urke, with a toss of his head, "'tis little I bother
meself along wid the likes o' Sir John. Lave him poke his nose into the
Sacandagy an' dhrown there, bad cess to him! We've a thrick to match
his, an' wan f'r the pig!"

"I'm glad to know that, Jimmy," said another officer earnestly. "And if
that's the case. Captain Renault's Rangers might as well pack up and
move back to Albany."

"Sure, Captain dear," he said, turning to me, "'tis not f'r the likes
o' Jimmy Burke to say it, but there do be a fri'nd o' mine in the
Rangers, a blatherin', blarneyin', bog-runnin' lad they call Tim
Murphy. 'Tis f'r his sake I'd be glad to see the Rangers here--an'
ye'll not misjudge me, sorr, that Jimmy Burke is afeared o' Sir John
an' his red whippets!"

"Oh, no," I said gravely; "I'm quite ready to leave Johnstown to your
protection, Jimmy, and march my men back to-night--with Colonel
Willett's permission----"

"Sorra the day! Och, listen to him, Colonel dear!" exclaimed the
landlord, with an appealing glance at Willett. "Wud ye lave us now, wid
th' ould women an' childer huddled like catthle in the foort, an'
Walther Butler at Niagary an' Sir John on the Sacandagy! Sure, 'tis
foolin' ye arre, Captain dear--wid the foine ale I have below, an'
divil a customer--the town's that crazy wid fear o' Sir John! 'Tis not
f'r meself I shpake, sorr," he added airily, "but 'tis the jooty o' the
military f'r to projooce thraffic an' thrade an' the blessing of
prosperity at the p'int o' the bagnet, sorr."

"In that case," observed Willett, "you ought to stay, Carus. Burke
can't attend to his tavern and take time to chase Sir John back to the
lakes."

"Thrue f'r ye, sorr!" exclaimed Burke, with a twinkle in his gray eye.
"Where wud th' b'ys find a dhram, sorr, wid Jimmy Burke on a scout,
sorr, thrimmin' the Tories o' Mayfield, an' runnin' the Scotch loons
out o' Perth an' the Galways, glory be!"

He bustled out to fetch us a dish of pink clingstone peaches, grown in
the gardens planted by the great Sir William. Truly, Sir John had lost
much when he lost Johnson Hall; and now, like a restless ghost drawn
back to familiar places, he haunted the spot that his great father had
made to bloom like a rose in the wilderness. He was out there now, in
the sunshine and morning haze, somewhere, beyond the blue autumn mist
in the north--out there, disgraced, disinherited, shelterless, sullenly
brooding, and plotting murder with his motley mob of Cayugas a