“And they went to Winter Hill,” exclaimed another, “broke open the powder house and carried off two hundred and fifty half-barrels! And a second detachment went to Cambridge and brought back two field-pieces that belong to the militia. Thieving Redcoats! It’s high time Congress took some measures to oust ’em!” “Have patience, Jim,” said a third. “Our time will come, see if it doesn’t.” “Patience! We’ve shown too much of it already.” Before Don reached home the news of the raids had spread all over town. People were discussing it on the street corners and in public meeting, and many persons were of a mind to organize at once and recapture as much of the stores as possible. The Powder Alarm, as it was called, spread rapidly. Messengers from the Committees of Correspondence carried the news to the other Colonies, and the whole country soon blazed with indignation; as a result Lieutenant Governor Oliver and other important officers of the Crown were forced to resign. General Gage began at once to fortify Boston Neck, and then the flame of indignation blazed brighter. In the midst of the excitement Uncle David and Glen Drake returned with the information that all the people of the other Colonies had “all their eyes turned on Boston.” “We’ll have to open hostilities before long,” Don’s uncle declared. “Human nature can bear just so much--then look out!” “O David!” cried Aunt Martha. “You seem to be anxious for bloodshed. You do indeed!” “I’m anxious for justice,” replied Uncle David. “Ye can torment a critter just so far, Aunt Martha,” said Glen; “then it’ll turn and fight. I don’t care what it is--mink, otter or even a poor little muskrat. And when it does fight it fights like fury. It’s not only human nature, but the nature of every living critter.” Aunt Martha was silent, and Don, observing the old trapper’s powerful fingers as he tightened the lacing in one of his boots, secretly wished that he were old enough to carry a musket in one of the companies of militia. Two days later the two men were off on separate missions to the west and south, and again Don was left alone with his aunt. One Saturday afternoon late in September he took a long walk with his dog, a young terrier that a sailor on one of the ships at Woodman’s Wharf had given him in exchange for three cakes of maple sugar and a set of dominoes. Up past the Faneuil Hall the two went, past the Green Dragon Tavern and along to the shipyard at Hudson’s Point, the dog tugging eagerly at his leash, and Don holding him back.