I looked at Dayton, then turned to Nick.
"What think you, Nick?" I demanded.
"By God," he blurted out, "I am of that mind too! Only a madman would attempt the wilderness by Oswegatchi; and I wager that Sir John is already beyond the Sacandaga and making for the Canadas on the old Mohawk war-trail!"
Colonel Dayton laid one hand on my shoulder:
"Mr. Drogue," said he, "we have militia and partizans more than sufficient in Tryon. What we need are more regulars, too; but most of all, and in this crisis, we need rangers. God alone knows what is coming upon Tryon County from the North,—what evil is breeding there,—what sinister forces are gathering to overwhelm these defenceless settlements.
"We have scarcely a fort on this frontier, scarcely a block house. Every town and village and hamlet north of Albany is unprotected; every lonely settler is now at the mercy of this unknown and monstrous menace which is gathering like a thundercloud in the North.
"Regular regiments require time to muster; the militia have yet to prove their worth; partizans, minute men, alarm companies—the value of all these remains a question still. Damn it, I want rangers! I want them now!"
He began to stride about the room again in his perplexity, but presently came back to where we stood.
"How many rifles in your company from Fonda's Bush?" he demanded.
I blushed to tell him, and further confessed what had occurred that very evening in the open fields before Johnstown.