"I've fought the Injuns through them woods over and over again," said
one of them, a sinewy, weather-beaten man of some sixty years old,
who was known as Peter Lambton. He had for many years been a scout
attached to the army and was one of the most experienced hunters on
the frontier. He was a tall, angular man, except that he stooped
slightly, the result of a habit of walking with the head bent forward
in the attitude of listening. The years which had passed over him had
had no effect upon his figure. He walked with a long, noiseless
tread, like that of an Indian, and was one of the men attached to his
company in whom, wisely, Captain Wilson had made no attempt to
instill the very rudiments of drill. It was, the captain thought,
well that the younger men should have such a knowledge of drill as
would enable them to perform simple maneuvers, but the old hunters
would fight in their own way--a way infinitely better adapted for
forest warfare than any that he could teach them. Peter and some of
his companions were in receipt of small pensions, which had been
bestowed upon them for their services with the troops. Men of this
kind were not likely to take any lively interest in the squabbles as
to questions of taxation, but when they found that it was coming to
fighting they again offered their services to the government as a
matter of course. Some were attached to the regular troops as scouts,
while others were divided among the newly raised companies of
loyalists.

Peter Lambton had for the last four years been settled at Concord.
During the war with the French he had served as a scout with the
regiment to which Captain Wilson belonged, and had saved that
officer's life when with a portion of his company, he was surrounded
and cut off by hostile Indians. A strong feeling of friendship had