The late visitor at the Otter Creek settlement shrank away from the door and, dumbfounded by the sword-thrust which was evidently meant for his heart instead of his coat, waited to see what the next move of those in the blockhouse would be. He heard low voices and words which sounded like military commands. Suppose the occupants of the wooden fort should fire upon him?

At this idea he dropped upon all fours and it is perhaps well that he did so, for one bullet did come from a loophole, singing viciously above his head. Then an angry voice of command rose on the night air: “Haud yir hand, mon! Let’s see an’ it be fri’nd or foe.” The tone and accent were broadly Scotch, and this, too, added to Enoch’s amazement. He had not heard of Scotch people coming to Otter Creek since those placed there by Colonel Reid had been driven forth. At once his suspicions were aroused, but he cried aloud:

“I am a friend and am alone. I only came for a night’s lodging.”

“’Tis a laddie, mon! There’s naught t’ fear,” declared the voice within, as though answering some objection which Enoch could not hear. The candles were lighted and in another moment the door was opened again, revealing a tall, raw-boned Scot with a shock of red hair and beard. He grasped a bared sword, almost as big as a two-handed claymore, and he looked sternly upon the boy as the latter approached.

“Ha! ’tis wrang for a laddie t’ be oot this time o’ night,” he declared. “Air ye sure alone?”

“Quite alone,” Enoch replied. “I have been hunting west of here and we camped at the mouth of the creek. My comrades have gone northward and I was returning home by way of the creek. I did not know that the settlers here were in fear of Indians—”

“Ha! ’tis little we think o’ them rid chiels. There’s war nor they in yon forest-land, an’ well we ken that.”

“Who do you mean?” demanded Enoch, now stepping within the open door.

“Why, the robber Allen, an’ his followers. We do oor wark wi’ guns in oor han’s for fear of them same outlaws. Eh, mon! but they’re a bold mob.”

Enoch made no reply, but advanced to the gun rack and stood up his rifle and dropped his pack. He knew now what had occurred at the settlement. The land-grabber Reid had come back to the Grants, ousted the Hampshire settlers, and again established minions of his own in their places. The boy glanced about and saw at least a dozen hardy looking Scots. Every one of them had doubtless served in Colonel Reid’s regiment of Highlanders. They were descended from men almost as wild and bloodthirsty as the red Indians themselves, and although ordinarily they might be harmless enough, that thrust of the sword had shown Enoch that they were likely to fight first and inquire the reason for it afterward. They had come to Otter Creek in force this time, and evidently determined to battle for their master’s holdings under the New York law.

But the man who had let him in, and who was a Cameron, was evidently bent upon treating hospitably the guest which he had so nearly run through with his sword. “Jamie Henderson,” he said to one of the solemn faced Scots, “speir ane o’ the wimmen t’ gie us a bite for the lad,” and the repast which was prepared and put before him was generous and kindly given. While he was eating and John Cameron sat by to watch him enjoy the food, Enoch gathered courage to ask a few questions.

“We heard down Bennington way that Colonel Reid’s people had left this land and the settlers who formerly owned it had come back,” he said, suggestively. The Scot’s eyes contracted as he looked at the visitor. “Aye, aye?” he said, questioningly. “How long have you been here?” queried the boy.

“Sin’ June. The men ye call settlers were nae proper holders o’ their titles. Lieutenant-Colonel Reid bought this land and put fairmers here first.”

“But he did not get his title from New Hampshire,” Enoch said.

“Nae–w’y should he? New York owns the land to yon big river–th’ Connecticut call ye it? Our fri’nds settled here in ’69. The titles these auld settlers held wes no guide–na, na! But Colonel Reid is a guide mon–’deed yes.”

“How do you make that out?” demanded Enoch. He wanted to tell the Scot what he thought of this business, but he dared not. He knew Ethan Allen and the other leaders of the Green Mountain Boys should know of it, and as he, perhaps, was the first to learn of the return of the Scotch, he must get away early in the morning and reach Bennington in the quickest possible time. While the Grants men were resting in supposed safety and peace because of Governor Tryon’s letter promising inactivity on the part of the land speculators, the latter were hurrying their minions over the line, evicting the rightful owners of the Grants, and stealing their farms. The boy’s heart swelled with anger; but he was wise enough to hold his tongue and say nothing to rouse the suspicions of the Scots.

In reply to his question regarding Colonel Reid’s “guideness” Cameron told how he, with other Scots, had landed in New York early in June and had been engaged by the Colonel at once to go and occupy his land in the Disputed Territory. Reid came with them to the settlement, being at considerable expense to transport them, their wives, children and baggage. The day after their arrival while viewing the land covered by Reid’s title, they observed a crop of Indian corn, wheat, and garden stuff, and a stack of hay belonging to two New England men who, according to Cameron, had squatted on the land without right or title. Reid paid these two men $15 for their standing crops and the hay and made over the same to his new tenants. This was a novel way of telling how the owners of the titles to the farms received from the New Hampshire governor years before, were evicted. But Enoch held his peace. He had considerable doubt in his own mind regarding Colonel Reid’s “guideness,” nevertheless, and rose early in the morning and left the settlement in Bolderwood’s canoe. Instead of keeping on up the Otter he turned back to the lake. The route by which he and the ranger had come from Bennington would be far shorter than the one he had started upon; so he went back that way. News of the return of Reid’s people must be conveyed to Ethan Allen and the other leaders of the Green Mountain Boys as quickly as possible.

He scarcely stopped for food, so anxious was he to get home. He met nobody on his trip until he reached Manchester and there his story was hardly believed, for the letter of the New York governor in May, inviting the Grants representatives to a council, had made a strong and favorable impression upon public sentiment. This council had advised that all legal processes against the Grants settlers cease and even now the echoes had not died away of the jubilation of the deluded people over what was considered the end of the bitter controversy.

But when he arrived at home and told his mother of his discovery she, like the truly patriotic woman she was, became vastly disturbed. “You may not rest idly here, Enoch, while such wrong is being done. Colonel Allen should know of it at once. He rode past here but yesterday on his way to Bennington, and gave us a cry. He asked for you, too,” she said, with pride, “and told me how well you carried yourself at training. There is a council being held in town to-day, I believe, for I suspect that Colonel Allen and Captain Warner have not been deceived by the false promises of Governor Tryon. And this business at the Otter Creek will wake up many of those who would cry ‘Peace!’ when there is no peace. Bryce will saddle the horse for you, Enoch,” she added, “and while you eat I will prepare your best breeches and coat. You cannot appear at the inn before the gentlemen in your old clothing.”

The careful woman bustled away and laid out her son’s Sabbath suit and his boughten shoes and, tired as Enoch was, he rode away toward Bennington an hour after reaching the ox-bow farm.

As his mother had declared, Colonel Allen and several other leaders were in conference in Stephen Fay’s private parlor, and when he had whispered his story to the innkeeper, the latter brought him at once before the gentlemen, rightly considering the matter of such importance as to brook no delay in the telling. Never before had Enoch seen Ethan Allen in any capacity but that of a leader in action. In the boy’s mind he had ever been connected with scenes of riot, or in the capacity of a commander on training day. But it was a very serious looking group which surrounded the table now, and the man at the head of the board lacked nothing in dignity and stern bearing in comparison with the other members of the committee.

It was Allen, however, who turned from the subject under discussion and beckoned Master Fay and Enoch nearer. “What have we here?” he asked. “Something of moment, I warrant, from the look on Stephen’s face. And there is young Nuck Harding. Is aught amiss in your district, lad?”

“Nay, Colonel,” Enoch replied; “but I have been in the north and bring back news that my mother was sure you would wish to hear at once. So I rode over without delay to tell you, sir.”

“God bless the woman!” Allen exclaimed, heartily. “She’s fighting away there in the wilderness with her pack of babies in a way to make grown men blush. I was by there but yesterday.... And what’s the news you bring, Nuck?”

“The Yorkers have come back to the mill on Otter Creek.”

“What, sir?” cried Allen, leaping from his chair.

“That’s not to be believed,” cried one of the others. “How know ye this, boy?”

Enoch told them, using few words; but the tremor in his voice showed the depth of his feeling. The injury done the settlers–the treachery of the Yorkers–had affected him as it had his mother. Allen listened with marked attention, having dropped back into his wide-armed chair, but he watched the boy’s countenance the while. “Egad!” cried he when the story was done, “there’s a boy after my own heart. He knows when he sees a snake in the brush!” Then he turned instantly to his companions. “We will postpone this other matter, gentlemen. What we may do in the event of his Majesty’s placing other and more onerous burdens upon these colonies, affects us not so nearly as what these New York Tories do to us now. We have no standing either with the colonies or with the King; we are outlaws, forsooth; our hand is against every man’s and every man’s hand against us. Yet, belike in time the trouble between the King and the colonies may be the salvation of the Hampshire Grants.

“We have other business now. I am away at once, friends,” he said, rising again. “Do so to me and more also, if I allow more time than is necessary to pass before I fall upon those Scotch scoundrels and smite them hip and thigh! Send the word around, Stephen Fay. Let them that will gather here. Be sure Warner knows of this; I will send for ’Member myself. His company will be first ready, I have no doubt. ’Member’s wound is scarce yet healed, and the sting of it needs dressing,” and he laughed, knowing Captain Baker’s fiery temper and his hatred of the Yorkers who had served him so evilly that very spring. “Let it be known that we start from Bennington by sunrise.”

Enoch returned home, more than a little puffed with pride because of Colonel Allen’s commendation and although he was too young to join the party which, under Allen and Captain Baker, marched to punish the Scots at Vergennes, he knew that his fortunate discovery would make him something of a hero in the eyes of his mates. The Green Mountain Boys fell upon the Scots unexpectedly, burned the cabins, pastured their horses in the standing corn, broke the millstones to pieces, and drove the New York settlers to Crown Point where they took shelter until the land-speculator, Reid, could gain them transportation to other and more honestly acquired lands. As for Reid himself, had he been overtaken by the Grants men he certainly would have been “viewed”–a phrase used by the Green Mountain Boys, meaning to be whipped. The settlement was, however, for the time being abandoned by both parties, for it was so deep in the wilderness that neither could properly defend it from attack.