It was wearing on to noon before Hemlock considered it safe to move. The delay they spent in cleaning their arms, and Morton, to his regret, found that his powder was useless from being wet. The Indian, more provident, had saved some in a water-proof pouch of otter skin, but he had too little to do more than lend a single charge for his gun. Morton took the opportunity to clean and arrange his uniform as he best could and when ready to move felt he looked more as became an officer of the King’s army than when he awoke. Hemlock led the way to where a cleft in the wall of rocks afforded a possibility of ascent, and, with the occasional aid of his outstretched arm, Morton managed to reach the summit. When he had, he perceived he stood on a plain of table-rock, the cleavage of which formed the chasm, of whose existence the explorer could have no intimation until he reached its brink. They had not gone far, until Hemlock halted and looked intently at the ground. “A party of Yankees have passed here within an hour; a dozen or more of them. See the trail of their muskets!” “How do you know they have just passed?” “The dew has not been dry here over an hour and they passed when it was gone. They are searching for us, for one went to that bush there to see no one was hiding.” Morton looked perplexed, for nothing was more distasteful than to be taken prisoner. “Had we not,” he suggested, “better return to the chasm and wait for night?” “It is too late,” replied Hemlock, “when they come back they would see our trail and follow it. We will have to go on and if we get across the road we are safe,” and without another word he went on until the road was reached. On scanning it, before making a dash across, they perceived, to their dismay, a mounted sentry so posted as to give a clear view of the portion of the road they were standing by. Hemlock gave a grunt of disappointment and returned into the bush and after a few minutes’ rapid walking turned to Morton with the words, “You stay here, until I go and see the road. Over there is the track of a short-cut between Four Corners and the blockhouse, so if Yankees pass they will keep to it and not see you. Do not leave until I come back.” Morton threw himself on the grass to await his report, and the rest was grateful, for the day was hot and their short tramp fast. The minutes sped without sign of the Indian, who he conjectured was finding it difficult to discover a clear passage. It was now plain that the Americans had discovered their tracks of the preceding evening and had established a cordon to ensure their capture. So absolute was Morton’s faith in Hemlock’s skill that he felt little perturbed and was confident they would be in Perrigo’s camp before long. Then his thoughts wandered to a subject that had come of late to be pleasant to him, to the household by the Chateaugay, and he saw in fancy Maggie bustling about her daily tasks, and he smiled.