s when they went to see General Washington in the city, and
horse-holding is a nigger's job. Besides, I wasn't exactly dressed for
it.'

'D'you mean you were dressed like an Indian?' Dan demanded.

Pharaoh looked a little abashed. 'This didn't happen at Lebanon,' he
said, 'but a bit farther north, on the Reservation; and at that
particular moment of time, so far as blanket, hair-band, moccasins, and
sunburn went, there wasn't much odds 'twix me and a young Seneca buck.
You may laugh,' he smoothed down his long-skirted brown coat. 'But I
told you I took to their ways all over. I said nothing, though I was
bursting to let out the war-whoop like the young men had taught me.'

'No, and you don't let out one here, either,' said Puck before Dan could
ask. 'Go on, Brother Square-toes.'

'We went on.' Pharaoh's narrow dark eyes gleamed and danced. 'We went
on--forty, fifty miles a day, for days on end--we three braves. And how
a great tall Indian a-horseback can carry his war-bonnet at a canter
through thick timber without brushing a feather beats _me_! My silly
head was banged often enough by low branches, but they slipped through
like running elks. We had evening hymn-singing every night after they'd
blown their pipe-smoke to the quarters of Heaven. Where did we go? I'll
tell you, but don't blame me if you're no wiser. We took the old
war-trail from the end of the Lake along the East Susquehanna through
the Nantego country, right down to Fort Shamokin on the Senachse river.
We crossed the Juniata by Fort Granville, got into Shippensberg over the
hills by the Ochwick trail, and then to Williams Ferry (it's a bad one).
From Williams Ferry, across the Shanedore, over the Blue Mountains,
through Ashby's Gap, and so south-east by south from there, till we
found the President at the back of his own plantations. I'd hate to be
trailed by Indians in earnest. They caught him like a partridge on a
stump. After we'd left our ponies, we scouted forward through a woody
piece, and, creeping slower and slower, at last if my moccasins even
slipped Red Jacket 'ud turn and frown. I heard voices--Monsieur Genet's
for choice--long before I saw anything, and we pulled up at the edge of
a clearing where some niggers in grey and red liveries were holding
horses, and half-a-dozen gentlemen--but one was Genet--were talking
among felled timber. I fancy they'd come to see Genet a piece on his
road, for his portmantle was with him. I hid in between t