ell which originally incited the red
warriors to action and was supposed to strike terror to the hearts of
their enemies. The shrill cry echoed through the wood with startling
significance. At the same instant every man's cap was raised upon his
gun barrel and thrust forward into view of the startled Yorkers, while
the settlers themselves showed their heads, but nearer the ground. Only
for a moment were they thus visible; then they dropped back into hiding
again.

But the effect upon the sheriff's unwilling army was paralyzing. The
Yorkers thought that twice as many men were hidden in the forest as were
really there, for the hats on the gun barrels had seemed like heads,
too. They thought every man in Bennington--and indeed, as far east as
Brattleboro and Westminster--must have come to defend James
Breckenridge's farm, and they clamored loudly to return to the
Twenty-Mile Line and safety.

In vain the sheriff fumed and stormed, threatening all manner of
punishment for his mutinous troops; the army was determined to a man to
have no conflict with the settlers of the Disputed Ground. Like "the
noble Duke of York" in the old catch-song familiar at that day, Sheriff
Ten Eyck had marched his seven hundred or more men up to James
Breckenridge's door only "to march them down again!" 'Siah Bolderwood's
idea had taken all the desire for fight out of the Yorkers, and after
some wrangling between the personal attendants of the sheriff and the
volunteer army, the whole crew marched away, leaving the farm to the
undisputed possession of its rightful owner.

When the Yorkers departed the little garrison of the house appeared and
cheered lustily; but the men in the woods did not come out of hiding
until the last of the enemy had disappeared, for they did not wish the
invaders to know how badly they had been deceived regarding their
numbers. By and by Bolderwood and his men marched down from the ridge
and 'Siah was congratulated upon his happy thought in bringing about the
confusion of the Yorkers.

"You've a long head on those narrow shoulders of yours, neighbor,"
declared Ethan Allen, striking the old ranger heartily on the back.
"That little wile finished them. And this is the boy I saw trailing
through the bushes, is it?" and he seized Enoch and turned his face
upward that he might the better view his features. "Why, holloa, my
little man! I've seen you before surely?"

"It is poor Jonas Harding's eldest lad, neighbor Allen,"