"And McDonald?" I inquired of Thiohero, who sat close to me and rested her head on my shoulder while eating her parched com.
"My fire-flies tell me," said she gravely, "that the outlaws travel this way, and shall hang on the Schoharie in ambush."
"When?"
"When there is a battle near Stanwix."
"Oh. Shall McDonald come to Brakabeen?"
"Yes."
I gazed absently at the fire, slowly chewing my parched corn.