Two men turned to face the newcomer; one in the uniform of a major-general, the other in the garb of a private citizen, for their backs had been toward the entrance, while they were giving undivided attention to a rude map or chart which was spread out upon the camp bed.
“I beg your pardon for this intrusion, General Burgoyne,” the young scout began, bowing low before that officer, “It was due to my conductor, one of your Indians, who ran on me in the forest.”
“It is all right, Master Le Geyt,” the commander replied good-naturedly. “Indeed, your coming is most timely. My companion, who, by the way is Master George Preston, a courier who came from Quebec with us, and is to go on to New York with a message for General Clinton from Lord Germain, and I, were trying to trace out on this map the best route for him to follow down the river. Perhaps you, who, I am informed, are familiar with this entire region, may be able to help us. Would you advise him to take the east or west side?”
Ira stepped to the bed, ostensibly to examine the map, which proved to be a crude and inaccurate affair, but really to gain time in which to think over the situation. Here was work for him immediately. If this man had a message for General Clinton from Lord Germain, the War Secretary in London, it was altogether too important to be allowed to reach its destination. But how should he prevent it, and obtain possession of the paper?
He cast a furtive glance at the courier to ascertain the kind of man he had to deal with. The look was hardly reassuring. Clearly George Preston was not a man to be easily thwarted. Forty years of age, nearly a giant in strength and stature, with a face that suggested courage, resourcefulness, and faithfulness to duty. It was certain he had been selected for the task assigned him because he could be thoroughly relied upon.
All this the lad took in during the brief minute he stood silent, and at once decided upon a plan which he believed would enable him to accomplish his purpose. Then he said in answer to the question asked him:
“Both, sir. He better make directly for the river from here, and, crossing it, go down the west side until below Albany. Then, recrossing it, follow the east side to his destination. In this way he will escape the main forces of the enemy, and so lessen his chances of being captured.”
“That is what I told you, Master Preston!” exclaimed the general in triumph. “I need the aid of Clinton too badly to run any risk of your message failing to reach him. Take the safer way, even though it involves a longer journey. Twenty-four hours delay in the delivery of the letter is nothing, if it in the end reaches the general.”
“My chief objection to the plan lies in this:” the courier said quietly. “It is unlike the route laid out for me in St. John. I had rather obey the letter, as well as the spirit, of my orders.”
“A good practice, truly,” General Burgoyne replied heartily, “and one that proves you are the man for this work. But our friends in St. John did not know what might arise, and therefore left you to your own judgment. I am exceedingly anxious that you use every precaution possible to carry Lord Germain’s message safely through the enemy’s lines.”