“Oh, yes; only yesterday father told about Ethan Allen’s throwing the Yorker’s millstones over the Great Falls at New Haven.”
“Right and true! Well, I am Ethan Allen.” As he gave his name in a deep-toned voice of proud assurance, it seemed in itself a strong host. “Your father sent you with that twig to say there’s trouble at Beeman’s, didn’t he?”
Nathan looked up in wonder, admiration, and gladness, and then, with the instinctive, unreasoned confidence that the famous chieftain of the Grants was wont to inspire, told unreservedly his father’s troubles and directions. When Allen had heard it, he wheeled his horse beside the nearest stump and bade Nathan mount behind him.
“My horse’s feet will help you make your rounds quicker than yours, my man. We’ve no time to lose, for there’s no telling what those scoundrels may be at. Eight Yorkers! Well, we’ll soon raise good men enough to make short work of them.”
Nathan mounted nimbly to his assigned place, and, clasping as far as he could the ample waist of his new friend, was borne along the road at a speed that soon brought them to the log house of the Newtons. A man of the herculean mould so common to the early Vermonters came out of the house to meet the comers, with an expression of pleased surprise on his good-humored face.
“Why, colonel, we wa’n’t expectin’ on you so soon, but we hain’t no less glad to see you. ’Light and come in. Mother’ll hev potluck ready to rights. Why, is that the Beeman boy stickin’ on behind you? Anything the matter over to Beeman’s?”
“No, we can’t ’light,” Allen replied; and then, looking down over his shoulder, “Do your errand, my boy, and we’ll push on.”
Nathan held out the carefully kept sprig of evergreen and repeated his message.
“Trouble to Beeman’s, now.”
“Yea, verily,” said Allen to Newton, whose face flashed at the boy’s words. “Rise up and gird on your swords, you and your sons. The Philistines are upon you even as it has been prophesied. Felton and his gang of land thieves. The son of Belial was warned to depart from the land of the elect, but he heeds not those who cry in the wilderness. Confound the rascal! He must be ‘viewed’! You and your two boys take your guns and jog down that way, and as you go cut a goodly scourge of blue beech, for verily there shall be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. We’ll rally the Callenders, and Jones, and Harrington, and North, and my friend Beeman here will tell Job. We’ll gather a good dozen. Enough to mete out the vengeance of the Lord to eight Yorkers, I’ll warrant!”