"Well," said he coolly, "it is well to be rid of vermin. Now you should pick your men in safety, Mr. Drogue. And if none will volunteer—such as have families or are not fit material for rangers—you are authorized to go out into the wilderness and recruit any forest-running fellow you can persuade."
He drove one gloved hand into the palm of the other to emphasize what he said:
"I want real rangers, not militia! I want young men who laugh at any face old Death can pull at them! I want strong men, keen men, tough men, rough men.
"I want men who fear God, if that may be, or who fear the devil, if that may be; but who fear nothing else on earth!"
He shot a look at Nick, "—like that boy there!" he exclaimed—"or I am no judge of men! And like yourself, Mr. Drogue, when once they blood you! Come, sir; can you find a few such men for me, and take full charge?"
"Yes, sir."
"A pledge!" he exclaimed, beating his gloved palms. "And when you can collect a dozen—the first full dozen—I want you to stop the Iroquois trail at the Sacandaga. That's where you shall chiefly operate—along the Sacandaga and the mountains northward! That's where I expect trouble. There lies this accursed war-trail; and along it there is like to be a very bloody business!"
He turned aside and stood smiting his hands softly together, his preoccupied eyes regarding the candles.
"A very bloody business," he repeated absently to himself. "Only rangers can aid us now.... Help us a little in this dreadful crisis.... Until we can recruit—build forts——"
An officer appeared at the open door and saluted.