The youngster stooped to tighten the clumsy wrappings of rags which served him for shoes, and hurried on after the little shouting mob which had followed the butcher down to the steep hillside of Valley Forge, where he stood at bay with his back to the cliff. “There are thirty of you desperate villains,” puffed the fat fugitive, “and I have only ten horns, which have been saved from the choicest of all the cattle I’ve killed these two months gone. I would I had my maul and skinning-knife here to defend myself. Take me to headquarters, if there is no other way to end this riot. I want no pay for the horns. They are my gift to the troops, but, Heaven help me! who is to decide how to divide them amongst so many!” “Stand him on his bald head, and loose the horns from the apron. As they fall, he who finds keeps!” roared one of the boisterous party. “Toss them all in the air and let us fight for them,” was another suggestion. The hapless butcher glared round him with growing dismay. At this rate half the American army would soon be clamoring round him, drawn by the chance to add to their poor equipment. By this time Jabez Rockwell had wriggled under the arms of the shouting soldiers, twisting like an uncommonly active eel, until he was close to the red-faced butcher. With ready wit the youngster piped up a plan for breaking the deadlock: “There are thirty of us, you say, that put you to rout, Master Ritter. Let us divide the ten horns by lot. Then you can return to your cow-pens with a whole skin and a clear conscience.” “There is more sense in that little carcass of yours than in all those big, hulking troopers that could spit you on a bayonet like a sparrow!” rumbled Master Ritter. “How shall the lots be drawn?” “Away with your lottery!” cried a burly rifleman, whose long hunting-shirt whipped in the bitter wind. “The road up the valley is well beaten down. The old forge is half a mile away. Do you mark a line, old beef-killing Jack, and we will run for our lives. The first ten to touch the stone wall of the smithy will take the ten prizes.” Some yelled approval, others fiercely opposed, and the wrangling was louder than before. Master Ritter, who had plucked up heart, began to steal warily from the hillside, hoping to escape in the confusion. A dozen hands clutched his collar and leather apron, and jerked him headlong back into the argument. Young Jabez scrambled to the top of the nearest boulder, and ruffled with importance like a turkey-cock as he waved his arms to command attention.