At this the old warhorse—I learned afterward that he had fought through the French and Indian war—wagged his beard and his eye flashed.
"We must stop them," he said. "Three of them, do you say?"
"Three white men and an Indian trailer."
"Ha! If it were not for the little maid.... Let me think."
He fell to pacing up and down before the fire on the hearth, and I took the small one on my knee to let her chatter to me. 'Twas five full minutes before my ancient gave me the worth of his cogitations, but when he did speak it was much to the purpose.
"These marplot rear-guards of yours will spoil it all if they come to Ferguson's camp either before or after you. Do they know the major's present whereabouts?"
"No more than I did an hour ago. As I take it, they are depending on me to show them the way."
"Well, then; dead men tell no tales."
"But, my good friend, you forget there are four of them and only two of us! We should stand little chance with them in fair fight."
Again the old man's eyes snapped and glowed as if pent-fires were behind them.