security. To them it was a symbol of England's power, and they often
discussed it around their camp fires, and in their lonely forest homes.

As Dane Norwood paused for a minute upon the brow of the opposite hill,
after he had left the Indian, a feeling of pride and awe welled up in
his heart as he looked across at the Fort. He had heard much about it,
but never until this day had he set eyes upon the place. He saw the
big flag fluttering in the breeze, and the black muzzels of the cannon
frowning seaward. He longed to hear them roar again, and he wondered
how far they would shoot, much farther, he had been told, than the
largest flint-lock ever made.

Leaving the brow of the hill, he moved swiftly down a narrow trail
which led to a large pond of water below. At its outlet was a tidal
grist mill, back of which a strong dam had been built. Along this
latter was a foot path which he followed, and soon reached the opposite
bank. From here a well-constructed road, lined with trees, wound up
the hill to the Fort. Dane walked somewhat slower now, and his heart
beat fast. He was at the end of his long journey, and soon he would be
in the presence of the man of whom he had heard so much. He slipped
his hand beneath his buckskin jacket and felt, as he had done so often
during the last three days, a small package hidden in an inside pocket.
In a few minutes more it would be delivered into the hands of the
owner, and his responsibility would be ended.

When part way up the hill he came to a strong barricade, where he was
suddenly confronted and challenged by a sentry, who demanded where he
was going and what he wanted.

"I have a message for the commander of the Fort," Dane told him. "I