"Captain," said one of the boys, "there comes Noel Duval. You know, he came here with his mother from Canada only two months ago, and they live with old Widow Marston on her little farm. He only has one good arm, but to-day he wanted to fight Abram Dodds for saying he was not an American. Shall we let him join the company? I know he wants to."
Broad-faced Jacobus shook his head gravely.
"No, I think we'd better not. He's so lately from Canada that he may be an English spy. You can't be too careful. They say he talks French. Besides, he's only one good arm. No, I think we'd best not have him. I don't trust him, and a one-armed soldier wouldn't be good for anything, anyway."
"Well, I'd trust him," said the first speaker, "and I know him better than the rest of you do. It's true he's lived in Canada, and when he was there he learned lots of clever things about the woods, too; but he feels that this is his country, and he's just as good an American as any of us."
However, the opinions of Captain Jacobus prevailed, and when Noel came up he was treated in so cool a way by most of the boys that at first he felt very angry; but he remembered to check his temper. He remained and watched the drill, in spite of their evident intention to treat him as an outsider.
Soon it got so dark that the boys had to stop drilling. They were lying about on the ground near the edge of the woods, resting a little before they parted, when of a sudden thirty or forty men, each leading a pony, loomed out of the dusk. They were walking rapidly, and keeping close to the forest. The startled boys remained quiet, and the men did not see them till they were close upon them.
"Hello! What's this?" exclaimed the one who seemed the leader. "Here, you little rascals, don't you stir! Not a word—not a move!"
The boys were frightened into complete submission, and lay huddled on the ground staring at the new-comers. These, with the exception of the leader, who wore the uniform of an English officer, were all dressed in deer-skin suits, with fur caps and moccasins. The boys saw that they had been captured by a band of the dreaded Canadian scouts—about whose Indianlike ferocity many tales were told—and most of the young warriors trembled with fright. Jacobus tried to say something, but his voice broke, and the attempt ended in an ignominious mixture of gulp and sob.
"You won't be hurt if you keep quiet," said the officer, trying not to smile when he saw Jacobus and his big sword. His voice grew stern as he went on: "Pierre and Antoine, you stay and guard these boys. If one moves you are to shoot him. Remember that order, boys; remember also that my scouts always obey. Be careful, Pierre, to let none of them escape to give the alarm. Join us when you hear firing. Come on, the rest of you."
In a moment the stealthy company of scouts, leading their ponies, that stepped carefully, as if they too understood the need of quiet, were gone. The boys would have thought it all an apparition if the two stalwart Canadians, Pierre and Antoine, had not been there to prove they had not been dreaming. The two scouts talked together for a short time in Canadian French; then, while the one called Pierre stood guard with his rifle, Antoine picketed their two ponies, and next began to picket the boys—that is, he tied together the wrists and ankles of each one, using some long thongs of deer-skin which he and Pierre carried wound round their waists. When all were securely tied the two scouts stretched themselves out on the grass, and, paying little further attention to their trembling prisoners, began talking—none of the boys save Noel could understand French.