As we two came to the mainland, young Spatter-dash suddenly crossed the road in front of my lantern. Good God! Was I in my right mind! Was it Stephen Watts on whose white, boyish face my lantern glimmered for an instant? How could it be, when it meant death to catch him here?... Besides, he was in Canada with Walter Butler. What possessed me, that in young Spatter-dash I saw resemblance to Stevie Watts, and in another respectable militia officer a countenance resembling Lieutenant Hare's? Sure my mind was obsessed tonight by faces seen that last unhappy evening at the Hall; and so I seemed to see a likeness to those men in every face I met.... Something had sure upset me.... Something, too, had suddenly awakened in me new and deep emotions, unsuspected, unfamiliar, and unwelcome. And for the first time in my life I knew that I hated men because a woman favoured them. We had passed through the Continental camp, my Indian and I, and were now going down among the bushes to the Vlaie Water, where lay our canoe, when, of a sudden, a man leaped from the reeds and started to run. Instantly my Indian was on his shoulders like a tree-cat, and down went both on the soft mud, my Saguenay atop. I cocked my rifle and poked the muzzle into the prostrate stranger's ribs, resting it so with one hand while I shined my lantern on his upturned face. He wore a captain's uniform in the Canajoharie Regiment; and, as he stared up at me, his throat still clutched by the Saguenay, I found I was gazing upon the blotched features of Captain Moucher! "Take your hands from his neck-cloth, cut your thrums, and make a cord to tie him," said I, in the Oneida dialect. "He will not move," I added. It took the Indian a little while to accomplish this. I held my rifle muzzle to Moucher's ribs. Until his arms were tied fast behind him, he had not spoken to me nor I to him; but now, as he rose to his knees from the mud and then staggered upright, I said to him: "This is like to be a tragic business for you, Captain Moucher." He winced but made no reply. "I am sorry to see you here," I added. "Do you mean to murder me?" he asked hoarsely. "I mean to question you," said I. "Be good enough to step into that canoe." The Indian and I held the frail craft. Moucher stepped into it, stumbling in the darkness and trembling all over. "Sit down on the bottom, midway between bow and stern!" He took the place as I directed. "Take the bow paddle," said I to Yellow Leaf. "Also loosen your knife." And when he was ready, I shoved off, straddled the stern, and, kneeling, took the broad paddle. "Captain Moucher," said I, "if you think to overturn the canoe, in hope of escape, my Indian will kill you in the water." The canoe slid out into darkness under the high stars. CHAPTER XVIII FIRELIGHT