“Me no onstan’, Ah tol’ you! Hello—.” The lusty hail was cut short by the report of the long smooth-bore. The Canadian’s cap went spinning from his head, and he came scrambling down in a haste that threatened to leave half his clothes behind.
“Ah comin’! Ah comin’! Don’t shot some more!” he cried in a voice trembling with fright.
Job arrested his descent till his gun was reloaded; then, when his captive slid to the ground, he quickly tied his hands behind with a fathom of cord, one end of which he held. Then he removed the woolen sash from the Canadian’s waist and bound it about his mouth.
A glance upon the lake showed the boat half-way across, and approaching as fast as two pairs of oars could impel it. Job hurried his man into an evergreen thicket some twenty yards away, and, leaving him tied to a tree in charge of the hound, he stealthily returned to ascertain if possible whether the nature of the alarm had been comprehended by the soldiers. The boat drew rapidly toward the place where he lay concealed, and, at a little distance, the occupants lay upon their oars while they held consultation, so near that he could hear every word of it.
“Well, boys,” said the sergeant in command, “whathiver it was, Hi don’t hear nothink more of it. But Hi’ll ’ail the shore. ’Ello there, whathiver is the row?” An answer was silently awaited till the echoes died away.
“Ah’t was some o’ thim Yankee divils huntin’ just,” said one of the soldiers, “and that’s all about it. Divil a word could I make out but the dog yowlin’ an’ a man phillalooin’, an’ thin the shot. They kilt whativer they was at an’ thin wint away.”
“Hi believe you’re right, Murphy, an’ we’ll no bother to go ashore, but just pull back and report to the captain,” and off went the boat to the western shore.
With a sigh of relief Job sped back to his prisoner, to whom he motioned the homeward way, and set forth with him in front at a break-neck pace, which was occasionally quickened by a punch of the gun muzzle in the rear, and so was the captive driven to the camp.
Ticonderoga’s evening gun had long since boomed its vesper thunder, and the shadows of evening were thickening into night in the forest, when Job emerged from them into the glare of the camp fire with his hound and prisoner, and received the warm commendations of Allen and his associates for his promptly and skilfully performed exploit.
“I don’t claim no credit for’t. It was all Gabe’s doin’s, an’ if I’d left him tied up to hum as I laid out to, our cake would all ’a’ ben dough.”