far as the eye could reach. However, as we entered the highway, which I
knew well, because now we were approaching a country familiar to me, I,
leading, caught sight of a few Dutch roofs to the east, and presently
came into plain view of the stockade and blockhouses of Schenectady,
above which rose the lovely St. George's church and the heavy walls and
four demi-bastions of the citadel which is called the Queen's Fort.

As we approached in full view of the ramparts there was a flash, a ball
of white smoke; and no doubt a sentry had fired his musket, such was
evidently their present state of alarm, for I saw the Stars and Stripes
run up on the citadel, and, far away, I heard the conch-horn blowing,
and the startled music of the light-infantry horns. Evidently the sight
of our Oneidas, spread far forward in a semicircle, aroused distrust. I
sent Murphy forward with a flag, then advanced very deliberately,
recalling the Oneidas by whistle-signal.

And, as we rode under the red rays of the westering sun, I pointed out
St. George's to Elsin and the Queen's Fort, and where were formerly the
town gates by which the French and Indians had entered on that dreadful
winter night when they burned Schenectady, leaving but four or five
houses, and the snowy streets all wet and crimsoned with the blood of
women and children.

"But that was many, many years ago, sweetheart," I added, already sorry
that I had spoken of such things. "It was in 1690 that Monsieur De
Mantet and his Frenchmen and Praying Indians did this."

"But people do such things now, Carus," she said, serious eyes raised
to mine.

"Oh, no----"

"They did at Wyoming, at Cherry Valley, at Minnisink. You told me so in
New York--before you ever dreamed that you and I would be here
together."

"Ah, Elsin, but things have changed now that Colonel Willett is in the
Valley. His Excellency has sent here the one man capable of holding the
frontier; and he will do it, dear, and there will be no more Cherry
Valleys, no more Minnisinks, no more Wyomings now."

"Why were they moving out of the houses in Albany, Carus?"

I did not reply.

Presently up the road I saw Murphy wave his white flag; and, a moment
later, the Orange Gate, which was built like a drawbridge, fell with a
muffled report, raising a cloud of dust. Over it, presently, our
horses' feet drummed hollow as we spurred forward.

"Pass, you Tryon County men!" shouted the sentinels; and the dusty
column ente