"I came to do so, only that fellow with the gun would not let me pass." "I will take you to Lieut. Sunderland." "Lead on; I am ready." Eben conducted the boy to Sunderland, and to him Zeb told a most wonderful yarn. It was so plausible that he was complimented on his patriotism, and rewarded by the faithful lieutenant as well as his purse would permit. Zeb trusted to the inspiration of the moment for most of his narrative. He told how his father was a loyal Vermonter, and in the fullness of his heart had invited Allen and Baker to a late supper, and in their honor had prepared boiled pig's head and cabbage, and that while they were eating supper some soldiers burst open the door and took all prisoners. Zeb said his father was released on condition that he would find ropes to bind Allen and Baker. Thinking that he could be of service to the colonel by remaining at liberty, he consented, and then sent Zeb to the Mountain Boys' camp. Zeb embellished the story in many ways, but he was so good a story-teller that every word he uttered was believed. CHAPTER XI. THE TABLES TURNED. Ethan Allen could see no possible chance of escape. He was not afraid to meet the punishment, but he felt it galling to be trapped in such a way. If he had not been a bitter opponent of New York before, that treachery would have made him one. For greater security the two mountaineers had been bound together, so that they could be more easily guarded. Nearly an hour passed before the officer determined to march. He had sent out scouts to ascertain if the Mountain Boys were in the vicinity, and the men had returned to report all quiet. Then the small company, with its valuable captives, set out to cross into York at the nearest point. For about an hour the march was continued in silence, and the men were fatigued, for they had to carry the prisoners, both Allen and Baker refusing to walk one step. A halt was called, and the soldiers were told they could rest for one hour. They were delighted at the prospect, and laid themselves down on the grass. So secure did they feel that they relaxed their watchfulness and allowed the prisoners to lie down by themselves a little distance away, yet not so far that they had any chance of escape. Allen was singing a song of freedom; it was an old French ditty he had learned and often sung. He sang, not because his spirits were light, but simply to prevent a feeling of melancholy overmastering him. The singing satisfied his captors that he was resigned, and was not meditating any plan of escape. In the midst of his song he heard a soft, low voice say: "Do not speak, but listen." Baker had fallen asleep, and Allen knew that it was Eben who spoke; but how the boy got there, or, in fact, where he was, Allen could not conjecture.