"Don't--don't!" he cried, hurriedly. "I--I didn't mean to be--ah--serious. The whole thing was meant in fun."

"No fun in shoving me down."

"I--ah--I didn't mean to shove you so hard--upon my honor I did not, Campwell. Let us drop it; won't you?"

The old pioneer gave a grunt. He was too open-hearted to understand such a mean, sneaking nature as that of the Englishman.

"We'll drop it--but keep your hands off of me in the future," he said, at last.

"I won't bother you. But you--" The lieutenant turned to Dave. "I'll bear you in mind, my fine young c.o.c.k-of-the-walk,--and I'll take you down a peg or two ere I'm done with you, remember what I say!" And with a shake of his fist he hurried away in the darkness.

A minute after this Barringford came up, asking what was the matter.

When told his brow contracted.

"That lieutenant is a regular sneak," he said. "Keep your eye open fer him, Dave--an' don't trust him a farthing's worth. He is just the kind to play you dirty the first chance he gits."

CHAPTER XXIV

HENRY IS ATTACKED

The days to follow were full of hard work for the young soldiers. They were detailed with the baggage corps, and had all they could do to bring through the many things left in their care. Although Dave did not know the truth, it was Lieutenant Naster who had much of this work piled on the young soldier's shoulders.

The sail down Lake Oneida proved a period of rest, for which both Dave and Henry were truly thankful. Both made the journey in a long and wide batteau, commonly called to-day a flat-bottom boat. It was now the end of June and the weather was hot. On one occasion the youths went in bathing, but this time nothing molested them. They also went fishing and brought out as nice a mess of fish as the clear waters of this lake afforded.

"It's an ideal spot for a home," said Dave. "Puts me in mind of the Kinotah."

"If the Kinotah is as good as this I wouldn't want anything better,"

replied Henry.

The batteau, of extra-large size, was filled with baggage, and besides the boys there were ten rangers on board, including old Campwell. The old man sat in the rear of the craft, eyeing the sh.o.r.e critically.

"My eyesight ain't none o' the best," he drawled, presently. "But onless I'm in error, I jest see a number o' Injuns behind yonder skirt o'

bushes."

All looked in the direction, and presently one of the other rangers said that he, too, saw at least two Indians. They appeared to be following up the boats and at the same time did all they could to keep hidden.

"What do you make of that?" asked Henry of Barringford, who was pulling an oar beside him.

The old frontiersman shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on whether they are friends or enemies, Henry," he said. "If they are friends more'n likely they'll jine us when we reach the river."

"And if not?"

"Then they ought to be captured, for if they ain't friends they are spying for the French."

Evidently the Indians had not been discovered by those on the other batteaux, and after a short talk the man in charge of that containing our friends decided to report the case to his superior, in a boat some distance ahead. Pulling with all strength, the clumsy craft was, in quarter of an hour, brought alongside of Captain Mollett's boat.

"Indians, eh?" said the captain, reflectively. "Couldn't make them out very well, could you?"

"No, captain."

"Hum! We'll have to investigate this."

Word was pa.s.sed to several other batteaux, and soon after a boat turned toward sh.o.r.e, having on board fifteen rangers, including Barringford and Henry. Dave and Schnitzer wished to accompany the others but this was not permitted.

"Good-by until we meet again!" cried Henry, on leaving.

"Take good care of yourself," returned Dave, and so with a wave of the hand the two cousins parted.

It did not take the batteau long to reach the north sh.o.r.e of the lake, and as soon as the craft grounded all leaped out. Fastening the boat to a nearby tree, the rangers set out on a search for the Indians.

The party was under the command of George Harvey, well known as an old Indian fighter of the Mohawk valley and a man who was as shrewd as he was daring. He had brought the rangers ash.o.r.e boldly, but once in the shelter of the timber he halted his men to give them advice.

"We'll spread out in a straight line, due north," he said. "Each man about thirty yards from the next. Then we can beat up the timber thoroughly. Don't fire until you're sure of what you are doing, for to kill a friendly Indian just now would be the worst thing we could do.

General Johnson would never forgive you for it. He had hard enough work to make 'em come over to us."

It fell to Henry's lot to skirt the sh.o.r.e of the lake, with Barringford next to him. The way was easy where the trail ran close to the water, but at other points was exceedingly difficult, for big stones and thick brushwood frequently blocked his progress.

"Phew! but this is no child's play!" he muttered to himself, as he came out on a point of the sh.o.r.e where the sun blazed down fiercely. "A fellow couldn't feel any hotter plowing corn or turning hay. I'd rather go swimming than hunt up Indians, I must confess."

His soliloquy was broken by the flitting of something from one tree to another, some distance ahead. The movement was so rapid, and the distance so great, that he could not settle in his mind what the object had been.

"Was that an Indian, or some big wild bird?" he asked himself. Drawing back into the shelter of some bushes he held his gun ready for use, and gazed ahead with much interest.

The sun was now well down in the west, so his shadow fell in front of him as he gazed eastward. Of a sudden another shadow loomed up beside his own. He turned, but before he could defend himself, he was hauled back and his gun was wrenched from his grasp. He tried to cry out, but a red hand was instantly clapped over his mouth.

Henry tried his best to free himself but it was useless. Two brawny warriors had attacked him, and now one of the redmen flourished a long hunting knife in his face, at the same time muttering some words of warning in a guttural tone. Henry did not understand the language spoken, but he knew what was meant--that he would be killed if he attempted to either fight or cry out--and so for the time being he lay still.

At a distance the young soldier heard the sounds of footsteps, and he rightfully surmised that Barringford was continuing his journey forward, with the rest of the rangers. Soon the sounds died away and all became as silent as the grave.

But the Indians did not wish to take any chances and so the one with the knife continued to stand over the young soldier until his companion was certain the whites had gone on. Then he emitted a short and peculiar bird-like whistle.

In less than two minutes fully a dozen warriors appeared on the scene, crawling from behind logs and rocks and from holes among the tree roots.

All came forward and gazed curiously at the prisoner.

A parley lasting but a few minutes followed. Henry tried his best to make out what was said, but this Indian dialect was entirely new to him.

He half suspected that these redmen had come down into New York from the north sh.o.r.e of Lake Ontario and in this he was not mistaken. They were spies, as it was long afterward proved, sent out by Saint Luc de la Corne, the French officer in command at Isle Royal, afterward called Chimney Island.

The coming ash.o.r.e of the English had evidently disconcerted the Indians and they hesitated over what should be their next move. But at last they set off on a rapid march northward, taking Henry with them. The young soldier's hands were bound behind him and he was given to understand that if he did not move along as suited them he would be killed on the spot.

"A nice pickle I'm in and no mistake," he mused, as the party toiled up a long hill and through a dense patch of timber where the undergrowth almost barred all progress. "These redskins won't give me the slightest chance to get away, and where they are taking me is more than I can guess. Wonder what Barringford will say when he finds I am missing?"

Some time after this a distant shot sounded out, at which all of the Indians came to a halt. The shot was followed by several others, all coming from the direction of the lake.

"Perhaps they are signals meant for me," thought Henry. "Oh, if only Barringford and the others strike the right trail!"