It was now the latter part of December. The horses, gaunt and starved, were no longer fit for riding, and George set the example of dismounting and going on foot. Their progress with so large a party was not rapid, and George determined to leave Captain Vanbraam, with the horses and provisions, to follow, while he, in his health and strength, set off at a more rapid gait, in order that he might reach Williamsburg with M. de St.-Pierre's defiant letter as soon as possible. Lance, with his experience as a foot-soldier, easily proved his superiority when they were reduced to walking, so George chose him as a companion. Christmas day was spent in a long, hard march, and on the next day George, dressing himself in his buckskin shirt and leggings, with his gun and valuable papers, and giving most of the money for the expedition to Captain Vanbraam, struck off with Lance for a more rapid progress.
The two walked steadily all day, and covered almost twice as much ground as the party following them. At night, with their flints, they struck a roaring fire in the forest, and took turns in watching and sleeping. By daylight they were again afoot.
"I never saw such a good pair of legs as you have, sir, in all my life," said Lance, on this day, as they trudged along. "My regiment was counted to have the best legs for steady work in all the Duke of Marlborough's army, and mine were considered the best pair in the regiment, but you put me to my trumps."
"Perhaps if you were as young as I you would put me to my trumps, for—"
WITH A SPRING, GEORGE HAD THE SAVAGE BY THE THROAT.
At this moment a shot rang out on the frozen air, and a bullet made a clean hole through George's buckskin cap. One glance showed him an Indian crouching in the brushwood. With a spring as quick and sure as a panther's, George had the savage by the throat, and wrenched the firelock, still smoking, from his hand. Behind him half a dozen Indian figures were seen stealing off through the trees. Lance walked up, and raising a hatchet over the Indian's head, said, coolly,
"Mr. Washington, we must kill him as we would a snake."
"No," replied George, "I will not have him killed."[2]
The Indian, standing perfectly erect and apparently unconcerned, understood well enough that the question of his life or death was under discussion, but with a more than Roman fortitude he awaited his fate, glancing indifferently meanwhile at the glittering edge of the hatchet still held over him.