of Royal Americans en-
camped on the Island of Orleans. The city of the cliff
lay to the left; on the opposite bank of the river stretched
the Beauport shore, lined with earthworks; six or seven
miles to the right, beyond the Falls of Montmorenci,
was the camp of Wolfe, the young general to whom
Pitt had entrusted this fateful expedition.
With all the ardor of a hero-worshiper, Rob longed
for a sight of the commander-in-chief, and he felt a
shock of surprise when at last, one evening, near the
Point of Orleans, whence the whole French position
from the St. Charles to the Montmorenci Falls could be
scanned, his hero was pointed out to him. He saw a
tall, gawky, young man, with red hair tied in a queue,
receding brow and chin, and an unhealthy flush upon
his pinched, sallow cheeks. Surely this long, narrow-
shouldered officer, swaying his body to and fro, striking
at the wild flowers with a tasseled cane, was not the
fiery, energetic spirit that had organized and carried
through the fierce attack on Louisburg! Rob walked
331


ROB {THE RANGER
round so that he could get a front view of the gen-
eral’s face, and then, as he watched the kindling eye
and the sensitive mouth, and heard him eagerly question-
ing the brigadiers who were with him, arguing, point-
ing out this and that detail of the situation, he lost his
first feeling of disappointment, and felt something within
him responding to the unquenchable ardor that glowed
in every word and look and gesture. This was no Mrs.
Nabbycrombie, but a man and a leader of men.
It was a task for a giant, this that England had laid
upon her frail, fever-stricken son. Montcalm knew that
Quebec was the key of Canada. Were he to lose that,
the whole of the French colonial dominion lay open to
the invader. What time, money and energy could do
had been done to render the city impregnable. Every-
body capable of bearing arms, from the boy of ten to
the graybeard of eighty, had been brought into it to
swell its defending force. Sixteen thousand, when
Montcalm’s aide-de-camp, the famous navigator Bou-
gainville, had said that three or four thousand could
hold it against all comers. Against these Wolfe had
but nine thousand.
The French had done all that in them lay to render
his task impossible, but they hoped that Nature would
aid them. It seemed to them incredible that the British
fleet could safely navigate the diflicult waters of the St.
Lawrence and reach a secure anchorage. In case the
vessels should survive the perils of the passage, a num-
ber of French merchantmen had been converted into
fire-ships, and on the very night after the British
troops had landed, the seutries, facing the summit of the
Point of Orleans, saw dark hulks drifting towards them,
which suddenly burst into flame. The glare was ter-
rific, the noise stupendous, but harmless as a display of
fireworks. The explosion had been ill-timed; many of
332


THE HEIGHTS OF ABRAHAM
the belching monsters had spent their force before they
reached the fleet; some ran ashore; others were grap-
pled by the intrepid British tars and towed away, still
smoldering, amid derisive cheers.
This was but the first act in a drama that lasted three
months. Wolfe seized Point Levi, opposite the Point
of Orleans, and there erected batteries which for weeks
hurled shot and shell amid the houses, and schools, and
churches, and convents of the beleaguered city. But
day after day, week after week slipped by, and yet Wolfe
saw no opportunity of leading his forces to the attack
with any chance of success, nor could he tempt Mont-
calm from his defenses to try conclusions in the open
field. Winter would soon be upon them, and if the city
were not captured before ice began to form on the river,
all the labors of the summer would be thrown away.
On the last day of July Wolfe led in person a des-
perate attack on the fortifications of the Beauport shore.
It was signalized by one of the maddest exploits ever
attempted by a British army. A thousand grenadiers
and Royal Americans, without waiting to form their
ranks, in a pelting rain storm, dashed themselves against
breastwork held by six times their number of French-
men. To Rob it appeared like Ticonderoga over again.
The panting troops were mowed down by a terrible hail
of lead from the defenses, and the survivors staggered
back, a drenched and baflied mob, to the place where
Wolfe was drawing up his lines for a regular assault.
It was hopeless to pursue the movement; the impetu-
osity of the grenadiers who had rushed forward heed-
less of their officers’ commands and entreaties, had
ruined everything; and Wolfe, filled with rage and dis-
appointment, was compelled to withdraw his troops be-
yond the Montmorenci. _
August came, and still no success had been won. To
333


THE HEIGHTS OF ABRAHAM
striking another blow. But next day it was quite clear
that the British troops were evacuating their camp at
Montmorenci. Montcalm was puzzled to account for
it, but certainly it was his duty, according to all the
rules of war, to harass the rear of an enemy in retreat,
and he sent a numerous body to cross by the fords on
that errand.
But Brigadier-General Monckton, on the watch at
Point Levi, lost no time in embarking two battalions
of infantry, which, by a feigned attack on the Beauport
earthworks, drew off the pursuing French and enabled
the evacuation to be carried out in safety. Next night
a large quantity of baggage and stores was sent in flat-
boats above the town, and on the following day Wolfe’s
whole effective army, something less than four thou-
sand men, was embarked on the ships of Admiral
Holmes.
To Wolfe’s own men these movements were as per-
plexing as they were to the French. Why were they
cooped up in the close and noisome quarters between
decks? It was not to sail away, that was evident, for
they were several miles up the river. Yet what reason-
able object could there be? Between them and the for-
tress city stretched a long, frowning cliff, difficult to
climb even without opposition; how much more diflicult
when the heights were held by the whitecoats, who
kept firing at them, more or less ineffectually, from their
elevated position. Bougainville, in command of fifteen
hundred men, informed Montcalm of the strange move-
ments of the British fleet. It was ridiculous to suppose
that they could land men and scale the cliffs; every pos-
sible path was closely guarded; but to make assurance
doubly sure Montcalm raised his aide-de-camp’s force
to three thousand men, but little inferior now to Wolfe’s
entire striking force. “I swear to you,” he had writ-
335


ROB THE RANGER
ten six weeks before to Vaudreuil, “that a hundred men
posted there would stop their whole army.”
On the evening of September eighth Rob Somers and
Lone Pete came nearer to quarreling than ever in their
lives before. Pete had suffered tortures from seasick-
ness on the voyage from New York to the St. Lawrence;
the comparative inaction of the past three months had
given him the dumps; and now, shut up in a malodorous
vessel that swung up and down the river on the tide
without any apparent object, he expressed his mind
pretty freely about British generals and admirals, and
all sea-going folk—one James Cook in particular, whose
careful soundings of the channel had enabled the ships
of the fleet to navigate it safely.
“And your General Wolfe—what’s he but a bungler,
like all the rest of ’em? I don’t hold with these goin’s
on at all. If it was left to the Rangers, now, who’d put
a little common sense into the concern-—-”
“Oh! Hang your common sense!” said Rob, who
had conceived a violent admiration for Wolfe. “One
touch of genius is worth oceans of it.”
“Wal, I don’t see no genius, and as for oceans, they’re
made for fishes, not for men—not for Rangers, that’s
sartin.”
And for a day or two there was a decided coolness
between the two old friends.
Wolfe had determined to scale the cliffs. But no one
knew of a place where a landing and an ascent might be
made with the secrecy necessary to the success of his
plan. One afternoon Wolfe had himself rowed up and
down the river, while he searched the rugged shore
through his glass. Landing on the southern bank about
a mile and a half west of Quebec, he suddenly caught
sight of a narrow footway zigzagging up the opposite
cliff, disappearing here and there among the stunted
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ROB THE RANGER
Rob held his breath: was all well? The sentry said
never a word more.
Rounding a point, the boat came to Anse du Foulon.
There no sentry awaited them. The boat grounded gently
on the beach: the twenty-four landed, and in single file
began to climb the steep overgrown path up the face of
the cliff. Not a sword rattled: not a musket struck the
rock; up, up they clambered, sometimes hauling them-
selves by overhanging boughs, making no more noise
than might have been caused by the rustling wind, some-
times scrambling on hands and knees. They neared the
top. In the dim sunlight they saw the clustering white
tents. They sprang to the summit; they dashed for the
tents; careless Captain Vergor, leaping from his bed,
was shot in the heel as he turned to flee, and with half
his men fell captive to the amazing enemy.
Silence was no longer endurable. The musket-shot,
the huzzas of the twenty-four, told \/Volfe that the post
was captured. At his word the eager troops sprang
ashore, and they, too, leaped up the cliff, man vying
with man. Wolfe himself dragged his weakly body up
the rocky path; and, as the gray dawn rifted the sky,
he was forming up his gallant-redcoats and bluecoats
in ranks three deep, on the grassy Heights of Abraham
not a mile from the city.
Meanwhile Montcalm had passed a restless, sleepless
night. What did this cannonade from the ships and the
southern shore portend? Did the enemy intend to land
and once more dash themselves against his impregnable
intrenchments? Hark! There is the rumble of cannon
far away to the west, on the Sillery Road. What is
happening there? Why has he not received a message?
Uneasy, he mounts his horse and rides to see. A band
of panting Canadians meets him. “The English are upon
us !” Impossible! He rides on, gallops over the St.
340


ROB THE RANGER
yards between the forces when, at the word of command,
the British halt; another word, and a crashing volley,
sounding like the roar of a single cannon-shot, flashes
from their rock-like line. While the advancing horde
is hidden by the smoke, another volley sputters among
its ranks, and for a few minutes there is scattered firing
on either side.
The smoke rolls away, the curtain lifts on a woeful
scene. Great gaps have been broken in the ranks of the
F rench; men lie in heaps, the white coats dabbled with
red. The gay shouts of defiance yield now to the shrieks
and moans of men in anguish, and the frantic cries of
oflicers trying to stay the panic. Across the field the
gallant Montcalm gallops on his black charger, com-
manding, adjuring, beseeching his children to stand for
the honor of France. In the midst of the confusion
Wolfe, running on foot in front of his lines, shouts the
order to charge. At that moment the sun breaks through
the drifting clouds, flashing on Wolfe’s uplifted sword
and the bayonets of the grenadiers and the claymores of
the Highlanders as with exultant roar they spring for-
ward upon the foe. A shot from one of the sharp-
shooters lurking among the ripe corn on the right strikes
Wolfe on the wrist. Binding his handkerchief about it
he races on. Another shot pierces his groin; he loses but
a pace and presses on, still foremost in the charge. A
third shot smites him full in the chest. He staggers,
recovers himself, stumbles, and falls to the ground. Up
runs Lieutenant Browne of the grenadiers with one or
two others; they lift him in their arms, and bear him but
a few paces to the rear.
“Let me down l” he says, panting from his shattered
lungs.
“I will bring a surgeon,” cries Browne, as they lay
him on the grass.
342


REUNITED
So far from showing fear, or even uneasiness, at the
encounter, th'e Indian displayed unmistakable pleasure.
Speaking in his broken French, he told Rob a story which
first interested him, then banished all thought of present
rest. When he slipped from the hut, the Abenaki had
made straight for Ticonderoga, and fell in with a band
of his countrymen who were returning to the fort in high
feather at the number of scalps they had taken from
Rogers’ hapless force. He had kept his eyes open for
Le Loup, but saw nothing of him until a few weeks before
this meeting, when, going with his tribe into Quebec, he
casually met the half-breed in the street. Le Loup, in
manifest fear of his vengeance, had had him expelled
from the city.
But he had hung about, always hoping for an oppor-
tunity to avenge his murdered father. When the city fell,
Le Loup, a past master in the art of saving his skin, had
been among the first to flee to the shelter of the ]acques-
Cartier Hill. He had lost his all. But he still hovered
about in the hope of securing something out of the wreck,
and had been found useful by Maurin, the hunchback, in
a like purpose. The Abenaki had just learned that, in-
stigated by Maurin, Le Loup, with a band of despera-
does, partly half-breeds, partly Indians, was about to
make an attack on the house of an old seignior, who,
almost alone of the Canadian land-owners, had remained
on his estate when the rest fled to the city. His motive
was easily explained. His manor lay in a secluded
region, far from the river-bank, and he must have known
that, if he carried his wealth into Quebec, he would
have small chance of preserving it in the parlous state to
which the city was reduced. And he was believed to have
great stores of money secreted on his premises. The
attack was to be made soon after sunset that very
evening, and the Abenaki had set out, intending to steal
347


REUNITED
me. If I had only been able to speak French I might
have persuaded them to do something to release me, but
my old tongue refused to pick up more than a few com-
mon words. And so all through these months. I have
eaten my heart out, waiting for news of the siege. The
seignior couldn’t bring himself either to risk his hoard
by removing it to Quebec, or to leave it. And when
the attack of those ruflians startled us, I could not do
less than repay his care by helping in the defense of
the house. When I heard that the city had fallen, I
knew it could not be long before some of my countrymen
found me out; and to think that it is my own son!”
Mr. Somers’ amazement may be imagined when in
turn he became listener. His breath was fairly taken
away as he heard of the pursuit of Will’s captors, the
ambush on the Oswegatchie, the imprisonment in Que-
bec, the rescue of Will and all that had happened since.
“A Ranger!” he said. “You’re cut out for something
better than a Ranger. Will wants to be a soldier, you
say! And so he shall. If good honest New England
money can buy him a commission, he shall have it, if I
have to go and see King George himself. But you,
Rob—I must think of you. I shall make it my business
to see General Townshend as soon as I can.”
They were still talking when Pete came to the door.
Mr. Somers had as yet barely greeted him, but he now
rose from his chair and advanced with outstretched
hands.
“You, my dear friend, I must thank—” he began; but
Pete made a gesture that drew the attention of all and
arrested his speech.
“The old man’s a-goin’ home,” he said gravely. “I
done what I could, but his works is run down. He’s oif
on the lone track, sartin.”
They followed him from the room. The seignior lay
353


ROB THE RANGER
pallid on his bed, his inseparable snuff-box at his hand.
He smiled faintly as he saw and recognized Rob.
“You came—to pay your debt, Monsieur,” he mur-
mured. “It is paid.”
“I owe you another, Monsieur,” said Rob. “You kept
my father safe for me.”
“Eh! your father! The prisoner Brown !”
“He is my father, Monsieur.”
“The debt is on my side,” whispered the old man
feebly. His eyes wandered; his lean fingers scrabbled
on the counter-pane. Then suddenly fixing his gaze on
Rob, he laid his hand on his snuff-box, and, in his old
hurriedly cordial way, he said:
“Take a pinch of snuff.”
354


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