“Thanks. Go to your room and get a little sleep. You will need it. To-morrow we shall see Ten Eyck, and secure his horse for your service.” “Will he sell it?” “I shall give him command while we are gone. That will make him ready to do any thing. Good-night.” Joseph went up to his room and sat at the open window. The rain drifted in his face, but he heeded it not. He could hear Van Curter tramping to and fro in his room, and the voices of Theresa and Katrine in low conversation below. Before morning, he dropped into an uneasy slumber, with his head upon the sill. He was waked by the sound of noisy preparation in the open space below the window. He sprung up at once, buckled his sword-belt about him, and went down. He met Theresa in the large room in which he had seen her the night before. Neither spoke a word; but the glance of mingled repulsion and fear upon the one side, and of deadly threatening upon the other, was of greater expression than a volume. He passed her quickly, with his spurs ringing upon the hard floor, and went out into the open space, or parade of the House of Good Hope. He was greeted by a cheer from those of the men who recognized him, for Captain Van Zandt was known far and near as a brave and skillful leader. He called to his side a slender youth, who was cleaning a gun in the corner of the parade. He had a strange face, sharp features, with thin, cruel lips, receding forehead, and small, glittering, deep-set eyes. The youth laid down the gun when called by the captain, and followed him from the stockade to a retired spot outside the works. “Carl Anselm,” said the latter, stopping suddenly, and laying his hand impressively upon the shoulder of the young man, “do you owe me any thing?” “A life!” said the boy, quickly. “You have said often, Carl, that you would like to do me a service. I do not remind you of your indebtedness to me because I like to remind people of their obligations; but the time has come when I need your help.” “I have waited long,” said the young man. “When I lay under the hand of the savage Mohawk, and you killed him, I swore to repay you for the life you gave me. You have made me happy. What would you have me do?” “Do you know the road to the Nipmuck village of Wampset?” “Yes; one of Wampset’s men was here but a day or two ago.” “Is it far?” “Twenty miles—so the brave said.” “It can be done, then. Take your arms and go to the village; find the chief, Wampset, give him this wampum belt, and tell him that the sender calls upon him to meet him at the three hills above Windsor, at midnight, with all the men he can muster. Do not fear for yourself; there is no Indian who owns the sway of the Nipmucks or the Mohawks who would lay a hand in anger upon the man who wears that belt. Put it on.” Carl encircled his waist with the wampum belt. “Shall I go now?” he asked. “Yes, and make haste; you must have a horse. Ha, Paul Swedlepipe, come hither.”