At the turn of the trail they came to a stone fence. At his rider’s suggestion Morgan paused slightly, pulled himself together, rose in the air and cleared it. Over a rushing little stream he went in the same confident, bird-like way, galloping easily off as he touched the ground on the other side.
The blue sky was reflected in the lake, and the mountains in New York pierced it, in reality, or reflection, with peaks of green and brown. The air was still and pure and the cool scent of the pines was strong in their nostrils. The haze of the morning had given place to a crystal clearness and Juniper Island was like a spot of precious jade set in a field of turquoise.
They were on the way to the Falls at a smart gallop now, and what his rider intimated to the horse along the bridle-rein gave him courage and love combined with perfect understanding. At a convenient spot they stopped, and Captain Dulaney spoke aloud.
“Ah, my fine fellow!” Morgan flicked his tail in reply, and tossed his mane slightly—with an up and down motion once or twice of his crest as was his habit when spoken to, directly—“Ah, my fine fellow, this air makes one breathe deeply. There’s no climate like it. No wonder these Vermonters are giants morally and physically. No wonder the Green Mountain Boys could take Ticonderoga! A handful of men bred in this air are worth all the city-bred officers in the British Army. And forsooth, they proved it! Ha! Ha! If it comes to an attack by water from Canada on the lake, here, we have a superabundance of trained officers and men.”
He dismounted and spread a map on the ground, weighting the corners with pink and red fragments of stones picked up at random. Had he known it, these were pieces of marble, later to make that locality famous, when the quarries were discovered.
In silence he studied the map, the bridle rein hanging across his arm. Then he folded it, sprang suddenly into the saddle and continued his thinking aloud as they started off:
“Now if we could be sure of the Vermonters in this war, but they seem to think fighting foolish—and in this they may be right, eh, Morgan? New England is in a ferment, but we’ve got to stick by the President and fight it out. Although they call it ‘Mr. Madison’s War,’ that poor man is the most unwilling participant in it! The thing is to find which way the cat will jump here; that’s my business. These secret emissaries from England and Canada may be right here now, rousing the Vermonters to join Canada. But may be the sight of a good old Continental uniform—God bless it!—may bring them our way!”
The lake glinted blue in the sunshine, the birds twittered in the forest, as they passed on slowly.
Suddenly Captain Dulaney addressed the horse gaily:
“Look at that view, Morgan. Shall we let a king wrest it from us? No, I swear it! This air is like wine. Who would live in towns, say I, with houses crowding, one upon the other, peeping over each other’s heads to see the narrow streets that lie between? Not I, for one. Give me trees and sky, rivers and fields, and the green country down in Maryland, ‘Where the Great Lloyd sets his Hall.’”