There was reason for the stranger’s amazement. He had moored his boat well above the chain of sentries—a good quarter of a mile, indeed—for no attack could be expected from the river, and naturally none could come from the north below Lewiston, and therefore only the sentries whom Ephraim and Lucius had scared had been posted in the former place, and none at all in the latter.
Consequently the civilian was puzzled. His first thought was, that he had struck a point too low down for his boat; his second, that he remembered every detail of the appearance of the spot, and that he could not possibly be mistaken. However, when, for the third time, the peremptory challenge sounded in his ears, he put as good a face as he could upon the matter, and answered distinctly and with confidence, ‘Friend!’
‘Advance, friend, and give the countersign,’ ordered Ephraim, to the huge delight of Lucius, with whom he had many a time and oft rehearsed just such a scene in the workshop, little imagining it would ever be carried out in actual practice. The stranger advanced till the point of Ephraim’s bayonet was within six inches of his chest.
‘Halt!’ cried Ephraim once more. ‘That’s close enough. Now stand and give the countersign.’
The civilian hesitated an instant. He could not tell where the suggestion came from, but somehow the thought flashed into his brain that all was not as it should be. ‘Potomac,’ he answered steadily.
Ephraim saw the momentary hesitation, and read it aright. His own danger made him alert. ‘Go back the way you came,’ he said, keeping his rifle at the charge.’ That ain’t the word.’
It was a bold move, but it told; and the Grizzly, to his own relief, noticed the expression of mingled surprise and satisfaction on the stranger’s face.
‘Shenandoah,’ said the civilian. ‘Will that suit you?’
‘That’s better,’ answered Ephraim, but without shouldering arms. ‘Why did you give me the wrong one fust?’
‘I—I was thinking of yesterday,’ replied the stranger rather confusedly.