was not an American. Shall we let him join the company? I know he wants to."

Broad-faced Jacobus shook his head gravely.

"No, I think we'd better not. He's so lately from Canada that he may be an English spy. You can't be too careful. They say he talks French. Besides, he's only one good arm. No, I think we'd best not have him. I don't trust him, and a one-armed soldier wouldn't be good for anything, anyway."

"Well, I'd trust him," said the first speaker, "and I know him better than the rest of you do. It's true he's lived in Canada, and when he was there he learned lots of clever things about the woods, too; but he feels that this is his country, and he's just as good an American as any of us."

However, the opinions of Captain Jacobus prevailed, and when Noel came up he was treated in so cool a way by most of the boys that at first he felt very angry; but he remembered to check his temper. He remained and watched the drill, in spite of their evident intention to treat him as an outsider.

Soon it got so dark that the boys had to stop drilling. They were lying about on the ground near the edge of the woods, resting a little before they parted, when of a sudden thirty or forty men, each leading a pony, loomed out of the dusk. They were walking rapidly, and keeping close to the forest. The startled boys remained quiet, and the men did not see them till they were close upon them.

"Hello! What's this?" exclaimed the one who seemed the leader. "Here, you little rascals, don't you stir! Not a word—not a move!"

The boys were frightened into complete submission, and lay huddled on the ground staring at the new-comers. These, with the exception of the leader, who wore the uniform of an English officer, were all dressed in deer-skin suits, with fur caps and moccasins. The boys saw that they had been captured by a band of the dreaded Canadian scouts—about whose Indianlike ferocity many tales were told—and most of the young warriors trembled with fright. Jacobus tried to say something, but his voice broke, and the attempt ended in an ignominious mixture of gulp and sob.

"You won't be hurt if you keep quiet," said the officer, trying not to smile when he saw Jacobus and his big sword. His voice grew stern as he went on: "Pierre and Antoine, you stay and guard these boys. If one moves you are to shoot him. Remember that order, boys; remember also that my scouts always obey. Be careful, Pierre, to let none of them escape to give the alarm. Join us when you hear firing. Come on, the rest of you."

In a moment the stealthy company of scouts, leading their ponies, that stepped carefully, as if they too understood the need of quiet, were gone. The boys would have thought it all an apparition if the two stalwart Canadians, Pierre and Antoine, had not been there to prove they had not been dreaming. The two scouts talked together for a short time in Canadian French; then, while the one called Pierre stood guard with his rifle, Antoine picketed their two ponies, and next began to picket the boys—that is, he tied together the wrists and ankles of each one, using some long thongs of deer-skin which he and Pierre carried wound round their waists. When all were securely tied the two scouts stretched themselves out on the grass, and, paying little further attention to their trembling prisoners, began talking—none of the boys save Noel could understand French.

"How long must we wait here with these wretched youngsters?" said Pierre.

"It will take an hour or more for them to encircle the village; and that must be done before the attack is made."

"And we must lose it all! It's a shame. Well, they ought to give us a better chance when—" Here he dropped his voice so low that Noel could hear no more.

While Noel's ears had been busy, his fingers had not been idle. With the deftness and patience born of his forest training in Canada he had worked at the knots that bound him, and had at last succeeded, with the help of the darkness, in untying them. He lay just at the forest's edge, and it required only one sudden spring to carry him into the underbrush.

The leap had been a quick one, but Pierre's sharp eyes had seen the boy's first movement; and as Noel crashed into the bushes, the scout's knife—which he wore at his belt, and which he could throw as an Indian throws the tomahawk—glanced through the air, severing a twig close to the boy's cheek. Noel made two or three long leaps, then crouched down, and, feeling along the earth, found a heavy stick, and flung it crashing into the bushes at one side.

Pierre, leaving Antoine to guard the others, had sprung after Noel; he carried his rifle, which had lain by his side, wrapped in his jacket to protect it from the dew. It was very dark under the thick evergreens; and as Pierre, misled by the sound of the stick, went a few yards to one side, Noel rose and moved away, his moccasins making as little noise as do the furry feet of a Canada lynx creeping up to a moose. But even a lynx sometimes stirs a twig that rustles a dead leaf, and now this happened to Noel. Pierre's ears caught a slight sound; instantly he made out the crouching figure, and, throwing his rifle to his shoulder, fired. Thanks to the darkness, the bullet missed, but whizzed so close to the boy's head that the concussion almost stunned him. Yet he felt like shouting for joy, for the scout, his muzzle-loading rifle empty and his knife gone, was practically unarmed.

"Have you got him?" cried Antoine, from the open.

"Not yet," shouted back Pierre. "But I'll have him, alive or dead. He sha'n't get away!"

Noel, knowing that there was now neither knife nor bullet to follow him, had leaped forward, running like a deer. The scout sprang after him not twenty yards behind. The little forest creatures that run about at night—weasels and sables and hares—scrambled out of their way, and crouched down, wondering at them as they came dashing by.

The two were not unequally matched; for while the scout had the advantage in strength, Noel was the more agile. His small size was also of great advantage, as any one who has tried to run through the woods will understand. The low-growing branches of trees did not trouble the boy as they did the tall Pierre, who several times measured his length upon the ground.

They went on for what seemed a long time to the man and boy plunging through the underbrush of the woods, but which was probably not more than half an hour. By that time Noel felt that his strength was fast going. He was breathing painfully, and had been forced to slacken his pace, when he came upon what at first seemed a thick growth of bushes; as he broke through he found that it was a brush fence which some farmer had built through the woods to enlarge his pasture. The boy, agile and light, had little trouble; but Pierre fared worse, and before he could struggle through the brush and the tops of fallen trees that composed the fence, Noel had doubled the distance between them.

As Noel hurried on as fast as he was able he was startled by some large animal, which he stumbled upon just as it was getting to its feet; it too was frightened, and ran on ahead. Noel saw that it was one of the farmer's heifers. Here was an opportunity to mislead his pursuer, and the boy dropped to the ground by the side of a log and lay perfectly quiet. Pierre, out of breath, and struggling to make up the ground he had lost, kept on after the heifer, thinking it was Noel. As he leaped over the log, he was so near the prostrate figure that his foot actually touched the boy's jacket.

As soon as the Canadian was out of hearing, Noel jumped up and started toward the clearing, which he knew was near by. There was no time to lose, for Pierre must soon find out his mistake and return. In a few minutes Noel reached the edge of the wood, and far off across the fields saw a black shaft in the starlight, the spire of the village church. It was fully three miles away; for he had been