"'You are like a lone star in the night, my brother. We have stretched
out our necks lookin' fer ye. We thought the Big Father had forgot us.
Now we are happy. To-morrer our faces will turn south an' shine with
bear's grease.'

"Sez I: 'You must wash no more in the same water with the French. You
must return to The Long House. The Big Father will throw his great arm
eround you.'

"I strutted up an' down, like a turkey gobbler, an' bellered out a lot
o' that high-falutin' gab. I reckon I know how to shove an idee under
their hides. Ye got to raise yer voice an' look solemn an' point at
the stars. A powerful lot o' Injuns trailed back to Sir Bill, but they
was a few went over to the French. I kind o' mistrust thar's some o'
them runnygades behind us. They're 'spectin' to git a lot o' plunder
an' a horse apiece an' ride 'em back an' swim the river at the place o'
the many islands. We'll poke down to the trail on the edge o' the
drownded lands afore sunrise an' I kind o' mistrust we'll see sign."

Jack Irons was a son of the much respected John Irons from New
Hampshire who, in the fertile valley where he had settled some years
before, was breeding horses for the army and sending them down to Sir
William Johnson. Hence the site of his farm had been called Horse
Valley.

Mr. Binkus went to the near brook and repeatedly filled his old felt
hat with water and poured it on the fire. "Don't never keep no fire
a-goin' a'ter I'm dried out," he whispered, as he stepped back into the
dark cave, "'cause ye never kin tell."