hind me, and on either side of me, the frenzied farmers were firing,
maddened by the sight of the destruction, until I was obliged to run
among the men and shake them, warning them to spare their powder until
there was something besides the forest to shoot at. The interior of the
tavern was thick with powder-smoke. I heard people coughing all around
me.

And now, out of rifle-range, I caught my first good view of the
marauders passing along the red stubble-fields north of Warren's
barn--some hundred Indians and Tories, marching in columns of fours,
rifles atrail, south by east. To my astonishment, instead of facing,
they swung around us on a dog-trot, still out of range, pressing
steadily forward across the rising ground. Then suddenly I
comprehended. They cared nothing for Oswaya when there was prime
killing and plunder a-plenty to be had in the Valley. They were headed
for Johnstown, where the vultures were already gathering.

Old Wemple had run down-stairs and flung open the door to watch them. I
followed, rifle in hand, and we sped hotfoot across the stump-lot and
out upon the hill. Surely enough, there they were in the distance,
hastening away to the southward at a long, swinging lope, like a pack
of timber-wolves jogging to a kill.

"Hold the tavern to-night and then strike out for Saratoga with all
your people," I said hurriedly. "They're gone, and I mean to follow
them."

"Be ye goin', sir?" quavered the old man. He turned to gaze at the
blazing settlement below, tears running down his cheeks.

"Oh, Lord! Thy will be done--I guess," he said.

Farris, Warren, and Klock came up on the run. I pointed at the distant
forest, into which the column was disappearing.

"Keep the tavern to-night," I said hoarsely; "there may be a skulking
scalp-hunter or two prowling about until morning, but they'll be gone
by sunrise. Good-by, lads!"

One by one they extended their powder-blackened, labor-torn hands, then
turned away in silence toward the conflagration below, to face winter
in the wilderness without a roof.

Rifle at trail, teeth set, I descended the hill, dodging among the
blackened stumps, and entered the woods on a steady run. I had no need
of a path save for comfort in the going, for this region was perfectly
familiar to me from the Sacandaga to the Kennyetto, and from Mayfield
Creek to the Cayadutta--familiar as Broadway, from the Battery to
Vauxhall. No Indian knew it better, nor could journey by short c