Old Buckskin whispered: "Be on your guard." Allen nodded. Remember Baker was bolder and asked the French Canadian how he knew they wanted skins. The man laughed, and answered with an appearance of genuine truth: "I was at La Mull and heard the monsieur ask about skins." "Then why did you not speak?" "I had to see if my friends would sell." "And you saw the sample?" "I saw the skin that trapper carried." That seemed satisfactory, and Allen was quite prepared to follow the Canadian. Eben was the next to express a doubt. He drew Allen on one side. "I have seen him somewhere before; do not trust him." "Imagination, my dear Eben, pure imagination. The man is a French Canadian." The man had stood on one side, apparently taking no notice of the whispered conversation, but a close observer would have seen that he was watching through the corner of his eye every movement, and if he could read the lips, as so many of his countrymen could, he doubtless knew what was being said. "Will the monsieur come and see the skins?" he asked. "Yes; lead on." The man led the way and Allen and his little band followed. Many times the guide turned round to see if all were following. A dense wood lay right before them, and the prospect did not seem very inviting, though no danger could come to them, seeing that they were six in all, and the Frenchman was alone. "Where are you taking us?" Allen asked. "To where the skins are." "How far is it?" "Not far; if my friends did not want the money very badly I should not bother so much." As he spoke he fell back so that he was beside Ethan Allen. "You come from York?" he asked. "Yes." "Ah, monsieur, it is a pity that the Yorkers like us not." "But they do like you." "You may; your heart is large, and you would buy from a poor Canadian; most Yorkers would steal the skins and kill the Canadian." "You are wrong. The Yorkers are very anxious to be friends with the people of Canada." "They hate the Anglais?" "No, they do not hate the English, though they would like to see the English leave the country, so that the Canadians and the Americans could govern themselves." "Do you think there will be war?" "Perhaps." "Monsieur knows there will be." "I do not know. I hope not. War would interfere with business." The Canadian laughed heartily, as though Allen had perpetrated a good joke. Then he broke into a French song, full of life and character, such as the French peasantry love to indulge in. Eben took advantage of the song to walk beside Alien and whisper to him his doubts. "That man is not a Canadian, or if he is, he is an English Canadian." "What makes you think so?" "His accent." "But, Eben, he speaks French fluently." "Yes, like a Frenchman, not a Canadian." "What do you know about it?"