It was a burly Highlander, an outpost sentry of the British army, that challenged the three paleface scouts.
"Friends!" cried Jamie.
"Then ye'll just gi'e me the password," replied the soldier, levelling his musket at the youth who had acted as spokesman.
"I do not know the password," said Jamie, boldly confronting the levelled firearm. "We have just come in from the frontier to offer our services to General Wolfe."
"Then ye'll just ground your arms, and bide a wee, till I call the sergeant!"
The sergeant in charge of the party came up in response to the sentry's call, and while he was engaged in conversing with the strangers, an aide-de-camp to General Wolfe, who was a field officer in the Royal Americans, galloped by. Seeing three men in the garb of the forest, and knowing the value of such hardy, trained frontiersmen, having seen a good deal of such service himself, he reined in his charger, received the salute of the sergeant, who, on being requested, reported the business of the strangers.
"Look here! Do you fellows know anything of Quebec, or the river and the forts?" asked the field officer.
"Yes, sir!" replied Jamie. "Two of us lived there for nearly twelve months as nominal prisoners of the French."
"Indeed? When did you leave there?"
"Last spring, sir."