“I guess some poor chap met his end here,” Harry said soberly. “How would you like to be tied against that old tree and have a pack of savages throw these things at you?”
Gordon shuddered. “Do you suppose we’re on the old trail of the Mohawks, Harry?”
They were, indeed, treading the very ground over which that treacherous, bloodthirsty tribe had once carried their victims to torture and massacre. The thought of it had a quieting effect on Gordon, and they pressed their way along silently for a little while. Then he began humming:
“Though you didn’t or you wouldn’t,
Or you hadn’t or you couldn’t—”
“What’s that?” asked Harry.
“It’s the rest of that ‘Scout Song,’ Harry,” said Gordon, looking slyly sideways at his friend.
“You know what I told you, Kid! So help me—”
“Where do we come out?” Gordon interrupted.
“We’re headed for Crown Point Centre.”