As still as the shadow of the tree itself, Enoch lay with his face toward the camp. Truly, had the forest not been so dark outside the radiance of the fire, he would have set out again upon his journey, and left this spot which seemed to his troubled mind the lurking place of some serious danger. The minutes grew to an hour, however, without a suspicious sound reaching his ears. The usual noises of the forest–the hooting of the owl, the wolf’s cry, the whimper of the wild-cat–were all that disturbed the repose of the wilderness.

But suddenly a dry twig snapped somewhere near him. The sound went through the anxious youth like a shock of electricity. Its direction he could not fathom; yet he was sure that the branch had crackled under the pressure of a foot. Somebody–or something–was approaching his fire, which now threw a dull red light across the forest glade. Enoch’s eyes were fastened first upon one blot of shadow and then another. Occasionally, too, he darted a glance over his shoulder, that the approaching enemy might not come upon him unawares. Just at that time Enoch would have given much for his rifle. Its presence would have inspired him with a deal of courage. The very fact that the danger, which intuition rather than reason assured him was threatening, came from an unknown source, increased his fears. Perhaps Simon Halpen was not within a hundred miles of that identical spot. He who was visiting the Tories and New York sympathizers of this region was possibly nothing worse than the agent of a land speculator. The youthful Green Mountain Boy might be the only human being within five miles.

But suddenly that happened which shattered this fallacious web of thought in an instant. In the deep shadow of a thick clump of brush upon the other side of the fire, the youth observed a movement–rather, a flash or glint of light. The fire, increasing unexpectedly by the falling apart of one of the logs, had sent a penetrating ray of light into the thicket and there it glittered upon some polished piece of metal. Nothing else could have sent forth this answering gleam; it was not a pair of eyes; Enoch was confident of that.

“He is there!” whispered the youth, and he crouched lower between the roots. His eyes, sharp as they were, could not penetrate the gloom of the brush clump, and the glittering metal had now disappeared. But he was sure that the intruder was still there, reconnoitering the camp. Would he suspect the ruse? Would he observe that the body lying by the fire was simply a dummy? The youth was glad to see that the log with his jacket and cap upon it lay almost entirely in the shadow and that one coat-sleeve was stretched out upon the ground in a very natural manner indeed.

The moments that passed then were really terrible to young Harding. He knew himself to be in no immediate danger from this mysterious individual who had crept near his camp. Surely, the man could not see him where he lay shrouded in the darkness. Yet the thought that he was being dogged by a deadly enemy possessed him, and the doubt as to what the unknown would do next, brought the sweat to his brow and limbs and set him trembling like one with an ague. Not a breath disturbed the bushes, yet he felt that the man was there–there across the opening in the forest with his eyes fixed upon the supine figure near the fire. Had he not been warned by that mysterious feeling which had kept his eyes open and his nerves alert he, Enoch Harding, might now be lying unconscious with a deadly weapon trained upon him!

And then the shot was fired! Enoch expected it, yet the explosion almost betrayed him to the enemy. A gasp of terror left his lips. Incidental with the explosion he heard the thud of the ball as it penetrated the log, and the shock of the impact actually stirred the dummy. It leaped upon the uneven ground!

This fact was an awful accessory to the attempted murder. The inanimate object had moved as a human being would if suddenly shot through a vital part. Perhaps the very gasp of horror Enoch had uttered reached the ears of him who had fired from ambush. At least the enemy did not seek to come nearer. Indeed, the youth heard a crash in the brush and then the retreat of rapid footsteps. Having done, as he supposed, the awful deed, the murderer fled from the spot. Enoch had half risen to his feet. Now he sank upon his knees, clasped his hands, and thanked God for his preservation.

But he did not leave the sanctuary of the forest’s shadow until he was fully convinced that the villain who had made the attempt upon his life was far away. Then, still shaking from the nervous terror inspired by the incident, he crept to the dying fire, secured his cap and coat, and went back to the roots of the tree again until the growing glow above the tree-tops announced the rising of the moon. The sky grew bright rapidly and soon the moonbeams wandered among the straight, handsome trees and lay calmly upon the earth. He could once more see objects about him with almost the clearness of full daylight.

Enoch arose and crossed to the clump of brush from which the treacherous shot had been fired. Through a break in the branches a flood of moonlight now silvered the earth at this point. He dropped upon one knee and examined the ground closely. There were the marks of the feet of him who had tried to shoot a helpless and sleeping human being. Enoch shuddered and placed his fingers in the impression of the moccasins. The incident that had just transpired was very real to him now.

But he had not come here merely to assure himself of this fact. The bullet in the log and the hole through his coat were sufficient, if he had indeed doubted his eyes and ears before. He glanced down at the coat. Oddly enough the bullet had torn its way through the stout homespun directly over his heart!

He glanced keenly now from side to side and saw that the enemy who made the treacherous attack had come from the trail he had followed that afternoon, and had returned in the same direction. He followed the footsteps which led away from the brush clump. In doing this he was quickly assured that the man who had shot at him was a white man. An Indian walks with his toes pointed inward; this individual, even as he ran, pointed his toes out. He was certain, therefore, that his enemy was no wandering redskin.

“It was Halpen–I am sure of it!” muttered the youth, striking into the trail at last and continuing the journey upon which the darkness had overtaken him. “He believes that he has killed me. I only hope he will not be undeceived. But if he is ever in my power he shall suffer! What a villain the man is to follow our family and seek to murder and injure us! Oh, I hope this war which Colonel Allen says is surely beginning, will give us folks of the Grants our freedom from New York as well as from England. I fear men like Halpen more than I do the soldiers of the King.”

Although he had not slept, Enoch was rested in body and he traveled quite rapidly. Before dawn he had aroused two settlers from their slumbers, delivered Colonel Allen’s message, and gone on his way. He observed no signs of his enemy of the night and was confident that the man had not continued on this trail, and was not, therefore, ahead of him. But he determined not to sleep in the forest during the remainder of his journey. He spent the day in alarming the farmers, circling around into the mountains before night and stopping at last with a distant pioneer who, with his two grown sons, promised to go back with him to the rendezvous of Allen’s army at Castleton in the morning.

Enoch’s mind was burdened with the mystery of Halpen’s presence in the Grants at this time, however. Surely the Yorker could not be upon private business. He must have a mission from either the land speculators, the New York authorities, or from those even higher. The plans of the Colonials to attack Old Ti and seize the munitions of war stored there, might have been whispered in the ears of the British commander, De la Place. Perhaps he had sent this man, who knew the territory so well, to spy upon the Green Mountain Boys and their friends. Simon Halpen could do the cause afoot much harm by returning swiftly to the lake and warning the commander of Fort Ticonderoga. Enoch believed Colonel Allen should know of Halpen’s presence as soon as possible; and he was determined to return at once, although he certainly deserved rest and refreshment after his arduous journey through the wilderness. Therefore he urged the hurried departure of these three pioneers and before dawn the quartette started for Castleton.

Meanwhile, at the camp of the Green Mountain Boys much was transpiring of importance to the expedition. The honor of capturing Ticonderoga history gives unconditionally to Ethan Allen and his handful of followers; but the suggestion and preparations for the momentous task was divided between the Colonies of Connecticut, Massachusetts, and the Hampshire Grants, or Vermont, as it was now beginning to be called. In April the authorities of Connecticut raised three hundred pounds for the expense of this expedition and Samuel H. Parsons, Silas Deane (afterward one of America’s representatives in Paris, but an arch enemy of Washington) and Benedict Arnold, raised a handful of troops to send north as a nucleus of that army which was expected to fall upon one of the strongest British forts in the country.

At Pittsfield, in western Massachusetts, Colonel Easton had recruited a larger band of earnest patriots, and these, joined with the company from the more southern colony, made a very respectable force to march through the country to Bennington, where they arrived on May third. In the meantime at Albany Messrs. Halsey and Stephens had been pleading with the New York Congress to grant permission for troops to be raised for, and money devoted to, the capture of the same fortresses as the New England leaders had in mind. But, as we have seen, New York was at that time lukewarm in the uprising of the colonies. Beside, the Continental Congress was to meet in seven days and it was judged better by the cautious Yorkers to wait and see what that body of representatives would do before any direct act of war was indulged in. Therefore New York lost her opportunity of joining in one of the most glorious campaigns of the entire Revolutionary period.

The Committee of Safety in Massachusetts, on the other hand, had decided to act against Old Ti. Benedict Arnold, after stirring up the people to fever pitch in his own colony, Connecticut, went post-haste to Cambridge and demanded a commission and authority to raise and lead the troops against the Champlain forts. This first move of this much-hated man in the Revolution savored of intrigue and self-seeking–as did most of his other public acts. He desired the honor of commanding this expedition, and he was personally courageous enough to march up to the mouths of Old Ti’s guns if need be; but he had no personal following and could not hope to recruit men himself for the expedition. Nevertheless, he proposed to have the backing of a regular commission from the Massachusetts committee and thus supersede Colonel Easton. This desire on his part might have become a fact had it not been for one person whom Benedict Arnold did not take into consideration.

The Massachusetts and Connecticut forces were guided to the camp of the Green Mountain Boys while the leaders held a conference at the Catamount Inn in Bennington. Colonel Easton was a truly brave man, and as such was not disturbed by petty jealousy. It was left to fate to decide who should command the expedition, and Ethan Allen having the largest personal following, was acclaimed commander. Greatly to Captain–now Major–Warner’s disappointment his own men did not number as many as the Massachusetts troops; but he gracefully yielded second place to Easton and accepted third himself. Plans for the march through the wilderness were then carefully discussed and the leaders rode to Castleton and reviewed the raw recruits whose valor was, at a later day, to be so noised abroad.

The Green Mountain Boys, after four years of training, presented much the better appearance. And every man was practically a sharpshooter. What their rifles and muskets could do against the thick, if crumbling, walls of Ticonderoga, might with good judgment be asked; but they lacked neither courage nor faith in their leader. They would have followed Ethan Allen through a wall of fire if need be to the line of the British fortifications. In their eyes he was invincible.

On the morning of the start from Castleton the army was paraded–a few hundred meagrely armed men to march against a fortress, to capture which had cost the British two expensive campaigns and the loss of some three thousand men. Their leaders harangued them, and Ethan Allen’s promises of glory and honor inspired quite as much enthusiasm as the commander of any expedition could have wished. There had gathered to observe the departure many gentlemen of the countryside, and not a few of those individuals who, at a time like this, always occupy a prominent position “on the fence”–that is, they having not yet decided which cause to espouse, waited to see whether the King’s troops or the earnest patriots would win.

Among these spectators was a well set up man of military bearing, indeed garbed in a military coat, with a cockade in his hat and his hair carefully dressed. He was quite a dandy, or a “macoroni” as the exquisites of that day were called both in London and in the Colonies. His dark visage and hawk-like eye commanded more than a passing glance from all and when, just before the troops started, he was observed to walk across the parade and calmly approach the group of officers standing at one side, all eyes became fixed upon him.

“Who is that haughty looking man yonder?” asked one spectator of his neighbor who happened to be better informed than his friend, “and what does he here?”

“What he does here I know not,” declared the individual thus addressed, “but his name I can tell you, having seen him in Hartford on several occasions. It is Benedict Arnold, a name quite well known–and not altogether honorably–in that part of Connecticut.”