Instead of being disturbed by this mishap, the captive seemed to rejoice over it. He smiled pleasantly, laid his hand gently on the shoulder of the man who first seized him, and who was apparently the chief of the party, saying in the native tongue:
“My brother, you are from the great camp by the lake.”
A grunt of assent came from the captor.
“Take me there at once,” the prisoner continued with some show of authority. “I have important business with General Burgoyne, the commander.”
His words were not without their effect. Releasing him, the Indian said in a tone of inquiry: “Ira Le Geyt?”
“Ira Le Geyt,” the youth repeated, and at the same moment he drew from the bosom of his coat the iron cross.
At sight of the bit of metal the chieftain gave a peremptory order to his men to fall in behind him, and then, side by side with the captured lad, strode away towards the encampment.
They were not long in reaching the first outpost. To the guard the Indian uttered the two English words, “King George,” and was allowed to pass with his entire party.
Once within the lines the chief sent his followers to their quarters, and then led his companion swiftly across the enclosure to the tent of the commander, which he entered without ceremony.
“General! Ira Le Geyt!” he said, and then vanished.