"The villains!" roared Baker. "And is that one of them?"

"He was with the party. But I truly believe that he had little to do with this dastardly work. He's only a poor surveyor body."

"We'll find shelter with some neighbor for Mistress Harding and the little ones," said Baker, "and then attend to his case without delay."

But the widow was not minded to leave her homestead. It was not yet very cold and the hovel in which the children had had their frolic a fortnight before was easily made comfortable for the family. She set about this at once while Captain Baker and the neighbors sat in judgment upon the trembling surveyor. These impromptu courts held by the Green Mountain Boys when they happened to capture a Yorker guilty of meddling with the settlers, were in the nature of a court martial. Sometimes the sentences imposed were doubtless unjust, for the judges and juries were naturally bitter against the prisoners; but the punishment seldom went beyond a sound whipping, and in this case the surveyor, still sputtering and objecting to the illegal procedure, was sentenced to two score lashes, save one, and Enoch and Bryce selected the blue beech wands with which the sentence was to be carried out.

The surveyor was taken behind the log barn, his coat and shirt stripped from his back, and Bolderwood and one of the other neighbors fulfilled the order of Captain Baker as judge of the military court. Bolderwood, remembering the tears the prisoner had shed when he thought the family burned alive, could not be too hard upon him, and although the woodsman made every appearance of striking tremendous blows, he scarce raised a welt upon the man's back. But when the other executioner laid on for the last nineteen strokes, the surveyor roared with pain and without doubt the lesson was one which did him good. It would be many a day before he ventured to survey the lands east of the Twenty-Mile Line—at least, not until his back stopped smarting. Finally he was given his clothing, and part of the band marched him across country to the New York border and turned him loose.

The attack of Simon Halpen upon the Hardings had practically failed. Yet the loss of their home was a sore blow. In a couple of days, with the help of Bolderwood, the old hovel was made very habitable. But it was small and so many of their possessions had been burned that even Bryce cried about it. Nevertheless their supply of food was all right, and the cattle had not been injured. Also, with Bolderwood's assistance, the three bears which the boys had so happily killed, were brought home, the hams smoked, some of the meat salted, and the pelts stretched and dried for winter bed coverings. By the time the snow lay deep upon the earth the Hardings were once more comfortable.

The boys did very little trapping and hunting that winter of '72-'73 for they could not attend to traps set very far from the ox-bow, and the Walloomscoik country was becoming scarce of game. 'Siah Bolderwood did not go back to Old Ti, either, but contented himself with making short hunting trips around the lower part of the lake, for he spent all the time he could spare in helping the widow and her boys to get the timber ready for their new abode. Enoch and Bryce were determined that this new structure should be much better than the log cabin which their father had erected ten years before, and every timber dragged to the site by the slow moving oxen was squared with the broad ax and carefully fitted so as to "lock" at the corners. Some planks were sawed at the mill and sledded to the ox-bow on the ice, too, and when the plaintive call of the muckawis—the Indian name for the "whip-poor-will,"—ushered in the spring, a noble company of Green Mountain Boys gathered to build the widow's house again.

Although the new house was put up and made habitable in about ten days, it took some time to fit window-frames, build two partitions, for there were to be two sleeping chambers on the ground floor in this house, which was larger than the old structure, and lay the floor of the loft, build bunks to sleep in, make a new meal chest and dresser, and construct other articles of furniture which were needed to replace the stuff burned in the fire. Enoch had a mechanical turn of mind and Bryce made an able assistant. Between them they turned out a new table, several chairs with hide backs and seats, and even essayed a "rocker" for their mother which, although rudely built and with its rockers not exactly even, was declared by Mrs. Harding to be a marvel of workmanship.

All these things had to be done besides the regular work of the farm during the spring and summer, and the studies of the older boys were rather neglected that year, greatly to the delight of Bryce. Indeed, several of their mother's precious books had been destroyed by the flames, and had it not been for the sorrow he knew she felt at their loss, Bryce would have openly expressed his satisfaction. He was born for the woods and fields, and although he made no objection to farmwork, it was plain that his father's roving disposition had entered strongly into the make-up of the lad.

He still felt injured—indeed, the feeling grew with his own growth—because he was not allowed to join the military companies; but Mistress Harding had finally promised that if he could trap enough game the next winter to pay for a new gun—a rifle instead of the old musket which had once been Nuck's and which their father had brought with him on his return from the French wars—he should be allowed to attend the Bennington drills. That was putting the privilege a year ahead, but Bryce was partially contented with it.

Lot Breckenridge had finally been allowed to join the Green Mountain Boys and so Enoch had somebody in his company near his own age. On several occasions there were frolics in the neighborhood to which the young people foregathered, and before the new house was built Lot and Enoch had gone on a very brief hunting trio. But as fall again approached the two friends, Lot and Enoch, planned to go trapping on the upper waters of the Otter and its branches as soon as harvest and hog-killing should be over and the winter really set in. Lot had several steel traps which had belonged to his father, and Enoch was likewise supplied. Both had canoes, but they agreed to use Enoch's only, as one was all they cared to "pack" over the portage to the upper Otter.



CHAPTER XIII

THE WOLF PACK

Meantime throughout the Grants the line between the Whigs and Tories had become more distinct. Although it had been forbidden for any person to hold office or issue writs under advice from New York, in certain sections where the Tory sentiment was strong, New York justices continued to write papers of ejectment against the Hampshire settlers, and other Yorkers were found to serve the documents and on occasion to drive helpless farmers and their families from their homes. These affairs went on openly in the town of Durham, which was a Tory stronghold.

Justice Benjamin Spencer was the principal official who dealt out the New York brand of justice in this town, and he resided in the village of Clarendon. Early in the fall Ethan Allen and a force of Green Mountain Boys, appeared at Clarendon and read to the people the resolutions passed by the Bennington Council to the effect that no person should do any official act under New York authority, and that all lands should be held under title from New Hampshire. The Durhamites were threatened that, if they refused to comply with these orders within a reasonable time, they would be made to suffer for their temerity. At this visit Judge Spencer absconded, remaining away from home until he was sure "the awful Green Mountain outlaws" had decamped.

Enoch and Lot planned their start into the woods in November, and they were nearly ready when the second raid on Durham was proposed. The boys knew that the matter had been discussed by Colonel Allen and the other leaders for some time, for Justice Spencer still continued to disobey the orders of the Council of Safety, and the matter could not be ignored. It was past the middle of November when the commander of the Green Mountain Boys and some of his followers set out in the direction of Durham, and Lot and Enoch hurried their own going, determined to hide their canoe when once they reached the Otter and join in the descent upon Clarendon village.

It was eleven o'clock at night, November 20th, that Colonel Allen, Captain Baker, and more than a score of their friends, entered the settlement with all the care and circumlocution of Indians. Nuck and Lot Breckenridge had joined the party at supper time in a certain rendezvous of Allen's in the woods, having hidden their canoe and traps on the bank of the Otter several miles away. The attacking force of Green Mountain Boys was heavily armed and might have been bound upon an expedition against Fort Ticonderoga itself, one might imagine. But a show of force was thought to be necessary to overawe the Yorkers who made up more than half the population of the village.

The Green Mountain Boys awakened nobody in their approach to the house of Justice Spencer, until the leader himself thundered at the door and demanded that the New York official come down. After some parley, and seeing that there was no help for his case, Spencer descended and, as the next day was Sunday and nothing could be done then, the prisoner was hidden in the house of Mr. Green, some mile and a half from the settlement, until Monday morning. Early on that day, a still larger force of Grants men having gathered, as well as settlers whose titles had been derived from New York, Justice Spencer was taken to the door of his own house and tried.

The inquest, with Allen, Warner, Baker, and Cochran, sitting in judgment, was carried forward with all due formality, although the judges were the principal accusers of the prisoners, and the sentence was finally pronounced that the prisoner's house be burned and he himself give his bond to not again act as a New York justice. At this the doughty justice broke down, for he plainly saw that his captors were quite able, and in the mind, to carry out the sentence. He told the court that if his house were burned his store of dry goods and all his property would be destroyed and his wife and children made destitute.

"And have you and your like not made many of our friends destitute?" cried some of the crowd. But more showed some heart for the justice, notably Captain Warner. Warner finally suggested that as the dry goods store was a public benefit and was one of the few stores in the township, it should be saved if possible; and it would be too hard at that time of year to turn the man and his family out of their home. He declared for taking off the roof of the prisoner's house and then putting it on again, providing that Spencer acknowledged that it was put on under a New Hampshire title, and that he would purchase the same at once. Spencer, who might have felt some gratitude by this time, promised compliance in every particular, and with great shouting and good-nature, the roof of the house was lifted off and then put on again. And the lesson to the Durhamites was a salutary one.

Enoch Harding and his chum left immediately after the settlement of the case and returned to their canoe. They feared the approach of a storm which threatened, and were desirous of building their winter camp and getting their traps set before the forest would be full of snow and the streams completely frozen. Both boys were very good woodsmen by this time, for Bolderwood had been Enoch's mentor and Lot's uncle was an old ranger who knew every trick of the forest and trail. They selected a heavily wooded gulley not far from the Otter and built there a log lean-to against the rocky side-hill, sheltered from the north and open to such sunshine as might penetrate the forest. The traps were set along the bank of the stream, some of them in the water itself, where the boys' sharp eyes told them that the fur-bearing game of which they were in search, were wont to pass.

A fortnight after the Durham riot, as the Yorkers were pleased to call the visit of the Green Mountain Boys, the two friends were very cozily fixed in the gully. One heavy snow had fallen, and their traps had begun to repay their attention most generously. Then the Otter froze over solidly and they had to keep the ice open about their traps with the axe. They were in a lonely piece of wood and day after day saw nor heard nobody but themselves. The bears had taken to their long winter sleep; but the fierce catamount was still abroad, and at night the howling of the wolf-pack as it followed some hard-pressed doe or decrepit buck, reached the boys' ears. And at that day the timber-wolf of the Green Mountains—a long, lean, gray creature as big as a mastiff—was much to be feared.

The traps stretched so far along the creek that if one went out alone to examine and bait them, almost the entire day was consumed. The boys did not possess ice-runners, or skates, with which they might have skimmed over the frozen creek and visited the traps in a couple of hours. Each had brought a pair of snow-shoes, but these were of no use on the creek. So baiting the traps was no easy task. Usually they divided the work between them and thus got it over and had time to stretch and scrape their pelts in the afternoon. One day, however, Lot remained at camp to make some repairs on his clothing, and Enoch set out early to go the rounds by himself.

It had been a very cold night and the ice was frozen solidly about the traps. The catch had been good, too, and both of these facts delayed the young trapper more than common. There were fish lines to examine, also, for some of the traps were baited with fish which was considered particularly tempting food for certain of the beasts they wished to catch. It was long past noon when Enoch got back to the camp for dinner, and then he had gone over but half the line of traps. When he started in the other direction after hastily eating the meal, he knew he should be out until past moonrise, and told Lot so.

"I'll come and meet you," said his campmate.

"No need. Reckon I can find my way back alone," said Enoch. "The moon'll be up by seven and it's nigh full."

It was so, yet Enoch had no thought when he left the camp that he would be as long delayed as he was. It was full moonrise, before the boy had examined the last trap. He had a goodly load on turning his face campward and was glad of the company of his rifle as he heard the wolves clamoring in the forest. The bitter cold would make them ravenous by now, for many of the more easily caught animals had retired for the winter, while the strong crust on the snow enabled the deer to outdistance their shaggy enemies. While still three miles or more from camp he heard the beasts howling so savagely that he really became alarmed and would have thrown down his pack and run had he not shrunk from so betraying his fear to Lot.

He knew, too, by the nature of the wolves' cries that they were close on the track of some quarry, and that it could not be his trail they were following, for they were approaching the creek through the timber on the western side of the stream. But the sound of the chase drew rapidly nearer, and desperately as Enoch hurried he could not distance the pack. The western bank was high and sloping just here and with anxious eyes the boy looked up the white incline, where the trees stood rather far apart, to catch the first glimpse possible of the wolves and their prey. Suddenly there came into view several dark objects moving swiftly over the snow. One was ahead, flitting from tree to tree, its identity almost indistinguishable at first. Then, with almost a shriek of horror, Enoch recognized the wolves' quarry as a human being!

The pursued was on snow-shoes and coming to a steeper part of the creek bank, at once slid down to the ice. After him, their red tongues hanging to their breasts, and baying at every leap, came a round dozen of the ravenous creatures. Enoch saw that the unfortunate man was armed with a gun, but that evidently the weapon had been injured in some way, for he did not make use of it to beat off the wolves. He limped as he ran, too, and the young trapper saw plainly that the pack would overtake and pull him down in a very few moments.

Once upon the ice the beasts spread out and almost surrounded him. While he limped on most awkwardly, the strong, sharp claws of the wolves helped them over the surface and soon the leader—a gaunt, gray monster with cropped ears and scarred back—leaped to seize the prey. Enoch, without a thought of his own danger, had hurried on, re-priming his rifle as he ran; but he was scarcely within fair gun-shot when the wolf leaped. The beast caught the fugitive by the shoulder, and its weight dragged the man down. He tripped upon his snow-shoes and in an instant was falling face-downward on the ice with the pack of hungry beasts fighting above him!

Enoch fired his rifle into the midst of the pack as he ran, but although one of the wolves rolled over, kicking convulsively upon the ice, the others scarcely noticed the attack. So eager were they to get at the quarry which they had followed far, that the shot did not frighten them. But the boy was among them in a moment, his gun clubbed, and a fierce desire in his heart to slay the horrid beasts.

He really thought the fallen man was killed, and his attack was inspired wholly by a desire for revenge. He laid about him with the gun-stock in a most furious fashion, and the wolves were soon cleared from above their prostrate victim. His attack quelled the courage of the pack for a little, and even the leader shrank away, howling dolefully. But the respite was not sufficient to allow Enoch to reload his gun.

When the brutes fell back, the man upon the ice showed that he was by no means dead, though his exhaustion was plain. He struggled to his knees, and reaching up seized the hunting-knife from Enoch's belt, and the small axe with which the latter had cut the ice away from his traps. With one of these weapons in each hand he crouched in readiness to defend himself when the wolves should renew their attack.

And he had not long to wait, for both hunger and natural ferocity urged them on. Suddenly the leader, with a savage snarl which fairly turned the blood cold in Enoch's veins, cast itself full at him!

Raised upon his hind legs the old timber-wolf, the hero of a thousand fights with other pack-leaders, or with the young upstarts of his own tribe, was fully as tall as his antagonist. The sight of its wide red jaws, from which the froth flew as it does from the lips of a mad dog, the gleaming yellow teeth, the capacious throat which seemed fairly to steam with the fetid breath expelled from the beast's lungs, almost overcame young Harding. For the moment he was enthralled by the terrifying appearance of the wolf, and his arms lacked the strength necessary to swing his gun.



The charge would surely have overborne him had Enoch not slipped upon the ice as he shrank back, and providentially he fell upon one knee. The wolf had sprung at his throat and the pioneer lad's sinking to the ice caused the beast to leap clear over both the human actors in the drama. But as its lean gray body flashed past, the stranger reached up and with Enoch's keen hunting-knife slit a great wound in the exposed body. A wild yell rose above the clamor of the pack and the old wolf rolled over and over on the ice in the agonies of death, the blood spurting from the wound at every pump of its heart.

Instantly half the pack sprang upon the dying leader, every male desiring to be master, and all doubtless bearing upon their own bodies marks of the wounded beast's displeasure. This change of front enabled Enoch to recover both his equilibrium and his presence of mind; and when the other beasts gathered courage to attack him in turn, he was ready to beat them off with his gun and to ably assist his companion in continuing the slaughter. The wolf he had first shot was attacked by its comrades, too, for at the smell and taste of blood the creatures showed all the characteristics of cannibals.

Nevertheless, Enoch and the man crouching at his feet, had all they could do to defend themselves from the charges of the remaining wolves. If the beasts sprang high the boy met them with long-arm swings of his rifle; if they fell short the axe or the knife flashed and the wolves limped away with savage howls, their blood dyeing the frozen surface of the creek. For yards about the besieged the ice soon had the appearance of a mighty strife and although he had only received a scratch or two himself, Enoch was well spattered with blood.

Hunger and the issue from their own veins drowned the natural cowardice of the canines. They charged blindly, and as fast as one went down beneath the blows of Enoch's gun, or was seriously wounded by his companion, another wolf sprang to the attack. Three already lay dead on the ice, torn limb from limb by their comrades, and three others limped upon the outer edge of the circle, seriously wounded; but still the fierce brutes sprang at their prey, and sprang again!

Involuntarily Enoch shouted aloud at every blow he struck, but his companion maintained a desperate silence. The boy did not cry out because he expected any aid; yet assistance was within call. A figure came running over the ice from up stream and the sharp crack of a rifle announced the approach of Lot Breckenridge, who had come out to meet his friend. Another wolf rolled over in the throes of death, to be seized by its companions and torn to pieces with horrid cries. Lot came on with shouts of encouragement and together with Enoch laid about him with clubbed rifle until the remaining wolves, their cries now turned to yelps of fear, stampeded from the scene of the battle and sought safety in the forest, from the edge of which they howled their disappointment at their antagonists.

It was Lot who first regained his breath and spoke. "Zuckers! but that was a great fight," he cried, hugging Enoch in his joy at finding him practically unhurt. "But you look as though you had been killin' beeves, Nuck. And who's this with you?" The individual in question rose stiffly to his feet with a significant "Umph!" "Why!" exclaimed Lot, "it's an Injin—it's Crow Wing! Where'd you pick him up, Nuck?"

Enoch was vastly astonished to see whom he had befriended. "I had no idea who it was," he said. "How came you in this country, Crow Wing?"

The Indian, now grown to be a tall and magnificent looking warrior, was breathing heavily and had some difficulty in answering for a moment. He stood, too, on one foot, holding up his left one like a lamed stork. "Umph!" he grunted at last, "White boys in good time. Save Injin sure!" He gravely offered his hand first to Enoch and then to Lot. "Crow Wing lame. Hurt foot—break gun—wolves come howl, howl, howl! No can scare 'em; no can make fire; no can run good. Umph!"

"You'll have to go to our camp," said Enoch. "You can't travel on that foot. You've sprained or broken it."

Crow Wing nodded. He made no sign that the foot hurt him, excepting by holding it off the ice. "Some wolf pelts good," he remarked, sententiously.

Lot had already turned away to examine the dead beasts. Only two skins were fit to be stripped from the carcasses and added to the pelts Enoch had brought from the traps. The two white boys quickly obtained these and then, with the Indian hobbling between them, and leaning on their shoulders, the trio made their way to camp through the moonlight, while the remaining wolves slunk back to the scene of the battle and devoured their dead comrades.



CHAPTER XIV

THE TESTIMONY OF CROW WING

The natures of the white man and the red are so opposed that it was impossible from the beginning of our North American history that either should really understand the sentiments and desires of the other. In the eyes of the Indian the most stoical and repressive white man was little better than a garrulous old woman. The "Yenghese," as the Indians called the English, were less criticised on this point than were the French; but the latter, being an imitative race, more easily adapted themselves to the manner and life of the red man, and therefore won his confidence if not his respect.

Crow Wing displayed neither astonishment at finding the two white boys here, nor pain at the serious accident which had overtaken him. And it would have been a waste of time to urge him to explain more fully his being in this neighborhood. When he was ready to speak he would do so, and long after Lot Breckenridge was asleep, rolled up in his blanket and with his feet to the fire which blazed at the opening of the hut, did Enoch wait for the story. Crow Wing waited until he had slowly smoked out the little brass-bowled pipe which he carried with tobacco in a pouch at his belt. This pouch of tobacco and another of parched Indian corn, were all the provisions the ordinary Indian carried when on the march. The forest must supply his larder from time to time as he had need; and if game was scarce the red man went uncomplainingly with empty stomach.

"Harding and Lot found much pelt?" he said, questioningly, waving his hand at the bales of furs in the back of the shelter.

"So-so. We can't complain, Crow Wing. You were trapping, too?"

"Yonder," replied the Indian, pointing to the west. "Crow Wing look at trap; wolves met him; wolves very hungry; make much mad when hungry. Umph!"

"And they attacked you right away?"

"Umph! Me shoot; then club gun. Hit tree first time; break gun; then run some more. Catch foot and fall; much hurt. That all."

"Are you alone at your camp yonder?"

"Umph!" said the Indian, nodding affirmatively.

"You had better stay here till your foot's well. I reckon that gun can be repaired, too. Only the stock is broken."

The Indian's eyes gleamed, showing that this statement pleased him vastly. Crow Wing's "fire-tube" was his most precious possession. "Me thought no good," he said.

"I know of a man in Bennington who can fix it," declared Enoch. "Have you many pelts at your camp?"

On his fingers Crow Wing showed how many beaver skins, otter pelts, wolf hides, and other and less worthy furs, he had obtained. He also stated that he had three steel wolf traps and two beaver or otter traps which he had obtained from a farmer for whom he had worked.

"We can bring 'em all over here. Lot and I will go for them. You can't get around on that foot much for several weeks. It's bad. You 'tend camp and stretch pelts, while Lot and I look out for the traps. Then, when we go home, you take one third of the pelts."

Crow Wing thought of this silently for a moment and then held out his hand with gravity. "Good! Crow Wing go to Bennington with Harding and Lot; sell pelts there and get gun fixed. Umph!"

Although Enoch had suggested this scheme upon his own responsibility he knew Lot would agree to it. Really, it was a good thing for all three. Crow Wing's gun was useless, and his lame foot made traveling next to impossible for a while. But he could keep camp all right and look after the pelts. The traps the Indian had would be of much service to the white boys and would increase their own gains not a little. So upon this amicable basis the Indian joined the party and the next day Lot and Enoch, directed by Crow Wing, traveled to the Indian's camp and packed back both the traps and the skins.

The boys learned that Crow Wing's people now resided in New York colony, on the shores of Lake George, and that the young warrior had not been east of the Twenty-Mile Line since the raid of Simon Halpen upon the Widow Harding's cabin. By patient questioning Enoch learned that Halpen had lived for months at a time with the tribe, but that he was not an adopted member of it, and was not altogether trusted by Crow Wing's people.

"When burn cabin, old chief—my father—be told. Injins friends with Bennin'ton men; friends with York men, too. But Hawknose," the Indian's sobriquet for Simon Halpen, "sent away. He never come back."

"You have hunted with him?" said Enoch, with some eagerness. "You were with him that day—you know—long ago; the day the Yorkers came up to James Breckenridge's farm?"

Crow Wing made no reply for some time, gazing with gloomy eyes into the fire. Finally he said, speaking in an oracular manner, yet brokenly as he always did, for the English tongue was hard to him: "Jonas Harding not friend to Injin; Injin not friend to him. You friend to Crow Wing. You fight Crow Wing; fight 'um fair; when foot well we fight once more? Umph!"

Enoch laughed. "I'll wrastle you any time you like, Crow Wing. But you can beat me running."

The Indian, undisturbed, went on: "You not like father; you not speak Injin like he be slave-man; Injin free!" and he said it proudly, for the redskins looked down upon the negroes because they were the slaves of the colonists. "Hawknose no like Jonas Harding; he own your land; he buy it from Great Father of York and he buy it from Injin. All land Injin's once," he added, with a cloud upon his face. "Injin come with Hawknose to measure land; white man bring little thing to measure it; Jonas Harding throw Hawknose in creek and more white men beat him. White man, like Injin, feel he squaw when beat. Hawknose mad; tell Injin he kill Jonas Harding; drive you from land."

"But father was killed by a buck in the forest," said Enoch, carefully hiding the emotion he felt.

"Umph!" grunted Crow Wing, and would say nothing further at the time.

Lot, although he had been often a companion of the Indian when the latter lived near his uncle's farm, looked upon him just as he did upon Sambo, Breckenridge's slave boy. He had played with him, swam with him, learned to use the bow and arrow under Crow Wing's instruction, and had gained something of forest lore from the Indian youth; but he had no respect for him, or for his peculiarities. He had not learned at 'Siah Bolderwood's knee of the really admirable qualities of these people whom the whites were pleased to call "savages." Lot made no objection to Crow Wing's joining them, for his presence, and the use of his traps, was a very good thing for them. He patronized the Indian, however, and was not above suggesting that, as the redman was so ignorant, it would not really be necessary to divide the pelts in even thirds at the end of the season.

"The trader won't give him but about so much for them, anyway, no matter how many he offers," he said to Enoch. "You know how it is with them. Injins can't count and the traders fool 'em and cheat 'em. We'd better take some of his ourselves and so get some good out of them."

"That isn't honest, Lot!" cried Enoch, hotly.

"Huh! it's honest enough. We won't be cheating the Injin, for they'll do him no good. And there's no use in the traders makin' so much on him."

"Then we'll go with him and see that the traders treat him honestly," declared young Harding.

"Zuckers!" exclaimed the careless Lot. "Catch me putting myself out that way for a redskin."

"You're glad enough to use his traps, Lot!" cried Enoch. And the two old friends came very near having a falling out over the matter. Lot simply followed the example of the older settlers whom he knew. It was no particular sin to cheat an Indian. They were too much like children to look out for themselves in a bargain, anyway.

But as week followed week, Crow Wing's manner toward Enoch Harding showed that he had adopted him, Indian fashion, as "brother." Not that the red youth displayed any affection; that was beneath a brave. But he appreciated Enoch's respectful treatment of him. Crow Wing treasured this in his mind and, when the spring came, and they packed their bales of furs by canoe and hand-sled to Bennington, and Enoch took pains to make the traders pay the Indian quite as liberally as they did Lot and himself for his furs, his gratitude blossomed in its fulness.

Lot went home to see his mother; but Enoch took Crow Wing to the Harding house with him and gave him an old canoe in which the red youth could make his way by water and portage to his home on the shores of Lake George. Crow Wing did not go near the house when Enoch met his mother and the younger Hardings after his long absence; but he sat down to dinner with them and if he used his fingers oftener than his hunting knife to prepare his food it was not remarked, for forks were not always used by the settlers themselves at that day. His gravity awed the younger children, while Bryce admired his proportions openly. The Indian youth was certainly a magnificently built fellow.

Before he went away he sat beside the creek and silently smoked a farewell pipe while his white friend waited for his last words. Enoch believed Crow Wing had something to tell him regarding Simon Halpen and that the time for speech had come; but knowing his nature the white youth had not tried to hurry this confidence.

"Hawknose come here once more—what you do?" Crow Wing asked, when the pipe was finished.

"Simon Halpen is my enemy. If you have an enemy what do you do?" returned Enoch, with some emotion.

The Indian nodded. "Hawknose, Jonas Harding's enemy. No deer kill Jonas Harding. Hawknose yonder then," and he waved his hand toward the deer-lick at which the dead settler had been found three years before.

"How does Crow Wing know that?" queried the white boy, eagerly.

"Crow Wing there, too."

"You saw him——" began Enoch, but the Indian cut him short with an emphatic "Umph! No see. Hear shot. Shot kill doe. Jonas Harding kill doe. Gun empty."

"Yes, we found the gun and the dead doe. And there were marks of a big buck all about the place and father—was dead."

"Hawknose there," said the Indian, gravely. "Crow Wing see him—running. Pass him—so," with a gesture which led Enoch to believe that the running Halpen had crossed the Indian's path within a few feet. "He no see Crow Wing. He run fast—look back over shoulder. And blood—blood on shirt—blood on hands—blood on gun! Go wash 'em in river. Then run more."

"You saw him running away from the lick?" gasped Enoch. "But there were no footprints but father's near the place. Only the hoof prints of the big buck."

"Umph! Crow Wing no see big deer; no hear 'um. But see Hawknose run," said the Indian significantly.

"But I can't understand how Halpen could have killed him, Crow Wing. He did not shoot him, and if he had been near enough to strike father down, why did his moccasins leave no mark?"

The Indian rose gravely. "Some time we see. Crow Wing come back here. Harding go with him to deer-lick. Look, look—find out, mebbe."

"But after three years how can anything be found?" demanded Enoch, in despair.

"Will see," returned Crow Wing, and, without further word, entered the canoe and pushed out into the river. Nor did he turn about to look at the white youth once while the canoe was in sight. But he left Enoch Harding stirred to his depths by the brief and significant conversation. The youth did not understand how Simon Halpen could have compassed his father's death; yet Crow Wing evidently suspected something which he had not seen fit to divulge.



CHAPTER XV

THE STORM CLOUD GATHERS

Enoch scarce knew Bryce after his winter's absence. The younger boy had felt the responsibility of his position as head of the family pro tem and although he had lost none of his cheeriness and love of action, he had gained some cautiousness. His care for little Henry and the girls was delightful and Mrs. Harding was undoubtedly proud of him. Although kept at home almost continually by his duties, Bryce had been able to trap enough beavers to buy the rifle which he had long wanted and on the first training day after the roads dried up in the spring, he went with Enoch to Bennington and was enrolled in Captain Baker's company.

And during this year of '74 the train bands became of more importance than ever before. While in Boston and in other cities of the colonies, meetings were held in secret and companies of minute men were drilled by stealth, here in the Grants the Whigs trained openly, and the reason for it was known, too. The course of the foolish King and his ministers was widening the breach between the mother country and the American colonies until, when the Continental Congress met on September 5th of this year, royal authority was suspended almost everywhere but in the New York Colony. Within its confines were the strongest and most influential Tories, while the Dutch, who made up a goodly share of the population, although becoming good patriots in the end and warmly supporting the struggling nation which was born of that Congress, were phlegmatic of nature and slow to rouse.

During these months so pregnant with coming trouble, the controversy between the land jobbers and the Grants waned but little. The Yorkers had received so many sharp lessons, however, that they were careful to attack no settlers who were within reach of assistance from any body of Green Mountain Boys. And as Allen, Warner, and Cochran had many "hide-outs" in the hills, where they kept munitions of war and to which they summoned their followers by means which actually seemed to savor of the Black Art to their enemies, it was difficult for the Yorkers to know where it was really safe to carry on their attacks against the peaceful grantees. Being "viewed" became a most serious matter indeed, and many a luckless surveyor or other underling of the sheriff of Albany, carried the blue-seal of the Green Mountain Boys upon his person for months after an unexpected meeting with those rangers of the forest.

But the Yorkers kept away from Benningford and the surrounding district. More farms had been taken up there by Hampshire grantees than in other parts of the disputed ground and the reign of the Green Mountain Boys was supreme. The Hardings had been very happy since the building of the new house, and, as there had been a school established in the vicinity, the girls and Harry attended for six months in the year. Kate had grown to be a tall girl and looked like her mother, while Mary and Harry were becoming of considerable use outside of, as well as in, the house.

Enoch and Bryce cleared a piece of woodland that year and late in the fall there was another stump-burning. 'Siah Bolderwood came down from his "farm" near Old Ti to join in the festivities; but several of the young people who had attended the stump-burning three years before were not present. Robbie Baker was up north with his father, and Lot Breckenridge had moved away from the vicinity of Bennington; Crow Wing did not come to try his skill at wrestling with Enoch, so the latter sat by with 'Siah as one of the judges, for he was older than the other contestants. Lot's mother had married a man named Lewis who owned and worked a farm much nearer the Connecticut River, in the town of Westminster, and after his return from their winter's trapping the spring before, Lot had gone across the mountains to work for his stepfather.

Lot had always been his dearest friend and Enoch missed him sorely, and as he could not go trapping with him this winter, he agreed to visit Westminster for a fortnight or so, some time during the idle months. It was March when he started to cross the range and although the roads were still full of snow, he went horseback. A sleigh was a luxury that few Bennington people owned, although Nuck might have hitched the old wood-sled to Dobbin. He spent one night at a farmer's on the road, and was welcomed at supper time the next evening at the Lewis house.

"Zuckers!" exclaimed Lot, running out to drag his friend off his horse, "I tell ye, I'm glad to see ye! And so'll marm be—if the young uns don't bother her too much. There's three Lewis young uns, too, besides the baby, and I tell ye, they're a wild lot. I'd rayther tackle them wolves that you'n Crow Wing got mixed up with last winter. Seen the Injin since?"

"Not since I sent him home with more money than he had ever seen before in his life," replied Enoch.

"Very foolish of you! We might have had some of his pelts just as well's not."

"You don't mean that, Lot," said Enoch, who knew that young Breckenridge talked a deal more recklessly than he really felt.

"Well, never mind all that," said Lot. "Tell me the news. What's goin' on 'tother side the mountings? Did ye know that lots more red-coats had come to Boston? And they say—leastways, a pedlar that come through here told us so last week—that the Boston folks have got a lot of guns and ammunition stored in the country towns and the minute men are drilling day and night. Do you s'pose there'll be war there, Nuck?"

"If the Massachusetts people feel like we do here in the Grants, there'll be fighting," said Enoch, his eyes flashing. "What d'you suppose would happen if troops were quartered on us?"

"I'm goin' to Boston if there's a fight," declared his friend. "Mr. Lewis says I can. He's a nice man—marm's second husband—and he's strong for the Grants, too. He's got a Hampshire title. But there's lots of Tories around here. The court's goin' to sit next week an' there'll be trouble then, mark my word. Lots of the cases these Tories have hatched up against our people are goin' to be tried, an' the Whigs ain't goin' to stand it. Judge Chandler ain't so bad a man; but Judge Sabin and the others are dead set ag'in all our folks. They say the sheriff has sworn in a big lot of deperties. Mebbe you'll see some fun before you go back to Bennington, Nuck."

As Lot's idea of "fun" was pretty sure to be a scrimmage of some kind, it can be easily seen how strained the relations were then between the Whigs and the Tory court of the district. Whereas Tories and Whigs had lived at peace before, now they became bitter in controversy and even families were divided upon the questions of the hour.

Enoch found Lot's stepfather to be a very quiet, pleasant man, who made it a point to be at harmony with all his neighbors, yet whose personal feelings and opinions as a Whig were well known. Lot delighted in being where the older men of the community discussed the trend of public affairs and it was due to him that Enoch, the second night after his arrival, gained some little notoriety in Westminster by an encounter he had at the Royal Inn, kept by one John Norton.

The tap-room and parlors of the inn were occupied every evening at this time by the men of Westminster, and by certain visitors who had, for some days, been gathering for the meeting of the General Court. And all these visitors were not attorneys, or plaintiffs and defendants in the several cases which would come up for hearing before their Worships the justices. The sheriff was already at Westminster and there were more armed men about the town than had ever been seen there before at one time. Until the closing hour earnest discussions were carried on in the inn, for although the Royal, or "Norton's house" as it was called, was the headquarters of the Tories, many Whigs frequented it, too. Naturally, the young men and half-grown boys wished to listen on the outskirts of these groups, and Lot Breckenridge was desirous of hearing all that went on. Enoch went with him to the inn rather against his will. Mistress Harding did not approve of such places for youths and Enoch had not grown so old or so big as to wish to disobey his mother, or even to believe that she was less able to guide him than she had formerly been.

The inn was well filled, indeed, that night and Master Norton was bustling about from group to group, dropping a word here and another there, determined to keep all his guests pleased as maybe; for despite his Tory principles, the innkeeper was first for his own pocket and would not antagonize any man knowingly. Mine Host was particularly attentive to a party of ten or a dozen gentlemen who, having eaten, now sat grouped before one of the fires engaged in earnest, and somewhat noisy, conversation. The figure of the sheriff was the centre of this group.

Lot and Enoch stood with other young men within ear-shot and heard many remarks which plainly showed the affiliation of the sheriff and his friends to the Tory cause; and the party had dined so well that they were not particularly careful to modulate their voices so that others in the vicinity who might be of a different mind, should not overhear them. The sheriff was a pompous man who, when he spoke, commanded the attention of all about him. The dignity of his office rode him hard and his companions deferred to him almost servilely, for at that day such an officer was held in great reverence, especially by the King's adherents.

"These malcontents who would question the right of the King to govern them, should be punished, every man Jack of them!" the sheriff declared, looking about fiercely at his auditors. "I care not who they are, nor how high they stand. That Dr. Warren and Mr. Otis of Boston are gentlemen of education and position I grant ye; but they should feel the heavy hand of the law nevertheless—yes, sir! And some of these fellows who have gone to Philadelphia and are making such a rumpus there—they should be taught their place!"

"That they should, Master Sheriff!" cried one of his supporters.

"The King's men treated that Otis just right some months back," growled another—a man who sat back in the shadow of the high mantel and wore a cloak, the high collar of which half muffled his face. At the speech of this one Enoch, who had been dragging at the sleeve of his companion to get him away, ceased this and pushed forward himself. Something in the tone of the last speaker's voice had attracted his attention and he strove to see his features.

"They should be whipped—every man Jack of them!" cried the sheriff, repeating his favorite expression.

"Better let Ethan Allen and his boys beech-seal them, eh, Sir Sheriff?" cried some Whig on the outskirts of the group, and a laugh was raised among those of like feeling.

"We shall settle that villain Allen—we shall settle him, sir!" declared the sheriff, angrily. "The Honorable Court will punish these fellows who retain their lands without proper authority from the King and our Governor. There will be an overturn in these Grants ere long—mark my word, sir!"

"The dogs should be driven back to Massachusetts and Connecticut—where they came from," growled the man with the cloak.

"That's true!" exclaimed several of the group.

"Aye, and the time approaches when it may be done," cried the sheriff.

"But what think you Ethan Allen, Seth Warner, 'Member, and the rest of the boys will be doing, Sir Sheriff?" demanded the same Whig who had before spoken.

"They'll be clapped into Albany jail—that's what will become of them!" declared the sheriff.

"And a right good place for them," said he of the cloak. Enoch was still maneuvring to get a sight of this man, but the shadow of the high mantel was cast across his face. All the boy could see was the gleam of his eyes as he turned with an angry gesture toward the audience. "The boldness of these outlaws is astonishing."

"That Allen appears to have many followers," suggested a mild mannered man beside the sheriff.

"He is a bully; they fear him!" declared the former speaker, vigorously.

"How is that, John Norton?" cried the Whig, who evidently was a bold man to so flout the sheriff and his friends. "You know Colonel Allen personally. Should you call him a bully and say that he governs men by fear?"

"Not I!" exclaimed the innkeeper. "And saving your presence, sheriff, it would be a man of some stomach who would dare say that to Ethan Allen's face. As for these same Green Mountain Boys, it is not fear that keeps them together."

"I tell you they are a set of masterless villains!" cried the dark man, turning angrily about so that at last the collar of his cloak fell back. "They should be driven out of the colony and their houses burned to the ground——"

Suddenly he stopped. His harsh voice died to a whisper and his astonished companions looked at him in amazement. For a moment he seemed to have been frozen in his chair, and their eyes following his glance fell upon the white and angry face of Enoch Harding who had pushed through the ring of listeners. "And it is you who would set the torch to their homes!" exclaimed the youth, his voice shaking. "You already have one count of the kind against you, and if you ever come to Bennington again there'll be more than a beech-sealing awaiting you—you villain!"

Some of the crew sprang up in astonishment, and some in anger. "Who is that bold rascal, landlord?" demanded the sheriff. "Bring him here."

But Lot had fairly dragged the angry Enoch to the door and now pushed him out of the inn. "What's the matter with you, Nuck?" he demanded. "D'you want to get us all into trouble?"

"That's Simon Halpen!" exclaimed Enoch, panting with excitement. "I'd have flown at his throat in another moment."

"Zuckers!" exclaimed Lot. "The feller that burned down your marm's house? Don't blame ye for bein' mad. But ye don't wanter stir up a fuss here. Our game is ter lay low and let the Tories start the row if they're minded to. You'll see. Mr. Lewis an' some others is goin' to see the judges to-morrow an' try to keep the court from sittin'. They'll sure be trouble if the Tories bring our people before the court. We can't git no fair trial, so we won't be tried at all."

Enoch was very silent on the way back to Lot's house. The shock of seeing Simon Halpen again after all this time, had stirred the youth greatly. Despite the fact that the villain was so far away from the Walloomscoik, and would probably not dare go near Bennington, Enoch could not help feeling troubled by the circumstance of his presence within the borders of the Grants. And he was glad that 'Siah Bolderwood had promised to remain at or near the Hardings' home while he, Enoch, was at Westminster.

Under Lot's advice the two boys said nothing of the little scene at the inn and the next morning Mr. Lewis went with other stable men of the town to call upon the justices who would preside at the court when it met. The feeling between Whigs and Tories was so strong that all peace-loving men feared bloodshed. At the first blow a terrible civil war might begin—a war in which neighbor would engage with neighbor and the community be utterly ruined. And if the court sat and tried the cases against those settlers who refused to purchase New York titles to their lands, or to leave their homes at the order of the sheriff and his deputies, the battle would begin. Nobody could doubt that.

Despite the fact that the offices were held by the Tories, the Whigs were greatly in the majority. And this majority declared the will of the people should be upheld, and that will was that no court should sit until matters quieted down and the heat had gone out of the political veins of the community. They presented this matter strongly to the judges and warned them of what might be expected if the court undertook to sit at Westminster. Although staunch Tories, the judges were impressed by what was told them by the committee; Justice Chandler, indeed, gave his word that nothing should be done toward convening the court until time had been given the people to cool down. It was promised, too, that the sheriff and his men should not be given a free hand in the town.

With these assurances from Judge Chandler the committee of Whigs returned. To make sure that the sheriff, who with his men were spending every day and night at the Royal Inn, did not seize the court-house in defiance of the people's will, the Whigs sent a guard to that building on the evening of the 13th—the day before that set for the convening of the court. This guard, however, was armed only with clubs, and was set to keep the troublesome factions of both parties in order, and was recruited from among the better affected families of the town. Lot Breckenridge and Enoch were allowed by Mr. Lewis to join these volunteers.



CHAPTER XVI

THE WESTMINSTER MASSACRE

What March 5, 1770, had been to the people of Boston and the Colony of Massachusetts, March 14, 1775, was destined to become to the patriot citizens of Vermont. That date reminds them to-day of the first blood shed in the great struggle within the borders of the Grants—the first pitched battle between American yeomanry and the minions of a cruel and tyrannical king. Before the martyrs were shot down at Lexington was the Westminster Massacre—an incident which set the torch to the passions of the Whigs throughout the Grants.

Despite the efforts of Judge Chandler, who really was honestly bent on peace, the associate Judge Sabin and the fire-eating sheriff brought about that clash of arms, the stain of which was to be wiped out by nearly eight years of bitter war. The Tory officials and their henchmen gathered about the court-house when it was known that the Whigs had seized it, and threatened an attack early in the evening of the 13th; but apparently willing to abide by the decision of the chief justice, they dispersed after that worthy had promised the Whigs that nothing should be done to oust them from the premises until the following day. Chandler doubtless went to his repose, believing that his partisans would uphold him in his promise.

But the sheriff had other views. He had gathered a noble army at John Norton's inn. There were no Whigs there that night. They sought other houses of entertainment, or their own homes, for their leaders had counseled moderation. But the wily sheriff finally gave his orders, and those orders were inspired by Judge Sabin and other rank Tories. Separating as they issued from the inn into three bodies, the sheriff's men approached the guarded court-house from as many directions and were thundering at the doors before the Whigs were aware that such treachery was intended. There was not a fire-arm in the court-house, but when called upon to surrender the guard refused and strove to barricade the entrance.

Although the young men had expected nothing like this, they had not taken their duty lightly. They were of the best Whig families of the neighborhood and had not accepted the responsibility as a lark. Enoch became acquainted with one of his companions early in the evening who, because of his open face, free and gentle manner, and earnest conversation impressed the Bennington boy as being a youth of better parts than were most of the backwoods people. Lot told his guest that this individual was William French, the son of a Mr. Nathaniel French, a man well known and respected highly by his neighbors. Like Lot, young French was deeply interested in the affairs of the colonies, especially in what was occurring in and about Boston. He had planned to go to the Massachusetts colony and offer his services to the Committee of Safety there if war really became imminent, though he would go, Enoch saw, in a much different spirit from Lot's. Lot was eager for a fight for the fight's sake; but French realized the root of the trouble and espoused the cause of the persecuted colonists from principle.

It was eleven o'clock at night when the sheriff and his men attacked the Whig guards, and many of the latter were asleep. The uproar was great as the besieged tried to keep the Tories out of the building; but the latter were reckless and knew that they had to do with a practically helpless enemy. They forced an entrance, though the Whigs rallied well and delivered some telling blows with their clubs. These blows doubtless had much to do with what followed, for the sheriff's men became greatly incensed. All the lights in the house were put out and for several moments the antagonists fought in the dark. Enoch was not behind in the battle and was one of those in the front rank which strove to beat the sheriff's men back to the door. William French fought next him, while he could hear his friend Lot shouting encouragement not far away.

The Tories were under a disadvantage in the dark and some of those still without ran with torches and thrust them in, that the battleground might be illumined. At that the sheriff, spurred by rage and the smart of a blow he had received, cried to his men: "Fire! Fire at the rascals who defy the law's authority!"

Some of his men took him at his word and putting their pieces to their shoulders, they had been using them as clubs, shot blank-point into the group of opposing Whigs!

It was a terrible scene that followed. Several men fell about Enoch, and groans and cries rose from the wounded. A bullet had sent Enoch's cap spinning into the air, but he did not notice that. Young William French had fallen beside him and the Bennington boy stooped and caught the young man's head and shoulders from the floor that he might not be trampled upon.

Shouts and imprecations deafened him. The Whigs still fought, but some had already tried to escape by a side passage and were being brought back by the sheriff's men. That wicked man was calling upon the Whigs to surrender, and more than one shot was fired after that first volley.

Enoch, with the head of the bleeding youth in his arms, cried to those about him to move aside and bring a light. All were too much inflamed by passion to heed him for a time; but suddenly one man sprang forward and thrust a huge, brass-locked pistol into his own face. The boy was frightened, and strove to throw himself backward out of range; but the pistol snapped!

Providentially the weapon was either unloaded, or the powder was damp. Otherwise that moment would have ended Enoch Harding's earthly career. And in the flash of torchlight which was an instant later cast upon the scene, the startled boy recognized the dark features and hawk nose of Simon Halpen. The villain had sought him out and had striven to pay off old scores in that moment of confusion and uproar.

But the confusion helped Enoch to escape, too. Lot seized his shoulder and dragged him up from his knees. "Let him alone, poor chap!" he whispered hoarsely in his friend's ear, and Enoch saw that he was crying, "Let him alone. He is dead. Oh, these villains shall be punished for this—they shall be punished! War has begun, Nuck—and we have seen its beginning!" In his horror and despair Lot Breckenridge was prophetic. War had begun; the first blood of the revolution—antedating in its sacrifice the Battle of Lexington—had been shed.

Indeed, Lot and Enoch were fortunate to escape from the building, for ten of the Whigs had been wounded beside poor French, and seven of the remaining were taken prisoner. The town was roused and a great concourse of people gathered in the streets. The sheriff and his men were loudly execrated, and even some of the Tories expressed their indignation. The men who had done the deed were forced to remain under cover for the rest of the night while the alarm went into all the countryside and by daybreak the patriot farmers were pouring into Westminster—a horde of indignant citizens before whom the Tory officials trembled.

The very judges themselves were taken into custody and had not the better counsel of the staid and solid men prevailed, the sheriff and those who aided him might have been hung to a gibbet erected in the court-house yard. On the fifteenth Captain Cochran and forty Green Mountain Boys, who had been apprised of the terrible affair, marched over the mountain to arraign themselves upon the side of the Whigs if the matter should come to real warfare. But fortunately further bloodshed was averted, and never again did a Tory judiciary hold court in Eastern Vermont.

Enoch went back to Bennington with some of Robert Cochran's company. News of the Westminster affair had preceded him and the Catamount Inn was thronged with earnest men discussing the matter and various other news-packets which had lately come from other colonies. War with the mother country seemed inevitable and Ethan Allen and men of his stamp looked forward to it not without some eagerness. It was not that they were reckless and irresponsible, or did not understand the terrible situation in which the colonies might find themselves should the mother country send across the sea a great army. But in the coming struggle they beheld the salvation of their own people and of the Hampshire Grants.

Therefore, perhaps even previous to this time, immediately following the Westminster Massacre, these leaders had earnestly discussed the possibilities of war and what the Green Mountain Boys could do to further the cause of the colonies. On the shores of the beautiful lake which was the colonists' boast, were two of the strongest fortresses—or two which had been and could be made again the strongest—of the New World, Ticonderoga and Crown Point. At Old Ti were many stores and munitions of war and the place was held by a comparatively small guard of red-coats who had a great contempt for, and therefore small appreciation of, the valor of the colonials.

With these circumstances in mind Old Ti was already an object of the conferences of Vermont's leading men. Possessing that fortress, Crown Point, and Skenesboro, the lake would be free of British and the way to Canada open; and at that early date it was strongly believed by the patriots that the French descendants of the early settlers of Canada would join the Colonies in their fight for freedom.

Young Enoch Harding did not see the leaders as he passed through Bennington; but he was waylaid there a dozen times, and upon his road home, to satisfy the curiosity and interest of his neighbors in the Westminster trouble. Letters from Boston had roused them to the highest pitch, too. Nor were his mother and Bryce any less anxious to hear and discuss the news. Mistress Harding had lived within a few miles of Boston and felt a deep interest still in the people and the affairs of the Massachusetts Colony. That a foreign soldiery should have been landed on her shores fired even this good and gentle woman with anger, and when Bryce said he'd go to Boston, too, along with Lot Breckenridge, if there was war, she did not say him nay.

But the Hardings had little time to waste upon politics. The boys had to drop the drilling soon, too, for it came ploughing and seed time. 'Siah Bolderwood remained about the settlement rather later than usual that year; and mainly for the reason that public affairs were so strained. He said his own crop of corn which he intended putting into the lot near Old Ti upon which he "had let the light of day" could wait a bit, under the circumstances, for there might be occasion to "beat his ploughshare into a sword" before corn-planting time.

Therefore he was still with the Hardings that day late in April when Ethan Allen, riding out of Bennington into the north to carry a torch which should fire every farm and hamlet with patriotic fervor, reined in his steed at the door of the farmhouse. The children saw the great man coming and ran from the fields with Bolderwood, while the widow appeared at her door and welcomed Colonel Allen.

"Will you 'light, sir?" she asked him. "It has been long since you favored us with a visit."

"And long will it be ere I come again, perhaps, Mistress Harding. I am like Sampson—I have taken an oath. And mine is not to rest, nor to give this critter rest, until I have spoken to as many true men in these Grants as may be seen in a week. The time has come to act!"

"Reckon I'd better be joggin' erlong toward Old Ti, heh, Colonel?" remarked the ranger, leaning an elbow on the pommel of the saddle.

"You had, 'Siah, you had. We can depend upon you, and those red-coated rascals there must be kept unsuspicious and their fears—if they have any—lulled to sleep. I have one man already who proposes to put his head in the Lion's mouth and return—providing the jaws do not close on him—to tell us in what state the old pile of stone is kept."

"But what has started you out so suddenly, Colonel Allen?" demanded the widow.

"What! have ye not heard? There was a packet came from Boston yesterday."

"We have seen nobody this week," declared Enoch.

"There has been blood shed, friends," said the giant, earnestly, his eyes flashing and the color in his cheek deepening. "American freemen have been shot down like sheep in the slaughter!"

"Where? Who were killed? What was the cause? Who did it?" were some of the queries hurled at their informant by the little group.

"Fifty men, they say, were murdered. At Lexington, in Massachusetts. There were munitions stored there belonging to the militia. The British got word of it and marched from Boston to destroy the goods. They fired on our people at the bridge and when the poor fellows broke and ran they followed and potted them like rabbits! War has begun, friends. Nothing under the blue canopy can stop it now. American blood has been shed and I tell you it is but the beginning of the flood which must pour from our veins until these colonies are free!"

"Oh, Colonel! you do not believe that?" cried the widow. "Surely this trouble can be averted. Calmer and more honest men will gain control and prevail. War is an awful thing."

"True, Widow Harding. And well may you say it who have two sons to give for freedom. But mark my words, madam! Those two boys of yours will be needed, and if the Almighty spares them they will be some years older before either side in this controversy gives in.... Now friends, I must away. You know what is expected of you, 'Siah. Young Nuck, you'll be wanted at Bennington to-morrow."

"Oh, shall our people really attack Ticonderoga?" cried Kate. "The schoolmaster says that is the strongest fortress in the Colonies."

"Your schoolmaster is a bit of a Tory, I fear, miss," said Allen, smiling down upon her. "We shall have to 'view' him if he tells such tales in school," and waving his gauntleted hand he rode swiftly away from the homestead.

"I am off at once, folks," said 'Siah, beginning to make his pack for the journey. "I'll see you up near Old Ti, Nuck, for the Colonel means business sure! We may have some such doin's up there as your father and I had under Rogers and Old Put years ago."

He went away shortly and there was little the Hardings could do that day but talk over the wonderful news and let their fancy run upon the future. The widow saw that coming which she had feared for months, but she was cheerful. Nuck must go on this expedition to Lake Champlain, and she said it with unshaken voice. Bryce was to remain to guard the home, for there was no knowing what the result of the attack on Old Ti might be.

The alarming intelligence brought by Colonel Allen had its effect upon the younger members of the family as well as on the older, for late in the afternoon Harry came running to his mother with the information that there was a man lurking in the forest across the creek. The child had seen the stranger twice and being fearful that the man was there for no good purpose was much troubled. The older boys were in the field at work, but when the widow blew the horn Enoch came up to learn the cause, for it was not yet supper time. Hearing Harry's report he seized his rifle and went to the creek bank, approaching the spot very carefully, for he feared at once that their enemy, Simon Halpen, might have dared follow him from Westminster.

He had scarcely reached the creek, however, when he was apprised of the identity of the visitor. A head, in the black locks of which a tuft of eagle feathers was fastened, appeared above the bushes, and the next moment the person thus betrayed came out into full view and beckoned him. It was Crow Wing who had approached the Harding place through the forest. Enoch leaped into his own boat and paddled across, remembering the Indian's promise the year before to visit him at some time for the purpose of examining the vicinity of the spot where Jonas Harding had been slain.



CHAPTER XVII

THE CLOVEN HOOF

The grave face of the young Indian brave was undisturbed by a smile as he greeted the white youth whom he had not seen for more than a year. But he shook Enoch's hand with an emphatic "Umph!" when the latter sprang ashore.

"Crow Wing!" exclaimed young Harding. "I thought you had forgotten us in these parts. You've been away a long time."

"Umph! Injin no forget friends," remarked Crow Wing, sententiously.

"And you've come here to see me—'way from Lake George?"

"Umph!" was again the non-committal answer. "Harding and Crow Wing go hunt,—shoot deer? Crow Wing need new moccasins," and he thrust forward one foot on which was a ragged covering. But Nuck knew well enough the Indian had not traveled through the wilderness from Lake George merely for the pleasure of going on a deer hunt with him. But he said, doubtfully: "We're pretty busy just now, Crow Wing. Can't go far with you."

"Not go far. Plenty deer yonder," and he pointed in the direction of the lick where Jonas Harding had been killed. Nuck understood. "I'll go with you. Will you come across and eat supper with us?"

But the Indian shook his head vigorously. "Will eat yonder. Have meat. Harding get rifle and blanket. Will make fire."

He turned about instantly and plunged into the forest. Enoch was astonished by his manner and words, familiar as he was with the peculiarities of the red race. Crow Wing had never refused to eat with them before; he had always seemed to enjoy the "white squaw's" cooking. But Enoch had no fear that his one-time enemy was playing him a trick. He paddled across the creek for his blanket, told his mother that he was going on a torchlight hunt, with whom he was going, and without further explanation returned to follow his red friend. He had noted the direction the young brave had taken. The way led directly to that little glade where, nearly four years before, he had spied upon Simon Halpen, the Yorker, and Crow Wing had driven him so ignominiously home. There was a fire here now, but the Indian was alone.

An appetizing odor of broiling flesh greeted the white youth, for it was already growing dark in the forest and Crow Wing was preparing supper. Enoch did not open the conversation, but busied himself with making a couple of bark platters out of which they might eat the meat when it was cooked. He was anxious enough to broach the subject uppermost in his mind; but he knew Crow Wing better than to do that. Anxiety, or curiosity, were emotions which only squaws gave way to, and Enoch would not exhibit his feelings and so disgust his red brother.

Crow Wing was evidently a man of importance in his tribe now, and his gravity was far beyond his years. While they ate Enoch asked a question or two about his people, and if the decimated tribe, which had never recovered numerically from a scourge of smallpox, still resided near Lake George. He learned then that the Indians had struck their lodges and were journeying toward the northern wilderness. The old chief, Crow Wing's father, was dead, and the youth himself aspired to be the leader of his people. From a word or two he let drop and from his manner of speaking, Enoch judged that the older men of the tribe had some doubt of Crow Wing's ability to govern the braves; but evidently the youth had strong hopes of gaining their confidence—and that by some act in the near future. What his plan for advancement was, Enoch could not get his friend to tell.

"Why do your people leave the shores of the pleasant water?" asked the white boy.

"Injin not 'lone there now. Red-coat come; then white farmer. Push, push; crowd, crowd; no game. Injin starve."

"And where are you going?"

"To the hunting grounds of the Hurons."

"But then there will be war between your people and the Hurons."

"No; no war. Hurons be squaws—children; Iroquois master 'em. Then, war-hatchet buried between Hurons and Six Nations. Buried when French and Yenghese bury hatchet—long time 'go."

Enoch, with more than curiosity, yet speaking in a careless manner, continued his questioning: "What would the people of Crow Wing do if there was another war?"

The Indian flashed a sudden sharp glance at him. "How could be?" he asked, craftily. "Yenghese got many red-coats—much gun. French no fight more."

"Suppose we should fight the red-coats?"

"Umph! Me hear Long-guns" (the Virginians) "talk fight to Six Nations. No. Yenghese send too many big chiefs over water."

"Those big chiefs aren't always good," returned Enoch, quickly. "Your people remember General Abercrombie. He did not know how to fight in these forests. And there was Braddock; he was no good at all. He wouldn't have been beaten if he'd taken Colonel Washington's advice. I'd give a lot more when it comes to a fight for our Major Putnam, Mr. Washington, and Ethan Allen."

The Indian's face was gloomy. He had finished eating now and leaned back against a tree while he puffed the tobacco in the little copper pipe which was his constant companion. Not until the pipe was smoked out did he speak. "Harding my friend," he finally said, in his grave tone, repeating a formula which he had used so many times since the night Nuck had saved him from the wolves. "Harding my friend. Crow Wing know what is in his mind. He thinks to fight the red-coats—to take their great stockades; he is not afraid of their many guns. But he is foolish; he is as a child; he does not understand. Let him open his ears and listen to his friend."

The young chief had assumed that oracular tone and manner so dear to the red man in his counsels. His earnestness, however, impressed Enoch. "The white youth and his friends are angry with the great King across the water; they would kill his red-coats. But the red-coats are like leaves when the frost comes; they fall to the ground and so cover the earth; and it is thus with the red-coats for numbers. And the Six Nations will be with the red-coats; Crow Wing's people will be with them. If there is war we will take many scalps; we will come here," with a gesture, sweeping in the Bennington country, "and then Crow Wing and Harding not be friends. So Crow Wing come now to say to Harding, 'Good-bye.'"

"But why do not the Indians help us instead of the red-coats?" demanded Enoch, striving to speak calmly.

"The great King give us blankets; he give us powder for scalp; he give us gun. The red-coats let Injin fight his own way. And Crow Wing be great war chief!" he exclaimed, with some emphasis. It was plain that he expected to make his position with his tribe secure by his valor in battle, should the settlers and the British come to a rupture. He refrained from speaking longer, however, rising soon and covering the fire which he had kindled. Then, seizing a bundle of torches and his rifle, he motioned Enoch to follow and they set off through the forest toward the deer-lick.

Although he felt the utmost confidence in the fact that Crow Wing had not come clear from Lake George simply to give him this warning and to bid him good-bye, Enoch still remained silent upon that subject which the Indian's appearance had brought so forcibly to his mind. Through the darkened forest, in which the owls now hooted mournfully, the white youth followed the red without a word; every step was taking them nearer to that place where his father had been found dead so long ago. Crow Wing had spoken with some confidence the year before of being able to find, even at this late day, some sign which should disprove the generally accepted belief in the manner of Jonas Harding's death.

The brave soon reached the deeply worn runway which Enoch, on the morning he was introduced to the reader, followed to the creek, and soon the two came upon the little glade where the saline deposits in the earth had attracted the deer and other animals since such creatures inhabited the forest. Dark as it was Enoch could even distinguish the very tree out of which the catamount had sprung at him, and the murmur of the hurrying waters down the rocky bed reached his ear. Here 'Siah Bolderwood and the other neighbors had found the dead body of the elder Harding, apparently trampled and gored to death by the huge buck whose hoofprints marked the ground all about. Enoch had seldom passed the spot without a shudder—especially since he had so nearly lost his own life there.

Still the Indian made no comment, nor mentioned the real reason for which they had come to the lick. He wet his finger and held it up so as to get the direction of the wind. Then circling the lick and getting between it and the creek-bank, he flung down the bundle of torches and motioned Enoch back into the deeper shadow. With his own flint and steel, and using a bit of tinder from the leather pouch he carried, he lit one of the resinous torches. This he stood upright some little distance away, yet not too near the piece of ground where the creatures of the forest were accustomed to obtain their salt. Then, crouching beside his white friend, the Indian remained motionless and speechless for the next three hours. Once Enoch crept out and renewed the torch which had burned low; then he returned to Crow Wing's side.

All the sounds of the forest at night are not to be distinguished with ease. Even Enoch, bred in the wilderness and possessing much knowledge of wood-ranging, heard only the coarser sounds. Therefore he lay half dreaming for some moments after the Indian raised his head and lent an attentive ear to some noise which came from far away. The night-owl's hoot was intermittent; a lone wolf howled mournfully on the hillside; in the swamp a catamount screamed as it pounced upon its prey. But it was none of these sounds which had attracted the Indian's attention. Enoch suddenly roused to see Crow Wing softly reach for his gun and bring the weapon slowly to his shoulder.

The white youth already had his own weapon in hand. He tried to pierce the darkness beyond the flickering torch with his eyes, seeing naught at first but shapeless shadows. At length, however, the sound that had warned Crow Wing of the approach of their game, was audible to Enoch's much less acute ear. It was that of a steady grinding of a ruminant animal feeding. The creature was coming slowly nearer and soon the hunters could plainly hear it cropping the leaves and twigs along the path; then, having gained a choice mouthful, the grinding of the molars recommenced.

Suddenly the thick brush across the glade parted and the animal halted with a surprised snuff—one might almost say gasp of astonishment. The crash in the bushes betrayed that the creature had flung itself half around in its contemplated flight; then it hesitated; the flaming torch spurred its curiosity and, there being no movement in the glade, except of the shadows caused by the dancing flame from the fragrant pine, the startled creature was tempted.

And being tempted to the point of hesitation, it was lost! Slowly, blowing as it came yet drawing nearer and nearer to the light, the beast moved out of the brush into the open. Suddenly Enoch saw it—the branching antlers, the fawn-colored breast, the pointed, outstretched, eager muzzle, the great eyes in which the torch reflected a glint of fire. It was a magnificent buck, the largest specimen of the deer tribe the youth had ever seen. Suddenly Crow Wing jogged his elbow. A glance passed between them. Each understood the other's intention. The Indian fired, his ball entering just above the buck's breast and ploughing slantingly upward through the throat. With a snort of terror the buck swerved to one side and might have gotten away had not Enoch's shot found a more vulnerable spot behind the foreleg. The heart of the great deer was punctured, and it fell in the agony of death.

"Umph! Now Crow Wing have new moccasins," the Indian grunted, without emotion. But Enoch went forward, lighting a second torch the better to view the great buck. It was still now and outstretched on the earth looked even larger than when in life. The thought flashed through his mind: "Ah! perhaps this was the very brute—this enormous fellow with his hoofs bigger than those of a steer and his terrible horns—that killed my father here. Could it be possible?"

Looking upon this huge buck, noting its power and its fierce aspect, though the brute's eye was glazed by death, he wondered if, by any chance, he had been accusing an innocent person? This brute would have been perfectly able to kill a man. Naught but the hoof-marks of the deer were found about the body of his father. How, then, could Simon Halpen be in any wise guilty of his enemy's death?

But Crow Wing brought the white youth to a realization of present things. The Indian knew that their hunting was over for that night. No other deer would approach the lick, for the smell of the blood from the slain buck would warn its mates away. Only the creatures of prey would be attracted now. So he was down on his knees and had already begun to flay the dead carcass, and Enoch, seeing this, began to help him. It was near midnight, and when the hide was off, the tongue and the most tasty parts removed, Crow Wing built another fire, wrapped his blanket about him, and lay down to sleep.

But Enoch could not sleep. He had cut off and hung up near the camp a haunch of the venison to take back with him in the morning. They had removed so far from the lick that certain preying beasts dared quarrel over the remains of the noble buck until daylight; but the youth sat with his back against a tree and his rifle across his knees until the dimpling water of the creek was kissed by the first beams of the sun which shot over the distant range of hills. His thoughts were sufficient to keep him wide awake.

Enoch was not the first to stir; but Crow Wing, possessing the hunter's faculty of awaking at any desired hour, sat up and threw back his blanket. "My brother did not sleep," he said, looking upon the white youth with gloomy brow.

"No; I couldn't do that, Crow Wing," Enoch returned, sadly.

The Indian got upon his feet, threw wood upon the fire, and prepared to cook the deer meat he had reserved. They ate in silence as they had the night before. Never had young Harding seen the redskin act so strangely, for during the winter Crow Wing had spent with Enoch and Lot on the Otter, he had by no means been silent or morose. The white youth could not fail to see that something—something beside what troubled Enoch—bore heavily upon Crow Wing's mind.

After eating the Indian scattered and covered the embers of the fire and prepared to leave the spot. He went toward the lick where the deer had been torn to pieces by the prowling animals Enoch had heard. At the edge of the clearing he halted and attracted his companion's attention by a commanding gesture. "Harding's father found here by the tall white man," he said, simply.

"Yes. 'Siah Bolderwood found him," Enoch sadly admitted.

"Then we look—see how Hawknose kill him."

"But Crow Wing, it was four years ago——"

The Indian stopped him with a gesture of disdain. "Does my brother think we look for trail? No, no! The white man not find trail?"

"Of course not. There were only marks of the buck's hoofs."

Crow Wing pointed to the spoor of the dead buck made the night before. "Trail big as that?" he asked.

"Yes. It might have been this buck."

"No buck," declared the other, emphatically and then began to move about the open glade, examining each tree trunk as he went. Enoch did not understand his actions but he followed him. The Indian gazed upon each tree scrutinizingly, and no knothole in the rough boles escaped his attention.

When the tree proved to be hollow at its base the searcher experimented with his gun barrel, poking it into the farther extremity of the cavity and rattling out the decayed wood and the debris of squirrel nests and owl lairs. In several cases these creatures themselves were disturbed, the lively squirrels to run chattering up the higher branches, the owls lumbering away into the forest, bumping against the trees in their blindness, and hooting mournfully at the disturbers of their peace. All this time Crow Wing continued with an unmoved face. Not an interstice in the roots of the trees escaped his eye and to Enoch, who could not imagine what he was looking for, his actions seemed without reason. But he knew better than to ask him the nature of his search.

For two hours Crow Wing circled about the little glade. There was not a tree which escaped him, nor did any hollow go unexamined which was within reach of the tallest man. Crow Wing's face betrayed neither hope nor disappointment and therefore his companion could not tell how important this search was. The patience displayed by the Indian was all that suggested the object of his examination to be of any moment.

At length, in poking the barrel of his gun into the hollow at the base of a big tree Crow Wing disturbed some object which fell out upon the ground. Enoch, who looked over his shoulder could not at first imagine what it was. He saw several rotting straps attached to the thing, however, and as his companion with a grunt of evident satisfaction, began poking into the hollow still further, the white boy picked the object up and knocked the dirt and decayed wood off it. It was so strange an object that at first Enoch saw no connection between it and the matter which he and Crow Wing had discussed—Jonas Harding's death.

It was the dry and broken hoof of some ruminant animal—an ox, perhaps, for it was too large for any deer that Enoch had ever seen. It was even larger than the hoof of the buck he and Crow Wing had recently shot. And when the boy thought of that he was reminded of the hoof prints which had been found all about the lick when his father's body was discovered lying there. He uttered a stifled exclamation and drawing up one foot fitted the cloven hoof against the sole of his moccasin. The rotten straps or thongs would once have bound the thing to a man's foot. He might have stood upon it—walked upon it, indeed; and the impression left by this cloven hoof would naturally lead one to suppose that a big deer had been that way!

Enoch turned with sweating brow and shaking hands toward the Indian. Crow Wing stood upright again and now held a second hoof, likewise supplied with thongs, in his hand. They looked at each other.

"Umph!" grunted Crow Wing. "Now Harding know? See moose hoofs. Crow Wing know where moose killed—see moose killed. Hawknose kill much that winter; Hawknose hunt with Injins up north; then come back to crick. Harding 'member what Crow Wing tell him when trapping on Otter Crick? See Hawknose running; blood on clothes; blood on hands and on gun. Now Harding know how father be killed."

Enoch's eyes blazed with wrath. "I know, Crow Wing. I believe what you tell me. I see no other explanation of the affair. Give me those hoofs, Crow Wing."

"Harding keep them till he punish Hawknose?" queried the Indian.

"Yes."

The young brave pulled his belt tighter and prepared to depart. "Hawknose never Crow Wing's brother," he said. "Harding been brother. But now the hatchet will be dug up. The Long-guns cannot get the Six Nations to fight the red-coats. And the friends of my white brother will be beaten. They will become the squaws of the red-coats and of the great King across the sea. So my people will go north and join the red-coats." He shook Enoch's hand gravely. "Crow Wing and Harding been brothers; but when they meet again be enemies. Umph?"

"I hope we'll never meet again, then, Crow Wing," declared the white youth. "I hope there will be no war. More than that, I hope your people will not join the British if there is war."

But without further speech, or a glance behind him, the Indian brave strode away into the forest and was quickly lost to view.



CHAPTER XVIII

"THE CROSS OF FIRE"

Having at length been assured beyond peradventure that his suspicions were true, a desire for vengeance upon Simon Halpen sprang to life in Enoch's heart. He forgot the momentous matter which had filled his mind before the appearance of Crow Wing the evening before. He thought only of his father's murderer, the man who had tried to injure them all, even to the point of destroying their home and attempting to shoot himself.

As he tramped back to the house with the haunch of venison on his shoulder, he determined to tell nobody there of the finding of the moose hoofs which explained the mystery of his father's death. The hoofs he saved to show Bolderwood, and for evidence against Simon Halpen if the opportunity ever arose to punish that villain. It was easy to see with this evidence before him, how the awful deed had been accomplished. With the moose hoofs strapped upon his feet the Yorker had crept through the forest on the trail of the unconscious Jonas Harding; had seen him shoot the doe; and then falling upon him suddenly had beaten him to the earth with his clubbed rifle and had bruised and mangled him so terribly that the neighbors, at first glance, pronounced the poor man killed by a mad buck. Hurrying from the vicinity, dress and hands covered with blood as Crow Wing had seen him, Halpen had hidden the deer hoofs in the hollow of the tree, and escaped to Albany, his vengeance accomplished.

"But he shall suffer for this yet," thought the youth, with compressed lips. "God will punish him if the courts do not. And sometime he may be delivered into my hand, and if he is——"

The implied threat frightened him, and he did not follow it even in his thoughts, but by again turning his attention to the matter which Ethan Allen's visit the day before had suggested, he strove to bring his mind into better tone before meeting his mother. He feared that the expression on his features would betray something of his horror and determination to her sharp eyes. When he reached home, however, he found the family so greatly excited that nobody thought to either ask questions or to notice his behavior. A drill had been called at Bennington and Enoch was forced to saddle the horse and hurry away at once. Under the present conditions it was thought best for Bryce to remain at home, for if the Green Mountain Boys marched upon Ticonderoga the younger Harding could not be spared to accompany the expedition.

The Council was in session and the leaders of the Green Mountain Boys remained in Bennington for more than a week. Couriers had arrived from the south and east and it was known that the British were rapidly being shut up in Boston. The Massachusetts Colony was afire with wrath because of the Lexington massacre. The Grants people were quite as rebellious against the King's authority, with the sad affair at Westminster fresh in their minds. The proposal to capture the British strongholds on the lake met with favor everywhere. Small bodies of armed men began to come in and a camp was planned at Castleton. It was said that a large body of troops was to march from Western Massachusetts and Connecticut to aid the expedition. When Ethan Allen returned and heard of these reinforcements he immediately desired to bring in more of his own people for the work proposed.

"This is our work," he declared. "We have planned to lead this campaign and lead it we shall. We must show the southerners that we are one in heart and intention and therefore every able-bodied man in the Grants must come in. It isn't enough for us to have some men; we must have the most men and thereby control the expedition. We want the honor of it!"