Page 68 - A Hero of Ticonderoga

an’ a man phillalooin’, an’ thin the shot. They kilt whativer they was at an’
thin wint away."

"Hi believe you’re right, Murphy, an’ we’ll no bother to go ashore, but just

pull back and report to the captain," and off went the boat to the western
shore.

With a sigh of relief Job sped back to his prisoner, to whom he motioned
the homeward way, and set forth with him in front at a break-neck pace,

which was occasionally quickened by a punch of the gun muzzle in the
rear, and so was the captive driven to the camp.

Ticonderoga’s evening gun had long since boomed its vesper thunder, and
the shadows of evening were thickening into night in the forest, when Job

emerged from them into the glare of the camp fire with his hound and
prisoner, and received the warm commendations of Allen and his associates
for his promptly and skilfully performed exploit.

"I don’t claim no credit for’t. It was all Gabe’s doin’s, an’ if I’d left him tied

up to hum as I laid out to, our cake would all ’a’ ben dough."

"Here, Newton, here’s your man. Put him under guard with that Tory,

Toombs," said Allen.

A tall man of noble, commanding presence, but of a quiet, modest mien,
stooped to caress the hound. "Why," he said, "it’s one of Sunderland’s dogs,
that haven’t their equal in New England."

"You’ve got an eye for houn’ dogs, Capt’n Warner. He sartain is one o’ them

dogs an’ll foller anything he’s told to, though ’t ain’t no gre’t trick to track a
Canuck more’n an Injin. They’re both strong-scented critters."