“Well, he’s ben a sneakin’ round here an’ now he’s gone, an’ there’s no tellin’ where. Where’s Toombs’s boat?” “Here,” and Newton pointed to the landing, where it lay among many others. “Gabe’s round here somewheres,” said Nathan inadvertently. “Jest the one I was a wishin’ for,” said the old man, aroused from his troubled pondering. “He can help when nob’dy else can.” He then sent one of his shrill whistles into the woods, and then another, with such good effect that Gabriel presently appeared, loping easily along. “Good fellow, good fellow. Now, Newton, we’ll ketch that skunk. Here, here, old boy,” and he hurried swiftly away with the hound at heel. Arrived at the house they found Toombs unconfined, but under the vigilant guard of a lynx-eyed Green Mountain Boy. When Job inquired for the Canadian, he detected a gleam of triumph in the glowering eyes of the surly, half-defiant prisoner. “The fox has slipped,” said Job; “but never mind. If he can fool Gabe he’s a smart ’un. Ruth, where’s somethin’ that ’ere Canuck has wore?” Ruth, who stood near her idle spinning wheel, half dazed at the unwonted commotion and afraid of she knew not what, pointed covertly to a much worn pair of moccasins hanging near the fireplace to dry. “Hisn? There couldn’t be nothin’ better. See here, Gabe.” The hound snuffed eagerly at the soiled footgear, slowly wagging his tail, and then looked inquiringly at his master. “Sarch him out, boy. Sarch him out,” Job encouraged him, pointing along the ground. The hound circled about the yard a little, and then, finding the trail, followed it silently and steadily down to the creek to where the men were mustered. There, on the much trodden ground, it baffled him for a while. Resorting to his usual tactics, he made widening circles and again found the trail and went off upon it in a steady, untiring pace southward in the direction of Ticonderoga. “I knowed it,” said Job to himself, “and I’ll bet ye there’ll be a Canuck treed afore sundown.” Guided by the deep, mellow baying of the hound, he set off, with his gun at atrail, in rapid pursuit. The agile little Canadian had at least an hour’s start, and made such brisk use of it that he was on the shore opposite the Fort when he was overtaken by the hound, who at once set furiously upon him. Being unarmed, he was forced to scramble up a tree, from which, when he had recovered his breath, he began lustily to hail the Fort, and at intervals to curse the hound. His shouts, and Gabriel’s insistent deep-mouthed bayings, could scarcely fail to attract the attention of the garrison, and Job, pushing forward at his best pace, presently appeared upon the scene. “Hello de Forrt,” the Canuck was shouting. “Hey! Hello de Forrt! Sacre chien! Go home, Ah tol’ you! Hello, Carillon. Tac-con-derrrque! All de Bastonais was comin’ for took you, Ah tol’ you! Sacre chien! Stop off you nowse so Ah can heard me spik.”