The riflemen took up their march on a brisk morning in late autumn. The night had been clear and cold, with a touch of winter in it, and the brilliant colors of the foliage had now turned to a solid brown. Whenever the wind blew, the leaves fell in showers. The sky was a fleecy blue, but over hills, valley, and forest hung a fine misty veil that is the mark of Indian summer. The land was nowhere inhabited. They saw the cabin of neither white man nor Indian. A desolation and a silence, brought by the great struggle, hung over everything. Many discerning eyes among the riflemen noted the beauty and fertility of the country, with its noble forests and rich meadows. At times they caught glimpses of the river, a clear stream sparkling under the sun. “Makes me think o' some o' the country 'way down thar in Kentucky,” said Shif'less Sol, “an' it seems to me I like one about ez well ez t'other. Say, Henry, do you think we'll ever go back home? 'Pears to me that we're always goin' farther an' farther away.” Henry laughed. “It's because circumstances have taken us by the hand and led us away, Sol,” he replied. “Then,” said the shiftless one with a resigned air, “I hope them same circumstances will take me by both hands, an' lead me gently, but strongly, back to a place whar thar is peace an' rest fur a lazy an' tired man like me.” “I think you'll have to endure a lot, until next spring at least,” said Henry. The shiftless one heaved a deep sigh, but his next words were wholly irrelevant. “S'pose we'll light on that thar Seneca Castle by tomorrow night?” he asked. “It seems to me that for a lazy and tired man you're extremely anxious for a fight,” Henry replied. “I try to be resigned,” said Shif'less Sol. But his eyes were sparkling with the light of battle. They went into camp that night in a dense forest, with the Seneca Castle about ten miles ahead. Henry was quite sure that the Senecas to whom it belonged had not yet abandoned it, and with the aid of the other tribes might make a stand there. It was more than likely, too, that the Senecas had sharpshooters and sentinels well to the south of their town, and it behooved the riflemen to be extremely careful lest they run into a hornet's nest. Hence they lighted no fires, despite a cold night wind that searched them through until they wrapped themselves in their blankets. The night settled down thick and dark, and the band lay close in the thickets. Shif'less Sol was within a yard of Henry. He had observed his young leader's face closely that day, and he had a mind of uncommon penetration. “Henry,” he whispered, “you're hopin' that you'll find Braxton Wyatt an' his band at Little Beard's town?” “That among other things,” replied Henry in a similar whisper. “That first, and the others afterwards,” persisted the shiftless one. “It may be so,” admitted Henry.