She heard me coming, and looked up over her shoulder; and I saw she was a notorious slattern of the Valley, whose name, I think, was Staats, but who was commonly known as Rya's Pup. "Aha!" says she, clearing the unkempt hair from her ratty face. "What is Forbes o' Culloden doing in Schoharie? Sure," says she, "there must be blood to sniff in the wind when a Northesk bloodhound comes here a-nosing northward!" "Well, Madame Staats," said I calmly, "you appear to know more about Culloden than do I myself. Did that great loon, McDonald, tell you all these old-wives' tales?" "Ho-ho!" says she, her two hands on her hips, a-kneeling there by the water's edge, "the McDonalds should know blood, too, when they smell it." "You seem to be friends with that outlaw. And do you know where he now is?" I asked carelessly. "If I do," says the slut, with an oath, "it is my own affair and none of the Forbes or Drogues or such kittle-cattle either;--mark that, my young cockerel, and journey about your business!" "You are not very civil, Madame Staats." "Why, you damned rebel," says she, "would you teach me manners?" "God forbid, madam," said I, smiling. "I'd wear gray hairs ere you learned your a-b-c." "You'll wear no hair at all when McDonald is done with you," she cries, and bursts into laughter so shocking that I go on, shivering and sad to see in any woman such unkindness. * * * * * About noon I saw Lawyer's Tavern; and from the fences north of the house I secretly observed it for a long while before venturing thither. John Lawyer, whatever his political complexion, welcomed me kindly and gave me dinner. I asked news, and he gave an account that Brick House was now but a barracks full of Tories and Schoharie Indians, led by Sethen and Little David or Ogeyonda, a runner, who now took British money and wore scarlet paint. "We in this valley know not what to do," said he, "nor dare, indeed, do aught save take protection from the stronger party, as it chances to be at the moment, and thank God we still wear our proper hair." And, try as I might, I could not determine to which party he truly belonged, so wary was mine host and so fearful of committing himself. * * * * * The sun hung low when I came to the Wood of Brakabeen; and saw the tall forest oaks, their tops all rosy in the sunset, and the great green pines wearing their gilded spires against the evening sky. Dusk fell as I traversed the wood, where, deep within, a cool and ferny glade runs east and west, and a small and icy stream flows through the nodding grasses of the swale, setting the wet green things and spray-drenched blossoms quivering along its banks.