On Monday evening, July fourth, Ned stood, once more a sentry, by Chippewa Creek, the little river that enters the Niagara a few miles above the Falls. Two miles away was the enemy's camp, strongly entrenched with a breastwork of logs. The British position was also good, among sheltering trees, with the rapid stream in front, crossed by only one bridge. Both leaders were hoping the other would attack. It grew dark, and Ned, straining his ears to catch the sounds ahead, felt depressed. He did not like the stories he had heard of the new Commander, the haughty Marquis of Tweedsdale, and the memory of all that he had been robbed of, came to him, hurting him fiercely. Then a dark, silent figure rose before him, and he challenged sharply. It was Kawque, the scout, and as he had not the password Ned called for an escort to take him in. There was a noise of trampling horses, as Riall and Tweedsdale with their staff rode by. They stopped when the scout was brought to them, and Ned heard Kawque's laconic report--"Long Knives too strong. Twice too many for you to attack. Got thirty-six cannon." The two leaders spoke together, Riall apparently urging something on his companion to which Tweedsdale answered in his loud harsh voice--"Nonsense, these Yankees are a pack of untrained cowards. Are we to sulk here for fear of a mob of scape-gallows and prison men? They will never stand against a bayonet charge." "That means we'll go out and attack, only cowards would want to wait here for them," Ned heard Vere's voice say gleefully, as the leaders rode on. Ned's face darkened as his enemy passed, riding as if in triumph over him, and something more like a curse than a prayer rose to his lips. "Why not shoot him?" Kawque whispered softly in the young sentry's ear, "You hate, eh? for he took these"--he touched Ned's sleeve where the sergeant's stripes had been--"they were to you as the scalps you had taken with your hand from the enemy." "Shooting's too good for the cur," said Ned fiercely, adding, angry with himself, "Get out of here, Kawque, you've no business hanging 'round talking to me." Kawque went off, thinking, "Shooting's too good, eh? he means he wants to kill slowly." Alone again, Ned repeated his fierce prayer for vindication. In the morning of July fifth, the English drums beat to arms, and soon after, twelve hundred regulars in three solid columns, with Tweedsdale leading, crossed the Chippewa, strict orders being given that the men must reserve their fire until command.