The rest of the company succumbed to discipline and followed their leader, though with manifest unwillingness; while Von Donck gave them over to their fate and travelled alone into the green hills. What befell Van Vuren and his company history relateth not. It is certain that they were never taken by the French, because the party which Roussilac had sent out returned in due course to the fortress, and reported that they had failed to discover any trace of the traitors. But at a later date there went a story about Hudson's river, concerning a party of Dutchmen said to be haunting the spurs of the Adirondacks, weather-beaten men, wrinkled and long-bearded, their feet covered with scraps of hide, their clothes eked out by furs, continually setting out upon a journey, but always returning to their starting-point. Still later, after New Amsterdam had been conquered by the English and had received the name of New York, mothers would often frighten their errant children with the tale of the lost Dutchmen who wandered about the north, their beards dragging on the stones and tangling among the bush, watching the sun by day and the stars by night, and sometimes separating as though in anger, but only to combine again and renew the hopeless search. Probably Van Vuren and his men were destroyed by the fierce Mohawks; possibly they fell a prey to the animals which roamed in their thousands among the Adirondacks, or perished of want after their ammunition became exhausted; the one fact is certain that not one of them ever reached the sea-blown country of the Manhattoes. While this fatal dissension took place Geoffrey was crossing the plains upon the further side of the green mountains, only a short distance ahead. He had made excellent progress, concealing himself cleverly from bands of marauding Indians, guiding his feet by the constellations at night, and searching by day for the tree-moss which delicately furred the north side only of the hemlock boles; but there still remained over two hundred miles of wild country between him and the town of Boston. He tramped on, unheeding sore feet, feeling the spirit of brave Madeleine at his side, averting the perils of night, guiding his feet accurately southward. As time went on, and he reflected how great was the distance he had already traversed, the joy of life became so strong that he could have flung away his sword and dared the world with bare hands. Two weeks had passed since that parting from his comrades; and on the evening of the fourteenth day he broke from the bush and for some moments stood bewildered at the scene before him, blinking his eyes, and longing to step back into the greenwood shade.