"We've been settin' our heads together, Cap'n," said Jim, as he ran his eye down the ragged line of staunch backwoodsmen and scowled at Mac and a few others who did not show that amount of interest in the movement which pleased him. "We've seen what them chaps air like way back at the fort, and we reckoned that after all a bit of discipline air wanted. Yer see, supposin' we was called together all of a sudden, and them skunks of redskins war close handy, waal, if we hadn't any idea of order, where should we all be? Reckon the most of us would be jawin' and tellin' the others what to do. Waal, that ain't the thing to keep scalps on our heads. We want to collect quick as a flash and wait for a command. Ef you don't happen to be handy, then me or Mac or Pete, jest in that order, ef it's agreeable to you, 'll take over the post of leader for the time, and there won't be no--no--what's the word boys?" "Confusion," suggested Steve quietly, suppressing the smile of amusement which was on his lips and stepping into his snow-shoes again. For all of a sudden he realized that these men who had so willingly placed themselves under his command were serious, desperately serious, and meant to do their utmost to get even with the enemy and wrest back from him the possessions which they had lost. The fine fellows were ready to sacrifice some of their much-cherished independence with the one object of making success more assured. He ran his eye down the rank of stalwart trappers, and noted Jim's slim proportions, his tall, wiry figure. Then Mac's flaming red beard caught his attention, and he looked with open approval at the sturdy, short figure of the Irishman, who stood at attention, his musket to the shoulder, his eye fixed on his leader. A glance, in fact, was sufficient to show that he alone of the whole company present had had some experience of drill and discipline. There, too, was Pete, his bulky figure bursting almost from his hunting shirt, his head and ears swathed in a huge coon-skin cap. Of the others, tall and short, slim or more sturdily built, there was not one who had not the appearance of a hardy backwoodsman. There was a keen look in every face, and if he had not known it before, the manner in which this band had slipped from the fort that morning and made their way into the forest told him that all were skilled in such work, that every man had had experience and could be counted on to act with the stealth and cunning of the oldest Indians. Though all with the exception of Mac lounged on their muskets in the most unmilitary style, Steve felt gratified at this the first sign of some attention to discipline. He swept his eye along the line again and let it rest on Silver Fox for the space of a second. The Mohawk warrior stood behind the line of men, resting upon his firearm, the fringes of his moccasins trailing into the snow at his feet. There was a look almost of scorn on his sharply-chiselled