“In that same instant the exasperated hornets were upon the dogs. A sharp chorus arose of angry and frightened yelpings. Yet for a few seconds the brave brutes persisted in their efforts to force an entrance to my grandfather’s retreat. This gave the hornets a fair chance.
“They settled upon the animals’ eyes and ears and jaws, till flesh and blood—even dog flesh and blood—could endure the fiery anguish no longer. Both dogs rolled over and over, burrowing their noses in the moss, and trying with their paws to scrape off their bitter assailants. But the contest was too unequal.
“Presently both dogs stuck their tails between their legs, and darted off in mad panic through the woods. Gradually their yelpings died away.
“My grandfather then and there registered a vow that he would never again break up a hornets’ nest. He slackened the string till it lay loose and inconspicuous amid the moss, but he did not exactly care to go out and detach it from the branch.
“Then he lay down and rested, feeling pretty confident that the soldiers would not find their way to his retreat now that they were deprived of the assistance of the dogs. As for the dogs, he knew that their noses were pretty well spoiled for a day or two.
“That night, when he felt quite sure the hornets had gone to bed, my grandfather crept out of his refuge, stole softly past his little protectors without disturbing them to say farewell, and struck across the forest in the direction of the Canadian border. A little later the moon got up, and by her light he made good progress.
“Soon after daybreak he reached the banks of the Chateauguay, and about an hour later he fell in with a scouting-party of the Glengarry Fencibles, who took him to the headquarters of De Salaberry, the Canadian commander. As for the ragged old horse and the pedler’s wagon, they remained at Smith’s Corners, a keepsake for Jake Smith.”
“I think,” said Ranolf, “that’s a good enough yarn to go to bed on. I’m as sleepy as a June-bug.”
Upon this we all discovered that we were in the same condition as Ranolf. The exhilaration of the run down the Toledi, and the hard strain of the passage across Temiscouata, had tired us through and through. How delicious were our blankets that night at Détour du Lac!