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WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA

by

W. BERT FOSTER

Author of

"With Washington at Valley Forge" etc

Illustrated by F. A. Carter

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA

MCMIV




Copyright 1903 by The Penn Publishing Company

With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga




[Illustration: "FORWARD!" HE SHOUTED]




CONTENTS
  CHAPTER                                             PAGE
        I  A Boy of the Wilderness                       5
       II  Enoch Harding Feels Himself a Man            19
      III  The Ambush                                   31
       IV  'Siah Bolderwood's Stratagem                 45
        V  The Pioneer Home                             60
       VI  The Stump Burning                            76
      VII  A Night Attack                               94
     VIII  The Traitor's Way                           107
       IX  The Otter Creek Raid                        127
        X  The Warning                                 139
       XI  An Unequal Battle                           160
      XII  Backwoods Justice                           174
     XIII  The Wolf Pack                               191
      XIV  The Testimony of Crow Wing                  208
       XV  The Storm Cloud Gathers                     220
      XVI  The Westminster Massacre                    236
     XVII  The Cloven Hoof                             251
    XVIII  "The Cross of Fire"                         270
      XIX  The Rising of the Clans                     284
       XX  The Rival Commanders                        298
      XXI  The Escape of the Spy                       313
     XXII  The End of Simon Halpen                     330
    XXIII  The Dawn of the Tenth of May                343
     XXIV  The Guns of Old Ti Speak                    355




WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA




CHAPTER I

A BOY OF THE WILDERNESS


The forest was still. A calm lay upon its vast extent, from the
green-capped hills in the east to the noble river which, fed by the
streams so quietly meandering through the pleasantly wooded country,
found its way to the sea where the greatest city of the New World was
destined to stand. The clear, bell-like note of a waking bird startled
the morning hush. A doe and her fawn that had couched in a thicket
seemed roused to activity by this early matin and suddenly showered the
short turf with a dewy rain from the bushes which they disturbed as they
leaped away toward the "lick." The gentle creatures first slaked their
thirst at the margin of the creek hard by and then stood a moment with
outstretched nostrils, snuffing the wind before tasting the salt
impregnated earth trampled as hard as adamant by a thousand hoofs. The
fawn dropped its muzzle quickly; but the mother, not so well assured,
snuffed again and yet again.

In the wilderness, before the white man came, there were to be found
paths made by the wild folk going to and from their watering places and
feeding grounds, and paths made by the red hunter and warrior. Although
hundreds of deer traveled to this lick yearly, they had not originally
made the trail. It was an ancient Indian runaway, for the creek was
fordable near this point. The tribesmen had used it for generations
until it was worn almost knee-deep in the forest mould, but wide enough
only to be traveled in single file. Along this ancient trail, and
approaching the lick with infinite caution, came a boy of thirteen,
bearing a heavy rifle.

Although so young, Enoch Harding was well built, and the play of his
hardened muscles was easily observed under his tight-fitting, homespun
garments. The circumstances of border life in the eighteenth century
molded hardy men and sturdy boys. His face was as brown as a berry and
his eyes clear and frankly open. The brown hair curled tightly above his
perspiring brow, from which his old otter-skin cap was thrust back. His
coming to the bank of the wide stream was attended with all the care and
silent observation of an Indian on the trail. He set his feet so firmly
and with such precision that not even the rustle of a leaf or the
crackling of a twig would have warned the sharpest ear of his approach.
The wind was in his favor, too, blowing from the creek toward him. The
doe, which he could not yet see but the patter of whose light hoofs he
had heard as she trotted with her fawn to the drinking place, could not
possibly have discovered his presence; yet she continued to raise her
muzzle at intervals and snuff the wind suspiciously.

The dark aisles of the forest, as yet unillumined by the sun