With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

by W. Bert Foster

But suddenly a dry twig snapped somewhere near him. The sound went through the anxious youth like a shock of electricity. Its direction he could not fathom; yet he was sure that the branch had crackled under the pressure of a foot. Somebody–or something–was approaching his fire, which now threw a dull red light across the forest glade. Enoch’s eyes were fastened first upon one blot of shadow and then another. Occasionally, too, he darted a glance over his shoulder, that the approaching enemy might not come upon him unawares. Just at that time Enoch would have given much for his rifle. Its presence would have inspired him with a deal of courage. The very fact that the danger, which intuition rather than reason assured him was threatening, came from an unknown source, increased his fears. Perhaps Simon Halpen was not within a hundred miles of that identical spot. He who was visiting the Tories and New York sympathizers of this region was possibly nothing worse than the agent of a land speculator. The youthful Green Mountain Boy might be the only human being within five miles.

But suddenly that happened which shattered this fallacious web of thought in an instant. In the deep shadow of a thick clump of brush upon the other side of the fire, the youth observed a movement–rather, a flash or glint of light. The fire, increasing unexpectedly by the falling apart of one of the logs, had sent a penetrating ray of light into the thicket and there it glittered upon some polished piece of metal. Nothing else could have sent forth this answering gleam; it was not a pair of eyes; Enoch was confident of that.

“He is there!” whispered the youth, and he crouched lower between the roots. His eyes, sharp as they were, could not penetrate the gloom of the brush clump, and the glittering metal had now disappeared. But he was sure that the intruder was still there, reconnoitering the camp. Would he suspect the ruse? Would he observe that the body lying by the fire was simply a dummy? The youth was glad to see that the log with his jacket and cap upon it lay almost entirely in the shadow and that one coat-sleeve was stretched out upon the ground in a very natural manner indeed.

The moments that passed then were really terrible to young Harding. He knew himself to be in no immediate danger from this mysterious individual who had crept near his camp. Surely, the man could not see him where he lay shrouded in the darkness. Yet the thought that he was being dogged by a deadly enemy possessed him, and the doubt as to what the unknown would do next, brought the sweat to his brow and limbs and set him trembling like one with an ague. Not a breath disturbed the bushes, yet he felt that the man was there–there across the opening in the forest with his eyes fixed upon the supine figure near the fire. Had he not been warned by that mysterious feeling which had kept his eyes open and his nerves alert he, Enoch Harding, might now be lying unconscious with a deadly weapon trained upon him!

And then the shot was fired! Enoch expected it, yet the explosion almost betrayed him to the enemy. A gasp of terror left his lips. Incidental with the explosion he heard the thud of the ball as it penetrated the log, and the shock of the impact actually stirred the dummy. It leaped upon the uneven ground!

This fact was an awful accessory to the attempted murder. The inanimate object had moved as a human being would if suddenly shot through a vital part. Perhaps the very gasp of horror Enoch had uttered reached the ears of him who had fired from ambush. At least the enemy did not seek to come nearer. Indeed, the youth heard a crash in the brush and then the retreat of rapid footsteps. Having done, as he supposed, the awful deed, the murderer fled from the spot. Enoch had half risen to his feet. Now he sank upon his knees, clasped his hands, and thanked God for his preservation.

But he did not leave the sanctuary of the forest’s shadow until he was fully convinced that the villain who had made the attempt upon his life was far away. Then, still shaking from the nervous terror inspired by the incident, he crept to the dying fire, secured his cap and coat, and went back to the roots of the tree again until the growing glow above the tree-tops announced the rising of the moon. The sky grew bright rapidly and soon the moonbeams wandered among the straight, handsome trees and lay calmly upon the earth. He could once more see objects about him with almost the clearness of full daylight.

Enoch arose and crossed to the clump of brush from which the treacherous shot had been fired. Through a break in the branches a flood of moonlight now silvered the earth at this point. He dropped upon one knee and examined the ground closely. There were the marks of the feet of him who had tried to shoot a helpless and sleeping human being. Enoch shuddered and placed his fingers in the impression of the moccasins. The incident that had just transpired was very real to him now.

But he had not come here merely to assure himself of this fact. The bullet in the log and the hole through his coat were sufficient, if he had indeed doubted his eyes and ears before. He glanced down at the coat. Oddly enough the bullet had torn its way through the stout homespun directly over his heart!

He glanced keenly now from side to side and saw that the enemy who made the treacherous attack had come from the trail he had followed that afternoon, and had returned in the same direction. He followed the footsteps which led away from the brush clump. In doing this he was quickly assured that the man who had shot at him was a white man. An Indian walks with his toes pointed inward; this individual, even as he ran, pointed his toes out. He was certain, therefore, that his enemy was no wandering redskin.