"Ay, lad, all of that. Neither you nor I would have let him gone alone in the hopeless task of rescuin' his father, had it not been that duty demanded of us to keep our faces turned toward yonder fort. Now we have done that which General Herkimer required, we can set out to fulfil our duty toward the lad, an' this goin' back on the road to Oriskany is but little more than we would be forced to do in order to gain the spot where we parted with him, for I'm countin' that he was then near by the place where his father is held prisoner."
I could have hugged the old man, but that he might have fancied I had lost my senses.
When we parted with Jacob there was no thought in my mind that Sergeant Corney had the slightest idea of joining in what was a most desperate venture, and I even fancied he felt a certain sense of relief in having such a good excuse for not sticking his nose into the Indian encampment. But now I understood that all the while he held firm to the determination to do whatsoever he might toward aiding Peter Sitz, and I began to feel real affection for the noble old man.
Whether we might be able to find Jacob or not, and the chances were that he had already been made prisoner, we could say to ourselves that the poor lad was not deserted by us in his hour of need, and, if the worst happened, it would be no slight satisfaction to us in after years.
The storm increased each moment, and we were soon wetted to the skin, but hardly conscious of the discomfort because of the safety which this downpour brought to us.
I had never given Sergeant Corney credit for any great knowledge of woodcraft, because he came to us from over the seas where his life had been spent fighting battles in the open, and could not be expected to cope with the savage foe, as did our people who had always been accustomed to the skulking methods of warfare practised by the redskins.
Now, however, I was forced to give him credit for being wiser than I in the forest, since in the darkness and amid the tumult caused by the wind and rain he made the détour as if a broad trail stretched out before him under the sunlight, and we half-circled around the fortification, at the distance of a mile or more, without varying, so far as could be told, a single hair from the true course.
Not until we were come to the trail which led to Oriskany did the old man halt, and then it was to say to me:
"From this on I'm allowin' we had better be cautious how we move."
"But surely there is no danger of meetin' any of the savages now," I said, like a simple, and he replied, with a laugh: