was alone in the woods.

Too wary to venture himself in an unknown region, the officer sat in his saddle, musing on the best course to pursue. Then, with a muttered, “That’s it,” he turned his horse’s head on the way homeward.

The animal, with the well-known instinct of his species, took up his march without hesitation, as Clark had foreseen. The officer drew his sword, and gave a slash at every tree he passed, leaving a white streak in the bark.

“You may hide, master juggler,” he said to himself; “but if I don’t track you to your haunt by daylight, it will be because there is no virtue in a blaze.”

CHAPTER X.

MOLLY STARK’S HUSBAND.

The little mountain town of Derryfield[1] was full of the sounds of the drum and fife, while companies of tall, raw-boned countrymen, some with uniforms, more without, but all bearing arms and belts, were marching to and fro in the streets, and on the green, to the lively notes of “Yankee Doodle.”

In the best parlor of the “Patriot Arms,” the principal tavern of the village, a remarkably tall and scraggy-looking officer, in the uniform of a Continental General, was standing before the fire, with one foot on the huge andiron, looking shrewdly at our friend, Adrian Schuyler, who stood before him, still shackled.

The scraggy officer had very broad shoulders, and huge hands and feet, but the flesh seemed to have been forgotten in the formation of his powerful frame. He had a tall, narrow[Pg 49] forehead, and a very stern, shrewd-looking face of a Scotch cast of feature, with high cheek bones, and very sharp black eyes. His nose and chin were both long, the latter very firm withal. His manner was remarkably sharp and abrupt. The nervous energy of the man seemed to be ever overflowing in impatience and fiery ardor. Such was Brigadier-General—afterwards Major-General—John Stark, the first leader of militia during the Revolutionary War.

[Pg 49]

“Well, sir,” he said, as Schuyler concluded his relation, “I’m very sorry that the rascals stole your commission, but your face is sufficient. I believe your story. What does Schuyler want me to do?”

“To join him at Bemis’ Hights, General,” said the Hussar, with equal business-like promptness.

“Well, sir, I’ll see him hanged 

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