"When there is a battle near Stanwix." "Oh. Shall McDonald come to Brakabeen?" "Yes." I gazed absently at the fire, slowly chewing my parched corn. CHAPTER XXVIII OYANEH! The problem which I must now solve staggered me. How was it possible, with my little scout of five, to discover McDonald's approach and also find Sir John's line of communication and penetrate his purpose? On a leaf of my _carnet_ I made a map which was shaped like an immense right-angle triangle, its apex Fort Stanwix in the west; its base Schoharie Creek; the Mohawk River its perpendicular; its hypothenuse my bee's-flight to Oneida. The only certain information I possessed was that Sir John and St. Leger had sailed from Buck Island to Oswego, and from there were marching somewhere. I guessed, of course, that they were approaching the Mohawk by way of Oneida Lake; yet, even so, they might have detached McDonald's outlaws and sent them to Otsego; or they might be coming upon us in full force from that same direction, with flanking war parties flung out toward Stanwix to aid their strategy. One thing, however, seemed almost certain, and that was the direction their waggons must take from Oneida Lake; for I did not think Sir John would attempt Otsego in any force after his tragic dose of a pathless wilderness the year before. I saw very plainly, however, that I must now give up any attempt to scout for McDonald's painted demons on the Schoharie until I had discovered Sir John's objective and traced his line of communications. And I realized that I must now move quickly. There were only two logical methods left open to me to accomplish this hazardous business with my handful of scouts. The easier way was instantly to face about, secure two good canoes at Schoharie, make directly for the Mohawk River, and follow it westward by water day and night. But the surer way to run across Sir John's trail--and perhaps McDonald's--was to take to the western forests, follow the hypothenuse of the great triangle, and, travelling lightly and swiftly northwest, headed straight for Oneida Lake. This was what, finally, I decided to attempt as I lay on my blanket that night; and I was loath to leave the Schoharie and ashamed to turn tail to McDonald's ragamuffins, when the entire district was in so great distress, and Brakabeen farms a rat's nest of disloyal families. But there seemed to be no other way to conduct if I obeyed my orders, too;--no better method of discovering McDonald and of devising punishment for him, even though in the meanwhile he should carry fire and sword through Schoharie,--perhaps menace Schenectady,--perhaps Albany itself. No, there was no other choice; and finally I realized this, after a night passed in agonized indecision, and asking God's guidance to aid my inexperience in this so terrible a crisis. At dawn my Indians began to paint.