The Bushfighters/Chapter 1
CHAPTER I
THE DAUGHTER OF THE ROGUE
LORD LOUDOUN of peppery temper was putting the finishing touches to his plans for reducing Ticonderoga and Crown Point, and within the space of one short year the ancient town of Albany had grown from a sleepy trading-post of Dutch burghers and smugglers to one of the most important military bases in the colonies. And this because of General Braddock's defeat the year before.
Albany in 1756 differed much from Albany of 1755. The same broad street led from the fort on the hill to the river, but the coming and going of regulars and provincials had turned the grassy sward into a dirty brawn thoroughfare. The town-house and guard-house, the two churches and the market-place, still held the middle of the main street with the same houses of Dutch architecture lining the sides.
Dust now marred the little lawns of green, and the good vrouws were in despair. The passing soldiery kicked up a rare mess of dirt and disorder. Soldiers were encamped on the plains above and on the meadows below the town, and soldiers were at all hours mounting and descending the hill; for Loudoun had ten thousand men strung out between the town and the head of Lake George, and had been assured by one of his subordinates that “Every wheel shall go that rum and human flesh can move.”
The bulk of the provincial troops were contributed by New England. These volunteers, going to fight the French for six shillings a month, with their rations including a daily gill of rum, wore blue uniforms with red facings, or coats of coarse blue cloth with red or blue breeches. Many of them, however, lacked such finery of war, and came in their rough workaday clothes.
Nearly all of them were farmers by occupation, and few displayed a soldierly bearing. Their coming and going infused new life into the town, and if they entered tap-rooms they also stood attentive while their chaplains daily preached to them from street-corner or in camp. Silent, lean-faced men as a rule.
The preceding year had been a bloody calendar of events. July had brought the tremendous defeat of Braddock's army, with the Pennsylvania frontier pushed back to Fort Cumberland on the Potomac, The three succeeding months had witnessed the failure of the expedition against Fort Niagara.
To be sure three forts had been captured in Acadia, but the colonies demanded an insurance against a danger nearer home. So the Summer of 1755 had been a dismal one, relieved only by the “bloody morning scout” before Fort William Henry on Lake George.
This affair, although it resulted in the repulse of Dieskau and in the capture of the baron himself, was only half a victory. So grateful were King and Parliament for any measure of success after the disastrous rout on the Monongahela that one made William Johnson a baronet while the other gave him twenty-five thousand dollars.
This recognition was generous inasmuch as General. Phineas Lyman whipped and captured Dieskau while his commanding officer was laid up in his tent from a wound in the thigh. War was not formally declared between-England and France until after their armies had clashed for a year under the ancient forests of the New World.
The dawning of 1756 found the western frontiers weltering under the tomahawk, while Ticonderoga, that “hornets' nest,” was spewing forth its hordes of Miami, Potawatomi, Ottawas and “French” Mohawks to carry horror and desolation from Lake Champlain to the very outskirts of Schenectady and Albany.
Day after day the troops left Albany and its environs, and more raw volunteers entered the town to stare at the quaint houses and to quicken the eye on beholding the gay attire of the Dutch maids, so different from the sad-colored gowns of the girls at home. These farmer boys were concerned only with the present and little realized the importance of their rôle in this, the Seven Years' War, which was to rock Europe to its center and pave the way for a giant republic.
The curtain went up on the second act when the colonies received Lord Loudoun as-commander-in-chief of his Majesty's forces in America. And never did a commander have a more grim and majestic stage on which to strut his little day. It extended from Vermont to the Great Lakes and included the valleys of the Mississippi and the Ohio.
The potentials of the struggle were beyond the ken of any man. Benjamin Franklin unwittingly anticipated future events when at the outset of the war he urged a colonial union. His plan was pronounced to be “too democratic,” and now England was sending her Grenadiers and Highland regiments, and heaping up an expense account the payment of which within a score of years was to produce a revolution.
Prior to Braddock's defeat the citizens of Albany never dreamed that the old order was soon to be changed in their little town. When the first provincials arrived in a riot of confusion, each colony jealously holding control of supplies for its volunteers, Albany people viewed the intrusion as something that would soon pass.
At the coming of William Johnson from Fort Johnson, accompanied by the fat Hendrick, most influential chief of the Mohawks, the knowing ones smiled. For it was common knowledge that although eleven hundred warriors of the Long House had held a four days' powwow with Johnson and had drunk much of his strong punch, not more than three hundred of them were for the war. Many of these were slothful on the scout, and would explain to their allies that they were present merely to observe how their white brothers fought.
This indifference was entirely natural as many of them had friends and relatives among the Caughnawaga Indians, consisting almost entirely of Mohawks and Oneidas who had renounced paganism, who were now fighting ferociously under the banner of Louis the Fifteenth.
During the first Summer of the war the old people sat on the porches and mumbled reminiscences of the “old days.” Lads and maids did their courting under the family shade-tree. The children, porringers in hand, sat expectantly in front of the houses waiting for the cows to come down the grassy street and halt, each before his owner's home, and be milked. The burghers smoked their long pipes and continued their trade with the Indians and indulged their knack for smuggling with the French across the border.
But all this was now changed. Good vrouws stared in amazement at the plaids and bare legs of the Highlanders, the gay uniforms of the regulars, and the occasional red and blue of the provincials, or the russet brown of the forest rangers. The growl of the drum and the pert, shrill boast of the fife drowned the mellow tinkle of cow-bells, and the sturdy young rascals, porringers in hand, were kept to the porch or in the back yard to escape being trampled upon by horses dragging ordnance and the heavy Dutch supply-wagons.
Never in the history of the frontiers had partizan warfare been waged so fiercely as now. The English, at the head of Lake George, had but few red allies and depended upon Robert Rogers of New Hampshire and his rangers—invaluable bushfighters—recruited from the colonies' picked men.
Under Rogers such men as Kennedy, Stark, Peabody, Miller, Waterbury, Hazen, Pomeroy; and, perhaps best of all, Israel Putnam, met and outwitted the cunning woodcraft of the motley redskins sent forth by Marquis de Montcalm, in command at Ticonderoga. Throughout the Winter this savage warfare had gone on, streaking the deep snows with blood, and now that Summer had nearly spent itself it was redoubled in its intensity. The scalp-yell frequently rose along the shores of George and Champlain.
Montcalm vowed he would push the frontier back to Albany. Loudoun swore he would hew a path down the Richelieu to Montreal. Montcalm's “hair-dressers” stole like shadows through the vast forests of pitch-pine and lay in ambush on the edge of alder-filled swamps, seeking to kill or capture the rangers.
Marquis de Vaudreuil, Governor of New France, developed a unique taste in bookkeeping, and lovingly added up his total of enemy scalps, and carefully listed and reported every coup of Caughnawaga or western warrior; for he was the frank champion of a system of terrorization.
The lack of red allies did not handicap the English so much as might be expected; for while Montcalm's savages captured or killed and sometimes ate rangers, also did they often refuse to obey orders. They spoiled many a pretty military maneuver by their greediness for blood-letting or by their lack of staying qualities.
EPHRAIM WILLIS, Connecticut born, lounged in the twilight before the town-house and softly cursed the August heat of the day and wished his superior would arrive and assign him to work. Ephraim had been sent to Albany from New York to serve under Captain Israel Putnam.
He had been through the Lakes George and Champlain country much before the war. He had seen much service on the Pennsylvania frontier and gained more experience in the Ohio country. What was also important, Captain Putnam knew his people; and neighbors preferred to fight and die by the side of neighbors in 1756. Ephraim's branch of the service was obvious at a glance, for despite the heat he wore a fringed hunting-shirt of dressed deerskin and a fur cap with a tail.
In place of the usual smooth-bore gun carried by the majority of northern rangers he was armed with the Kentucky type of rifle, perfected ten years before, and an ideal weapon for bush work. Rogers' rangers were less picturesque in garb, many of them wearing the rough, nondescript garments of the woodsman.
To the men loafing before the town-house Ephraim was an object of much interest. He replied readily enough to their frank questions, but displayed no inclination to volunteer information.
“From Virginny way?” asked a tall, raw-boned scout, his voice suspicious, for Virginia like Pennsylvania was lukewarm in sending troops to the north.
“Monongahela. Out with Colonel Washington when Braddock was killed.”
“Old Vaudreuil's sending eight thousand more reg'lars to Ticonderoga,” a youthful soldier nervously informed the company.
“How do you know that, lad?” asked Willis with a humorous smile.
“Well, the whole army says it. And more'n three thousand wild Indians from beyond Michillimack'nac.”
“Good! All the more for us to kill off,” mumbled Willis, his gray eyes sweeping up and down the dusky hill in search of some one.
“Guess we're in for a dressing if we don't git more men,” observed the tall scout.
“Don't you get licked before you get into the woods,” advised Willis.
“By Godfrey! I'll raise as much hair as you will even if you do wear a pretty quill shirt,” cried the tall scout.
Willis grinned into his angry face good-naturedly, then resumed his search of the long street.
“I heard my colonel say the rum won't hold out more'n four weeks. Pretty bad planning on somebody's part,” complained a man from Otway's regiment.
“Too much meddling on the part of the colonies,” agreed Willis. “Five different committees looking after supplies in place of one strong committee.”
There followed a few minutes of silence, the group apathetically waiting for something to spur on the conversation. Then Willis spoke up, asking—
“Who's seen Cap'n Putnam, of Rogers' Rangers, in the last day or so?”
“I see him here when Lord Loudoun come. He's up in the bush somewheres now,” said the youthful soldier.
“Old 'Wolf' Putnam,” chuckled the tall scout. “Lord, but I'd like to been there when he dug out that wolf! Guess every one knows Wolf Putnam. And ain't he everlastingly giving them French and Indians their dressing! Prowls round Ticonderoga like he was a reg'lar wolf and it was his own chicken-coop. What do you want to see him for?”
“Do you know, I'm thinking that that's what he's going to tell me,” gravely answered Willis.
“ poor planning when the rum will give out in four weeks,” bitterly persisted Otway's regular.
Willis turned a whimsical gaze on the lugubrious countenance, and his eyes danced with mischief as he said:
“I can tell you where you can git all the rum you want—enough to float a raft through Yes, sir! And it ain't far from here either.”
Instantly the group was at attention, although inclined to be skeptical. Otway's man eagerly demanded—
“If you ain't making game of us, where is it?”
“In Ticonderoga,” chuckled Willis. “Montcalm has enough there to keep all the Indians on the continent drunk for years. All you got to do is to take the fort, kill off the Indians, make the troops prisoners”
With a howl of rage Otway's man leaped at Wilis. The latter held up his rifle with both hands to block the rush and quietly remonstrated:
“Nay, nay, man! Not now. Wait a bit till after I've found Cap'n Putnam and got my orders. Then if your blood ain't cooled down we'll see about it. But it would be a pity for anything to happen to you when his Majesty needs such rugged fellows so badly.”
The regular stared at him foolish, puzzled at his grave and commiserating manner. The pause allowed him fully to grasp the significance of the deer-skin shirt and the stout war-ax in Willis's belt, and to explore the deep, cool depths of the level gray eyes.
“Of course I'm a soldier first,” he muttered, away. “You can wait.”
And oblivious to the quiet smiles he resumed his seat on the town-house steps.
Willis remained standing. From the corner of his eye he had caught a flash of color and had turned his head. The deep tan on his lean face could not conceal the sudden rush of blood. He stared incredulously and muttered something under his breath.
The tall scout lighted his pipe and quickly discovered the cause of the ranger's perturbation. He grinned broadly and between puffs informed the other:
“That's 'Jan the Rogue's' gal. Reg'lar wildfire sort of a gal. Whole town's talking about her pranks in New York.”
“Jan the Rogue's girl,” softly repeated Willis.
“That's his Dutch nickname. Dutch is great for nicknames. He's old Lidindick, trader, and if the truth could be known a old smuggler. The Long House says he's sold powder 'n' balls to the French to be used against us on the Ohio. They'd like to cure his scalp.
“Funny, though, they all like his gal. She's been to school and is brought up English. Been living with her aunt in New York. Raised hob so that the old lady packed her home to her father.
“Officers down there went crazy over her. Officers up here is just the same. Provincial or reg'lar, it don't seem to make no difference when her petticoats show on the street.”
THE girl was now abreast of the gaping group and moving with an ease that bespoke perfect health. She was a rainbow of vivacity in her green cloth petticoat and red and blue waistcoat with its yellow sleeves. The dainty purple “Pooyse” apron suggested to the ranger that she had not roamed far from her home.
When he saw her in New York she had been dressed far differently. Now she was typical of her father's people. She seemed able to shift from type to type with amazing faithfulness to detail, but whatever type she portrayed she was at her best.
He had been bewildered when in her presence in New York, when sheer luck had thrown him in the way of doing her a service and of being thanked by her. Luck again was bringing them together, and although he knew she was courted by officers of high rank his sturdy spirit would not accept that fact as a handicap to his better acquaintance with her.
As he marveled at the radiance of her face and the lithesome swing of her young form he knew he must see and talk with her if he would take a stout heart north in his task of outwitting Montcalm's hair-dressers. To his comrades' astonishment he trailed his long rifle and started diagonally across the broad street to join her.
She quickened her pace without glancing in his direction, and he grumbled—
“She has the speed of a wolf.”
On gaining the sidewalk and the shelter of the shade-trees, however, she loitered and allowed him to come up to her.
“My unknown hero of New York,” she lightly greeted him after one keen glance through the twilight.
“Ephraim Willis, of Connecticut, but just now from the Monongahela,” he awkwardly rejoined, removing his heavy cap and revealing a mass of perspiring locks. “Now detailed as ranger under Cap'n Putnam.”
“Very interesting, Ephraim Willis,” she lisped. “And why do you follow me?”
“I guess you don't remember,” he faltered. “We met in the Blue Swan tap-room in New York last March. You're Elizabeth Lidindick, and were visiting your aunt, Miss Patrick. I'm Ephraim Willis”
“My hearing is excellent,” she broke in. “Please don't tire yourself by saying it all over again. But when one meets a maid in a tap-room one shouldn't have the bad taste to remind her of it. I've been sent home in disgrace for that prank. Am I to pay penalty to you?”
“God forbid I should make you feel unhappy!” he cried. “I mentioned it, so you might remember me by name. I followed you because I'm a fool. I have forest wit, but no town wit.”
“You had rare wit or courage that night in the tap-room,” she conceded. “But you don't take advantage of that to form my acquaintance?”
“I was fool enough to think you might like to speak to me,” was the angry retort.
“When you remind me of my disgrace why should I want to speak to you?” she coldly demanded.
“That's plain enough for any one to understand, and I'll be about Cap'n Putnam's business. My head was made for that. I ought to have smirked and minced and acted like a dancing magpie when I come up to you.”
In his anger and humiliation he would have left her most abruptly had she not shifted her mood and bent on him a glance that befuddled him and made his stout heart do absurd tricks.
“You were kind to me when I needed a friend,” she cooed.
“At that particular time you seemed to be surrounded by friends,” he muttered. “So friendly they didn't seem to want to lose you.”
“They were all eager to serve me—for pay. You served me and left me. That was very pretty. I've thought of you as helping a maid and then going your way satisfied at having done a kindness.”
Her frankness, her beauty and her marvelous animation overwhelmed him. He faltered like an overgrown boy. The coolness which had characterized his many encounters with the Shawnees was entirely wanting. In his very desperation his lips grew bold, and before he realized it he was declaring:
“I know of no service I've done you. I came after you because you're the most beautiful thing on earth. I couldn't help it.”
“La, la! But you speak warm for a Connecticut man,” she gasped, her blue eyes very wide. “You outstep a wild blade of an officer in bold speeches. Fie for shame, Ephraim Willis! And you posing for a simple, honest, God-fearing young man!”
Now he knew she was making game of him, but he could not retreat. The ice was broken and he doggedly held on.
“I can hide my trail from Shawnee or Mingo, but not from you, Elizabeth Lidindick. I must be honest with you.”
“It's quite refreshing to find an honest man,” she dryly remarked. “Yet most men who talk to me always say they are 'honest.' Why do you come up to this dreary hill and its dreary village?”
“I join Cap'n Putnam of the Rangers here.”
She eyed him thoughtfully as if asking herself questions, then murmured:
“Albany is a queer place for forest rangers. Are the Indians about to attack the English here?”
He frowned at her gibe and gravely informed her—
“With Lord Loudoun placing his ten thousand men between here and the head of Lake George there's small chance for Montcalm's red devils to work any mischief here.”
They had walked a few rods up the street and now she turned into a porch and seated herself on a settle and drew aside her petticoats in invitation for him to join her. She puzzled him exceedingly. She had greeted him as her “unknown hero,” thus evidencing she remembered him and the service he had rendered her.
Almost in the same breath she had asked why he followed her; and almost before he had given his answer she had upbraided him for “bad taste,” had rebuked him for seeking her favor, and then had melted and admitted her obligation. Cold and hot she blowed until he was rarely befuddled. Now she was smiling seraphically and urging him to sit with her.
“Of course this war is all a blind business to me,” she was sweetly confessing as he gingerly took his place by her side. “England and France are at peace for a year with their armies fighting over here. Now they are at war and we keep on fighting.
“I wonder what it's all about. It seems to be a running back and forth with no one knowing what to do. The French will not come down the lake, and General Winslow will not go up the lake. Both might as well go home. One seems afraid and t'other dare not.”
“You'll see who dares inside of thirty days,” Willis assured her. “And I shall be in the thick of it.”
Then ruefully—
“But when can I see you again?”
“Lor! What a bold young spark!” she mocked. “You see me now. You know it's very wrong for me to be sitting here with you. Mynheer Van Tassel's vrouw is watching us. Such stories she will tell Albany! If my father wasn't an invalid he might come out and order me into the house.”
“But what harm in our talking? And I haven't said much, you know.”
She laughed softly at this naive reminder, but was very grave as she said:
“I must be very watchful of my manners. I am sent home in disgrace.”
“I know,” he sighed. “This is harmless enough. But that—well, that was a prank. Rather a bold one.”
“You are criticizing. me?” she questioned.
“Good Lord, no! I'd never criticize anything that gave me the chance to know you,” he hastily defended.
NOW she was all dimples and silent laughter again.
“Rather neatly turned, Ephraim Willis,” she applauded.
“I jumped for the first bit of cover I could find,” he returned.
Now her blue eyes were limpid with appeal and she coaxed—
“Tell me that what happened in New York didn't make you have a poor opinion of me.”
“What a notion!” he gasped.
“I hope that means it didn't. And so now you're off to take Ticonderoga. Captain Putnam must think highly of you to meet you here and talk over plans.”
“That ain't it. I bring a message to him. I am to look for him here at headquarters. If he doesn't show up I'm to press on and find him.
“I overheard things in New York. I've seen and heard things here. It's easy to read the trail. I know the backing and filling is ended and that all is ready to teach Montcalm his lasting lesson.”
“They said that last year,” she murmured, smothering a little yawn.
“This time they mean it. The plan can't fail. No more wasting men by leaving them here and at the posts along the road to Lake George. No advancing with half our force, but a smashing advance on water and land. I mustn't talk about it any more.”
“You may be hurt—killed!” she shivered.
And his delight at her concern caused him to forget. he had been indiscreet. One little hand touched his lightly and she was whispering:
“Oh, I do hope you advance in full force. The French are very strong, they say. You must be careful.”
“As a ranger I go ahead,” he proudly replied. “I know how to take care of myself. Johnson had the chance last year if he'd listened to Lyman and pressed on after licking Dieskau.”
“And you've brought this news from New York to Captain Putnam!” she exclaimed admiringly.
He laughed quietly, much pleased with her lack of sophistication.
“Scarcely that. I was ordered to wait here two days, to press or if Cap'n Putnam didn't show up. I bring other messages, but not what the cap'n knows already. Where and when can I see you to-morrow?”
“The saints must protect the French if you storm them at Ticonderoga with the same spirit you would overrun a poor maid's heart,” she cried. Then derisively:
“Now, Sirrah Woodsman, you make a big talk, as the Iroquois say, about army affairs. Confess you think to impress me with your importance. I'll think no worse of you for the shift.
“But you forgot that Albany folks know what's forward with Loudoun's men—and what's backward. Not a citizen on the hill who does not know that Loudoun and Montcalm are marking time. Even your General Winslow at Fort William Henry wrote Lord Loudoun that the 'sons of Belial are too strong for us.' An officer told me that. Neither side will make a move this year. Next year? Well, maybe. God knows.”
“You think me a windy talker,” growled Willis. “Cap'n Putnam comes here to get his orders for covering our advance. Major Rogers is scouting far north, or he would come in Putnam's place.
“Loudoun's staff officers questioned me yesterday. I was questioned in New York as one who knows the country up here. One does not need to be asked many questions before discovering what the questions mean.”
“How wisely put!” she murmured, darting him a sidelong glance that set his heart to dancing. “Behold, I will be the brave ranger, Ephraim Willis. And you shall be the general staff and question me, and I will tell you what you mean.”
With a tantalizing burlesque of Willis' grave bearing she braced her shoulders as if standing at attention and nodded for him to proceed.
His gray eyes advertised a rash resolution before he spoke. Placing a brown hand over her slim hands, he whispered:
“Do you love me? Can you tell what I mean by that question?”
She flung his hand aside and rose to her feet, haughtily saying:
“That is not the game we were playing, sir. They teach you queer manners in Connecticut along with their cant and psalm-singing. Or have you been living alone in the woods so long that you think the first white girl you meet is to be pawed about by a provincial lack-of-wit?”
Before he could recover from his bewilderment she raised the latch and swept into the house.
“Well, my blood!” he choked out, glaring in despair and rage at the closed door. “One would think I was a drunken wagoner!”
He sprang to seize the latch, but the heavy glass bull's eyes in the upper half of the door, dimly illuminated by the light back of them, stared him out of countenance; or, better, brought him to his senses. He quit the porch and hurried blindly down the street, his face burning under the sting of her contemptuous dismissal.
“Lack-of-wit, am I?” he bitterly muttered. “Yet I had wit enough to save her from her sorry pranks in New York. Aye, and when it meant earning the hate of Cap'n Lucie of the Grenadiers.
“And in God's mercy what game did she think I was playing, if not my game of making love to her? They called her 'Miss Wildfire' in New York. They call her Jan the Rogue's girl up here.
“Dressed in velvet coat and scarlet breeches, cocked hat and periwig, strutting it with sword and silken hose, she dared to visit the Blue Swan tap-room., Never was there such a gallant! No wonder Cap'n Lucie lost his head. Knowing the risk she ran, she dared all that.
“And if I hadn't come along with my long rifle— Now I, an honest ranger but touch her hand, but ask if she loves me, and 's luck! she gives me a dressing-down as if I had mixed blood in my veins. Life of my body, but I must be rare poison!”
HIS bitter meditations were interrupted by his violent collision with one who like himself was striding along with head bowed in deep thought. The impact of their meeting sent the two backward, and both jerked up their heads in anger. Despite the dusk Willis made out a thick-set, muscularly built man, and rubbing his nose he growled—
“If you're blind get somebody to lead you round.”
“You impudent, godless, good-for-nothing woods runner! You dare to speak to Israel Putnam in that fashion?” roared the other.
“Bless my heart! Cap'n Putnam! Great saltpeter! If it ain't Wolf Putnam hisself!” apologetically gasped Willis.
“You're so cursedly free with your names, suppose you give your own, you blundering lout!” thundered Captain Putnam.
Then before Willis could add to his apology the captain thrust his head forward and exclaimed.
“That hatchet face! By the Lord Harry! If it isn't Connecticut breed I'll shape it over! I have it. You're a Willis, or may I have my hair trimmed by Montcalm's barbers!”
“Ephraim Willis, sent here from New York to report to you, cap'n,” drawled Willis. “Hope I didn't hurt you.”
“Hurt me, you good-for-nothing rascal. If I hadn't jumped back I'd have stepped on you and squat the life out of that lank body. You must be one of Daniel's boys, or Seth's”
“Dan'l's,” eagerly interrupted Willis, accepting the hand now stretched out to him and grinning broad! “Lord, cap'n! If you smash the French as you hit me we'd go plumb through old Ti and into Montreal.”
The lively good nature over meeting a neighbor's son vanished and left Putnam dour of visage. In a second the strong, animated countenance resumed the deeply troubled expression it had worn when the two walked into each other.
“Then you don't know the news?” he mumbled. “It just come. Oswego's captured by Montcalm.”
“Good God!” whispered Willis, his thin face filled with dismay. “Oswego taken? Why, Montcalm's at Ticonderoga! Why—why—General Webb was marching there with reenforcements”
“Montcalm played us a trick,” groaned Putnam. “Left Levis in charge at Ticonderoga while he went against Oswego. General Webb heard the news at the Great Carrying-Place and turned back. Spoiled the road at Wood Creek by felling trees and filling the stream, burned our forts at the Carrying-Place and has now hustled down the "Mohawk to German Flats.”
“ his liver for a cowardly rat!” moaned Willis.
“You're speaking of one of his Majesty's officers, sir!” thundered Putnam.
Then regretfully:
“If General Lyman had been in his shoes he'd kept up his hunt for the enemy. And he spoiled the road we worked so hard to make! Biggest victory the French have won.”
“There was Braddock's defeat.”
“That was a Indian victory. This is all French. They had painted devils from Two Mountains and way out beyond the big lakes, but it was a French victory.”
“When did the news come?”
“An hour ago. Messenger from General Webb. Lord Loudoun sends orders to call off our advance on Ticonderoga. Seems to. think the French will be piling down on us pellmell.”
“But why can't we go out and meet 'em? Why not crowd on and capture old Ti before Montcalm gets back and gets set again?”
“You're criticizing your superiors, sir. Why the we don't go and get them is beyond me. But come, come! Over to the town-house and I'll explain the job ahead of us.”
“Here in Albany?”
“Right here in Albany. Don't fret. I'll see you have a man's work in the bush mighty soon.”
Willis' heart thrilled with delight. No matter how rudely the maid might use him he now believed he must see her and hear her voice once more,
“We're to round up a spy,” continued Putnam. “I had them send you as you're a stranger here this season. There's a man in Albany who's been sending information to Vaudreuil. He shall swing for it.
“It's through this spy that Vaudreuil and Montcalm learned of General Webb's advance with reenforcements for Oswego. His work has lost us that fort, has given Lake Ontario to the French with free passage to and from the west, and now allows them to swing all their strength to hold the line at Ticonderoga. Locate that man so I can take him by surprize before he has a chance to destroy his papers, and he shall hang.”
“And let me pull the rope. His name?”
“Never mind names, You're to make no inquiries. Find a house with red bull's-eyes. There is one such in Albany. The others are green or blue glass.
“One of our men, just escaped from Montreal, says Vaudreuil receives information regularly, and that he boasts that messages signed 'at the sign of the red bull's-eyes' counts more for France than half a dozen regiments.”
“I'll find it before midnight. Do I drag the villain out?”
“No. Come to me at the town-house at once. I'm keeping under cover till he's located. His capture must be planned to prevent his destroying the evidence that will hang him.”
“I'll be off at once. And, cap'n, the capture of Oswego won't put an end to good bushfighting round George and Champlain, I hope.
“A bellyful waiting for you, Ephraim Willis.”