"What do you think of Old Buckskin?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, and he is with us."

"Just the man. Old Buckskin knows every inch of the ground from here to Quebec. I am glad he is ready to go with me."

The man called Old Buckskin was an eccentric trapper. No one knew his real name, and it is within the realm of probability that he had forgotten it himself.

Allen had met him frequently in the Green Mountains, and knew that he was an excellent guide, a fearless man and a good hunter.

The next day the little party started from St. Valentin and worked northward in the direction of St. John.

The people of Pte. la Mull received Allen with great acclaim, for they were French and had suffered much from the constant interference of the English with their customs and the exercise of their religion. But they warned him against the people of Sabrevous, for they were so much opposed to the New Yorkers that they could not believe anyone who hailed from that colony, or any colony south of the St. Lawrence, could be friendly to them.

That was enough for Ethan Allen.

His mission was not to convert those who were friendly, but to gather in those who were ranked among his enemies.

Turning eastward, he started for Sabrevous, and with greater enthusiasm than he had felt up to that time.

Allen and his party were dressed ostensibly as merchants, and he professed to be in search of rare skins, to fill an order.

To give color to this a.s.sertion, Old Buckskin had brought with him a skin of the rarest color and kind, and Allen declared he should never rest until he had matched it.

No one knew better than Allen, unless it was Old Buckskin, that it would be the most difficult thing to find that shade of natural wool, and so the ruse was successful.

Early one morning, for the march was slow, a man approached the party and stopped Allen.

In French he asked if he was the merchant in search of a peculiar skin.

Allen answered in the affirmative.

"I can take you to the place where you can get as many as you want."

"I will reward you."

"Follow me."

"Where to?"

"Follow me and you shall have the skins at your own price."

"Remember that you have said at my own price."

"Yes; my friends are poor and they will sell cheaply, for food to a starving person is better than the most costly skins."

Old Buckskin whispered:

"Be on your guard."

Allen nodded.

Remember Baker was bolder and asked the French Canadian how he knew they wanted skins.

The man laughed, and answered with an appearance of genuine truth:

"I was at La Mull and heard the monsieur ask about skins."

"Then why did you not speak?"

"I had to see if my friends would sell."

"And you saw the sample?"

"I saw the skin that trapper carried."

That seemed satisfactory, and Allen was quite prepared to follow the Canadian.

Eben was the next to express a doubt. He drew Allen on one side.

"I have seen him somewhere before; do not trust him."

"Imagination, my dear Eben, pure imagination. The man is a French Canadian."

The man had stood on one side, apparently taking no notice of the whispered conversation, but a close observer would have seen that he was watching through the corner of his eye every movement, and if he could read the lips, as so many of his countrymen could, he doubtless knew what was being said.

"Will the monsieur come and see the skins?" he asked.

"Yes; lead on."

The man led the way and Allen and his little band followed.

Many times the guide turned round to see if all were following.

A dense wood lay right before them, and the prospect did not seem very inviting, though no danger could come to them, seeing that they were six in all, and the Frenchman was alone.

"Where are you taking us?" Allen asked.

"To where the skins are."

"How far is it?"

"Not far; if my friends did not want the money very badly I should not bother so much."

As he spoke he fell back so that he was beside Ethan Allen.

"You come from York?" he asked.