“Good-morning, M. de St. Pierre!” replied George, gayly. “I must give orders to my party for an early start, as the guns you promised the Indians have arrived, and I have no further excuse for remaining.”
“Sacre bleu!” burst out M. de St. Pierre; “I did not expect the guns so soon!” At which he looked into George’s eyes, and suddenly both burst out laughing. The Frenchman saw that his ruse was understood.
The party was soon collected, and after a hearty breakfast George took his leave, and, much to the chagrin of the French, succeeded in carrying off all his Indian allies with him. They rapidly retraced their road, and when they made their first halt, ten miles from Fort Le Bœuf, George exclaimed, aside to Lance:
“This is the first easy moment I have known for twenty-four hours!”
“’Tis the first I have had, sir, since we got to the first post, fourteen days ago!”
It was now the latter part of December. The horses, gaunt and starved, were no longer fit for riding, and George set the example of dismounting and going on foot. Their progress with so large a party was not rapid, and George determined to leave Captain Vanbraam, with the horses and provisions, to follow, while he, in his health and strength, set off at a more rapid gait, in order that he might reach Williamsburg with M. de St. Pierre’s defiant letter as soon as possible. Lance, with his experience as a foot-soldier, easily proved his superiority when they were reduced to walking, so George chose him as a companion. Christmas Day was spent in a long, hard march, and on the next day George, dressing himself in his buckskin shirt and leggings, with his gun and valuable papers, and giving most of the money for the expedition to Captain Vanbraam, struck off with Lance for a more rapid progress.
The two walked steadily all day, and covered almost twice as much ground as the party following them. At night with their flints they struck a roaring fire in the forest, and took turns in watching and sleeping. By daylight they were again afoot.
“I never saw such a good pair of legs as you have, sir, in all my life,” said Lance, on this day, as they trudged along. “My regiment was counted to have the best legs for steady work in all the Duke of Marlborough’s army, and mine were considered the best pair in the regiment, but you put me to my trumps.”
“Perhaps if you were as young as I you would put me to my trumps, for—”
At this moment a shot rang out in the frozen air, and a bullet made a clean hole through George’s buckskin cap. One glance showed him an Indian crouching in the brushwood. With a spring as quick and sure as a panther’s, George had the savage by the throat, and wrenched the firelock, still smoking, from his hand. Behind him half a dozen Indian figures were seen stealing off through the trees. Lance walked up, and, raising a hatchet over the Indian’s head, said, coolly: