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Transcriber's Note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved.  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
  signs=.




CARDIGAN




  [Illustration: See p. 40
   CARDIGAN AND SILVER HEELS]




     _Cardigan_

     _By_ ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

     Author of "The Maid-at-Arms," "The Tree of Heaven,"
     "Fighting Chance," etc.

     Illustrated

     A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
     NEW YORK

     Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers




     BOOKS BY
     ROBERT W. CHAMBERS


LORRAINE. Post 8vo $1.25

THE CONSPIRATORS. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50

A YOUNG MAN IN A HURRY. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50

CARDIGAN. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50

THE MAID-AT-ARMS. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50

THE KING IN YELLOW. Post 8vo 1.50

THE MAIDS OF PARADISE. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50

IN SEARCH OF THE UNKNOWN. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50

OUTDOORLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50

ORCHARDLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50

RIVERLAND. Ill'd in Colors. Sq. 8vo, net 1.50

THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE. 16mo 1.25


HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y.




     Copyright, 1901, by ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.
     _All rights reserved._




     TO
     MY FATHER
     AND
     MOTHER




INTRODUCTION


     This is the Land of the Pioneer,
         Where a life-long feud was healed;
     Where the League of the Men whose Coats were Red
     With the Men of the Woods whose Skins were Red
       Was riveted, forged, and sealed.
     Now, by the souls of our Silent Dead,
     God save our sons from the League of Red!

           Plough up the Land of Battle
             Here in our hazy hills;
           Plough! to the lowing of cattle;
             Plough! to the clatter of mills;
           Follow the turning furrows'
             Gold, where the deep loam breaks,
           While the hand of the harrow burrows,
             Clutching the clod that cakes;
           North and south on the harrow's line,
             Under the bronzed pines' boughs,
           The silvery flint-tipped arrows shine
             In the wake of a thousand ploughs!

     Plough us the Land of the Pioneer,
       Where the buckskinned rangers bled;
     Where the Redcoats reeled from a reeking field,
       And a thousand Red Men fled;
     Plough us the land of the wolf and deer,
     The land of the men who laughed at fear,
       The land of our Martyred Dead!

           Here where the ghost-flower, blowing,
             Grows from the bones below,
           Patters the hare, unknowing,
             Passes the cawing crow:
           Shadows of hawk and swallow,
             Shadows of wind-stirred wood,
           Dapple each hill and hollow,
             Here where our dead men stood:
           Wild bees hum through the forest vines
             Where the bullets of England hummed,
           And the partridge drums in the ringing pines
             Where the drummers of England drummed.

     This is the Land of the Pioneer,
       Where a life-long feud was healed;
     Where the League of the Men whose Coats were Red
     With the Men of the Woods whose Skins were Red
       Was riveted, forged, and sealed.
     Now, by the blood of our Splendid Dead,
     God save our sons from the League of Red!

       R. W. C.
       BROADALBIN.




PREFACE


Those who read this romance for the sake of what history it may
contain will find the histories from which I have helped myself more
profitable.

Those antiquarians who hunt their hobbies through books had best drop
the trail of this book at the preface, for they will draw but a blank
covert in these pages. Better for the antiquarian that he seek the
mansion of Sir William Johnson, which is still standing in Johnstown,
New York, and see with his own eyes the hatchet-scars in the solid
mahogany banisters where Thayendanegea hacked out polished chips. It
would doubtless prove more profitable for the antiquarian to thumb
those hatchet-marks than these pages.

But there be some simple folk who read romance for its own useless
sake.

To such quiet minds, innocent and disinterested, I have some little
confidences to impart: There are still trout in the Kennyetto;