"Prisoners?"

"It looked very like it."

"Where are they? Tell me all you know."

"Not much; the news is worth something."

"How much do you want?"

"How much what?"

"Did you not say you wanted to sell the news?"

"No; but, now you mention it, I might do so. Take me to the fellow who commands the boys."

"Will you tell him?"

"I came to do so, only that fellow with the gun would not let me pa.s.s."

"I will take you to Lieut. Sunderland."

"Lead on; I am ready."

Eben conducted the boy to Sunderland, and to him Zeb told a most wonderful yarn.

It was so plausible that he was complimented on his patriotism, and rewarded by the faithful lieutenant as well as his purse would permit.

Zeb trusted to the inspiration of the moment for most of his narrative.

He told how his father was a loyal Vermonter, and in the fullness of his heart had invited Allen and Baker to a late supper, and in their honor had prepared boiled pig's head and cabbage, and that while they were eating supper some soldiers burst open the door and took all prisoners. Zeb said his father was released on condition that he would find ropes to bind Allen and Baker. Thinking that he could be of service to the colonel by remaining at liberty, he consented, and then sent Zeb to the Mountain Boys' camp.

Zeb embellished the story in many ways, but he was so good a story-teller that every word he uttered was believed.

CHAPTER XI.

THE TABLES TURNED.

Ethan Allen could see no possible chance of escape.

He was not afraid to meet the punishment, but he felt it galling to be trapped in such a way.

If he had not been a bitter opponent of New York before, that treachery would have made him one.

For greater security the two mountaineers had been bound together, so that they could be more easily guarded.

Nearly an hour pa.s.sed before the officer determined to march.

He had sent out scouts to ascertain if the Mountain Boys were in the vicinity, and the men had returned to report all quiet.

Then the small company, with its valuable captives, set out to cross into York at the nearest point.

For about an hour the march was continued in silence, and the men were fatigued, for they had to carry the prisoners, both Allen and Baker refusing to walk one step.

A halt was called, and the soldiers were told they could rest for one hour.

They were delighted at the prospect, and laid themselves down on the gra.s.s.

So secure did they feel that they relaxed their watchfulness and allowed the prisoners to lie down by themselves a little distance away, yet not so far that they had any chance of escape.

Allen was singing a song of freedom; it was an old French ditty he had learned and often sung.

He sang, not because his spirits were light, but simply to prevent a feeling of melancholy overmastering him.

The singing satisfied his captors that he was resigned, and was not meditating any plan of escape.

In the midst of his song he heard a soft, low voice say:

"Do not speak, but listen."

Baker had fallen asleep, and Allen knew that it was Eben who spoke; but how the boy got there, or, in fact, where he was, Allen could not conjecture.

"Here is a knife," said Eben; "I am going to cut the cords which bind your hands; you can then liberate Baker. When you are both free, keep still until you hear the cry of the catbird, and then leap to your feet and run, taking a course direct to the left; the boys are there in ambush, and you will be safe."

While Eben was speaking he succeeded in cutting the cords, and Allen's hands were free.

Eben glided away as noiselessly as he came, and Allen woke Baker as quickly as possible.

"Heigho! Have we to continue our journey?"

"Hush! do not utter a word! We have a chance to escape, if you will listen and not speak."

Allen told him all that had been done, and then quietly cut the other's cords.

Both men were free.

They lay as still as though the cords still bound their bodies.

Allen sang another song in a low, tremulous voice.

Again it had the effect of disarming suspicion.

A bird warbled in a tree, rather strangely for so late at night, but as one of the men remarked that it was the bird's lookout and not his, no notice was taken of it.

And then the warbling ceased and the peculiar call of the catbird was heard.

Instantly the two prisoners were on their feet and making for the wood.