Remember Baker lived at Arlington, and the distance from that new settlement, it could hardly be called a village, to Bennington was about two and a half miles. Enoch Harding might have given the alarm to the neighbors of the captured man, but he knew that they would not be able to pursue the Yorkers, for good horse flesh was scarce outside of Bennington. And Robbie would doubtless rouse them, anyway, as soon as he was recovered from his fright. As he saw it, Enoch believed his duty to point to the Catamount Inn, and we have seen how quickly a company was formed there for the chase of the Yorkers and their prisoner.

Enoch had ridden Baker’s horse hard into town and now he followed behind the ten rescuers, urging the animal to still greater efforts. The hard-packed snow rang merrily under the hoofs of the steeds. Fortunately the boy’s mount had been well “sharpened” by the local smith shortly before, or riding recklessly as he did the horse might have suffered a fall, and Enoch been flung off. Nevertheless he could not keep up with Isaac Clark and his companions, so gradually fell behind. His steed’s wind was sound, however, and he pursued the trail steadily.

The rescuers showed no hesitation in choosing their route. There were but a few beaten trails and they knew the road John Munro and his party would take with the prisoner to the bank of the Hudson. They could not miss it. The road from Arlington broke into this main trail at a point not far beyond the confines of Bennington and there it was at once apparent that the sledge and horsemen had passed that way not long before. There were plain marks of the runners and the ice and snow were cut up by the feet of the flying horses. The fact that the Yorkers numbered as many–if not more–than themselves, did not disturb the Green Mountain Boys in the least. “A Grants man who is not good for two or three of the scurvy Yorkers, is no good at all!” Stephen Fay had declared when they set forth, and probably the only emotions the ten felt as they rode on were eagerness and wrath.

Meanwhile, behind them raced Enoch Harding, desiring mightily to “be in at the death,” as the fox-hunters say. His heavy farmhorse could not compete with the mounts of the possÉ, however, and with tears in his eyes he saw them increase the distance between themselves and his animal. But he doggedly pursued the road, while the clatter of hoofs grew mellow in the distance. The morning was very still; the moon had sunk now and the stars were fading before the gray light of the coming day. In the east behind him the sky was even streaked with pink above the mountain-tops; the wind blew more keenly and he suddenly awoke to the fact that he was almost perished with the cold, for he had stopped for neither greatcoat nor mittens.

Finally arriving at the top of a ridge of land he saw before him–at least two miles along the road and just mounting another ridge–a group of flying horses with a sledge in their midst, the prisoner and his captors. At first he did not see the Green Mountain Boys at all; but as his own horse plunged down the slope he suddenly observed the squadron which had left the Bennington Inn, come out of the dip of the valley where the trees were thickest, and begin the ascent of the further ridge. The two parties were less than half a mile apart.

But from the elevation he was on Enoch had seen something else. The second ridge was lower than this and over it and not very far beyond he had caught a glimpse of the frozen Hudson! The river was not far away. Would the settlers catch the scoundrelly New York justice and his companions before they reached the river?

And this must be done if they would rescue Captain Baker. It was all very well to talk of following the party to Albany; but that would simply result in the imprisonment of all in the jail. Once at the river the Yorkers would be among friends and would find plenty of people to help them beat off the Green Mountain Boys. The latter understood this well enough. They did not need young Enoch Harding to tell them, and it was quite evident to the boy that his friends were spurring their horses desperately up the farther slope in a last grand burst of speed to overtake the fugitives.

On and on they sped and finally, when Enoch reached the dip of the vale, Clark and his party were over the hill and had disappeared. The boy dared not urge his horse up the ascent too rapidly and he lost much precious time before reaching the summit. But once here he had a broad outlook over the slope and plain beyond and if he could not be present, at least he had an unobstructed view of the end of the chase. The Green Mountain Boys had spurred down the hill madly and gained upon the sledge so rapidly that the faint-hearted Yorkers were thrown into a panic. The horses attached to the sledge gave out and one of them slipped and fell in the harness. Instead of stopping to help Munro get the animal on its feet, the horsemen, with the fear of punishment from the angry pursuers before their eyes, rode on and scattered in the thick woods beyond, leaving the doughty justice to meet the possÉ alone. Munro was not a physical coward and he felt that with the majesty of the law–New York law–behind him, he could face Baker’s friends.

They bore down upon him with threatening cries, but he stood his ground and warned them at the top of his voice neither to shoot nor to try to rescue his prisoner. There was no need of firearms, of course, for they were ten to one now. But they laughed his authority to scorn. What! allow him to carry ’Member Baker to Albany to be tried by a judge who was himself interested in land speculations, and by a jury antagonistic to the settlers of the Grants? It was preposterous!

Baker, who suffered sorely from his wounds, was untied and placed upon one of the horses which could carry double. The possÉ felt ugly, but they did not harm the justice and after some wordy warfare rode away again, leaving Munro to get his horse up and harnessed again to the sledge without their help. His threats of future punishment for the entire party were unnoticed. Their wild ride had been crowned with success, for they had recovered their wounded comrade within a mile of the Hudson River, and they took him home without any molestation.

But Captain Baker was weak from the loss of blood and terribly shaken by the experience and was in bed and under the care of a surgeon for some days. The news of the Yorkers’ raid spread throughout the Grants and the settlers whose fears had been lulled to sleep by the peace of the winter, were roused to a realization of the fact that the land grabbers intended to be quite as active in the future as they had been in the past. The next training day the conversation of the Green Mountain Boys who were present in Bennington was bitter indeed. Cochran, and such reckless spirits, were for retaliating with fire and bullet on the New York border. Nevertheless Warner and other more moderate men counseled forbearance.

“We overawed the sheriff’s army last year, it is true. But at that time we had given the people of New York no reasonable excuse for attacking us,” declared Warner. “We’ve beech-sealed more than one surveyor and warned New York settlers off the farms they had stolen since then. We’ve been obliged to use force and now force will be used against us. But I find that many of these New York settlers have been brought here under a misapprehension. They did not understand the controversy before they got the farms, and believed that the land-grabbers really owned the property of which they are in possession. To visit our righteous wrath upon helpless women and children will not help the cause of the Grants.”

Many of his hearers, however, were not convinced. “’Member Baker’s been beaten and his wife and boy ill-treated. What are we going to do about it?” was the demand.

“Complaint has already been made to Governor Tryon of New York, and John Munro may be punished by his own side for what he did the other night.”

“And there’s ’Member’s gun,” spoke up another ill-affected partisan. “Munro stole it and has got it to his house. I’m told so by a neighbor of his. ’Member thinks a deal of that gun.”

“I’ll get that,” said Warner, quickly. “’Member shall have his property back before next training day.”

And with that promise the disaffected spirits were satisfied for the time being. When Enoch rode away from Bennington on his return home that afternoon, the Connecticut giant overtook him on the road. Warner was a fine-looking man, younger even than Ethan Allen and idolized by the women and children of the community as Allen was by the men. But there was nothing effeminate about Warner. He was of the better class of borderers, possessing more education than most of his neighbors and with that measure of refinement and cultivation which placed George Washington above the majority of his associates. Warner had no patrician bearing, however, but entered into the work, sports and pursuits of his fellows. He was a superb horseman and rode on this day a mount which the governor of New York himself might covet.

Enoch Harding had grown used, by this time, to seeing these prominent leaders of the Grants and had spoken with Captain Warner before. “Master Harding, your road lies my way for some distance,” declared Warner, smiling on the boy. “We will go together.”

“You do not ride this way frequently, sir,” said Enoch.

“Nay. But you heard my promise to-day. I must get ’Member’s gun. That rascally Munro may have to be taught a lesson, too.”

“But will you go alone?” cried the boy.

Warner laughed. “Why, it is a peaceful mission. See–I have not even my rifle–only my sword as captain of our military company. A show of force might only make matters worse–and dear knows they are bad enough as it stands.”

“Munro will be among his friends, sir. Ought you not to have somebody with you?”

“There might be some doubt regarding that, Master Harding. A man like Munro is never blessed with an overabundance of friends. He may have minions that, for wage, would help him in his nefarious deeds. But I shall meet him when he least expects to see a Green Mountain Boy and I fear no serious trouble. But if you have doubt as to my safety,” and he smiled again, “you may ride with me and see that the doughty ’Squire does not capture and run away with me as he attempted to with Captain Baker.”

Enoch’s eyes sparkled at this permission and he spurred on after Captain Warner although the direction was one which carried him some distance out of his way. A two hours’ ride brought them to the settlement where the New York justice lived. Before they reached the place the figure of Warner was spied and recognized and Munro met the Green Mountain Boy in the roadway before his own house, surrounded by several of his neighbors. Enoch kept in the rear and as they rode up the boy unslung his gun and laid it across his saddle. Warner smiled as he noted this act, and then his face grew stern again as he drew rein before the much-hated Yorker.

“Master Munro,” he said, without parley, “it has been brought to my attention that, upon your late evening visit to Captain Remember Baker, you carried away from his house a certain weapon which Captain Baker highly prizes. You mistook it for your own, I presume, and the duties of your office have doubtless been so onerous since then that you have not had opportunity to return it. Happening to be in this neighborhood I have stopped to request the return of the gun.”

“Ha, ye rebel!” exclaimed Munro. “Dare ye put yourself in the lion’s jaws in this way? I’ll show ye—”

“Whether I have put myself in the jaws of a lion or a jackal may be a question which is aside from our present discussion,” interrupted Warner, scornfully. “I have come for Captain Baker’s property.”

“Baker is an outlaw–as are you,” declared Munro, wrathfully, “and as such I took away his arms. An’ I shall keep the gun.”

“Now, ’Squire, if you had stated the reverse of that proposition I should have the more easily believed you,” cried Warner, with flashing eyes. “Even a New York justice of the peace may not rob his neighbor with impunity in the Grants. I shall carry that gun away with me to-day. So, sir, deliver it without further ado!”

“Ye threaten me, do ye?” cried Munro, lashing himself into a rage. “Seize this villain, neighbors! I call on ye to assist in the capture of Seth Warner, the outlaw!” He seized the bridle of Warner’s horse, which reared with him and struck out angrily. But the justice hung on, still calling to the bystanders to interfere and help him. Enoch urged his own horse forward; but there was no fear of the neighbors aiding in Seth Warner’s capture. They refused to do so, and perhaps as much out of fear of the Connecticut man himself, as out of dislike for the justice.

Warner’s horse was a mettlesome beast and Munro’s act in seizing the bridle angered it. The Green Mountain boy had all he could do to handle his steed for a moment and, as Munro continued to cling to the bridle, Warner suddenly whipped out his sword and whirling it about his head brought the flat of the weapon down upon the officer’s pate! The blow caused Munro to relax his hold and knocked him to the ground, where he lay, roaring with pain and anger. Warner rode over him and approached the open door of the house to which Mrs. Munro, frightened by her husband’s overthrow, quickly brought the gun in question and handed it to the victor.

“Many thanks, ’Squire Munro!” cried Warner, waving the gun above his head and holding in his charger. “And when next ye seek to impound me, come in force, sir–come in force!” and letting his mount go, he and Enoch rode away at a swift canter.

Young Harding went home that night full of the afternoon’s doings, and loud in his praise of Captain Warner’s prowess. He and Bryce made many plans for the reception of the Yorkers if they came to their farm; but after this matters were quiet for some weeks and the settlers were enabled to begin the spring work and get the seed into the ground in peace. On May 19th Governor Tryon sent a letter to the Grants proposing a conference and promising amnesty to all those who had taken an active part in the raids of the Green Mountain Boys excepting Ethan Allen, Seth Warner, Baker and Robert Cochran. The King had commanded that New York do nothing further toward surveying or settling the lands east of Lake Champlain and the Twenty-Mile Line until the difficulty could be properly adjusted, and Tryon promised that the land-grabbers should be kept away from the Grants.

The farmers were delighted with this letter. They had been living in continual fear of dispossession since the first attack on the Breckenridge farm in ’69. Now they felt that they would be free to follow the peaceful pursuits of their calling and began to improve their possessions, believing that, after all, the right would prevail. None were more pleased at this turn of affairs than the widow Harding and Enoch. Bryce, it must be confessed, felt a little disappointed that he had seen no active service; but they were all happy in their work and the Harding place bade fair to be one of the most profitable farms in the township that year.

The boys labored well and after the second corn hoeing in August the work was so far along that Enoch was able to accompany ’Siah Bolderwood on a hunting trip. The old ranger, lacking any regular abiding place of his own, often visited the Hardings and helped in the work of the farm. But he was a wanderer by nature and could not stay in one place long at a time. So, being off to the northward, the widow allowed Enoch to join him for a week or two.

It was not wholly game that Bolderwood was after, however. At least, not game for present killing. He was mapping out his next winter’s campaign against the wild creatures of the forest. His strings of traps and dead-falls would be laid along the route which he and his young comrade traversed. Reaching the southern extremity of Lake Champlain Bolderwood found a canoe which, well hidden in a hollow log–all that remained of a monster king of the woodland–had lain untouched since his last visit to the lake. In this light bark they set sail upon that beautiful body of water on the shores of which the French and English had so often met in battle. It has been well said that the Champlain Valley was the school grounds of the early colonists, and that here were largely unfolded the elements of character which became of supreme importance in the Revolutionary struggle.

On the west bank of this lower, and narrower, portion of the lake, stood the frowning walls of Fort Ticonderoga–“Old Ti” as the settlers called it–wrested not long since from the French backed by their Huron and Algonquin allies. That promontory signalized a more ancient landmark of history even than the Pilgrim stone at Plymouth, and one quite as important to our country at large. Eleven years before the Mayflower began her voyage to America, Champlain met the Iroquois in battle on the site of Ticonderoga, and this battle made the Iroquois the friends of the English and the enemies of the French for generations. Ticonderoga was an important link in the chain of French posts extending from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi, which was designed to shut the English colonists into that narrow strip of the continent east of the Alleghanies.

From the beginning Fort Frederick (Crown Point) and Ticonderoga were a menace to the English. From these points the red allies of the French descended upon the border settlements to the south and burned and pillaged at pleasure. Two fearful campaigns were needed to reduce Ticonderoga and place the command of the Champlain in the hands of the British. Since its capture Ticonderoga had fallen somewhat into decay, for with the changing of the Canadian government from French to English, danger of attack, even by Indian bands, from the north was little to be expected by the settlers who had flocked into the rich lands near the lake after the close of the war.

Bolderwood and his young comrade passed Old Ti and, continuing up the lake, paddled by Crown Point and reached the mouth of the Otter. Here they encamped for several days, hunting and fishing, and living in a nomadic fashion that charmed Enoch. But when they were about to return another party of hunters came to the spot–men whom Bolderwood knew–bound for the upper end of the lake and into the wilderness lying east of that point. Enoch could not go so far because of the work on the farm; but he urged Bolderwood to accompany this party, as he knew very well he could find his way home in safety by either the land or water route. In fact, he rather coveted the chance to make his way home alone, for he wished to prove to the ranger his ability to do for himself.

It was therefore arranged that the boy should take Bolderwood’s canoe and go up Otter Creek to a certain settler’s house, there to leave the canoe and make his way overland to Bennington, and the next day they separated. The hunters did not start until afternoon on their northern journey, however, and Enoch left at the same time. Not far up the creek was a settlement of Hampshire farmers who on one occasion had been driven out by Yorkers in the employ of a Scotchman named Reid. But the Yorkers who had taken these farms stayed but a short time and the real owners of the property had come back the year before. Here Enoch expected to remain the first night of his lonely journey.

He did not arrive until late, however, and the houses were in darkness–indeed they seemed deserted. The mill (built by Colonel Reid’s followers) stood silent, the stones having been broken by the Green Mountain Boys on the occasion of the driving out of the New York settlers. Enoch, having heard such good accounts of this settlement, was astonished by the appearance of inactivity.

Nevertheless he landed and soon found a stockade surrounding a blockhouse, which was evidently occupied. The people seemed to live under this single roof as though they were in fear of an Indian raid, and the boy approached the place cautiously. He was not molested, however, for no watch was being kept; but when he rapped smartly on the door he knew by the sudden hush of voices within that the occupants of the dwelling were startled. There was the clatter of arms and a sudden command. Fearing that he might be treated as an enemy, Enoch knocked again and was about to raise his voice in the “view halloa” of the settlers, when the door was snapped open for an instant and the sharp blade of a sword thrust out of the darkness, the light of the candles having been quenched at his first summons.

The boy sprang back with an exclamation of fear, and only his agility saved him from serious injury, for the point of the sword cut a slit in his hunting coat. And the attack, so utterly unexpected, quite deprived him of speech or further motion as the heavy door slammed in his face. Such a welcome was, to say the least, disconcerting.