“If white man comes to our village cold, we warm him; wet, we dry him; hungry, we feed him,” he said.  “When Injun man goes to Albany and asks for food, they say, ‘Where’s your money?  Get out, you Injun dog!’ The white man he comes with scaura and trades it for skins.  It steals away the wisdom of the young braves.  It bends my neck with trouble.  It is bad.”

They noted this just feeling of resentment in the old chief and expressed their sympathy.  Soon the Albany trader came with his pack of rum.  The chief greeted him cheerfully and asked for scaura.

“I have enough to make a hundred men happy,” the trader answered.

“Bring it to me, for I have a sad heart,” said Thunder Tongue.

When the Dutch trader went to his horse for the kegs, Solomon said to the chief: 

“Why do you let him bring trouble to your village and steal away the wisdom of your warriors?”

“Tell me why the creek flows to the great river and I will answer you,” said the chief.

He began drinking as soon as the trader came with the kegs, while the young warriors gathered about the door, each with skins on his arm.  Soon every male Indian was staggering and whooping and the squaws with the children had started into the thickets.

Solomon nudged Jack and left the hut, followed by the boy.

“Come on.  Let’s git out o’ here.  The squaws an’ the young ’uns are sneakin’.  You hear to me—­thar’ll be hell to pay here soon.”

So while the braves were gathered about the trader and were draining cups of fire-water, the travelers made haste to mount and get around the village and back into their trail with the herd.  They traveled some miles in the long twilight and stopped at the Stony Brook Ford, where there were good water and sufficient grazing.

“Here’s whar the ol’ Green Mountain Trail comes down from the north an’ crosses the one we’re on,” said Solomon.

They dismounted and Solomon hobbled a number of horses while Jack was building a fire.  The scout, returning from the wild meadow, began to examine some tracks he had found at the trail crossing.  Suddenly he gave a whistle of surprise and knelt on the ground.

“Look ’ere, Jack,” he called.

The boy ran to his side.

“Now this ‘ere is suthin’ cur’user than the right hoof o’ the devil,” said Solomon Binkus, as he pointed with his forefinger at a print in the soft dirt.

Jack saw the print of the wooden stump with the iron ring around its base which the boy had not forgotten.  Near it were a number of moccasin tracks.

“What does this mean?” he asked.

“Wall, sir, I cocalate it means that ol’ Mike Harpe has been chased out o’ the Ohio country an’ has come down the big river an’ into Lake Champlain with some o’ his band an’ gone to cuttin’ up an’ been obleeged to take to the bush.  They’ve robbed somebody an’ are puttin’ fer salt water.  They’ll hire a boat an’ go south an’ then p’int fer the ‘Ganies.  Ol’ Red Snout shoved his leg in that ’ere gravel sometime this forenoon prob’ly.”