Realization swept us. That river we had glimpsed was not the East River, but the Hudson. We had turned exactly the wrong way; had wandered far to the south. Or had been misled by Lentz. At one time, until we checked him, we were headed for the Turber camp. The fellow realized we understood. He was beside Alan; and as Alan turned on him Lentz leaped and struck with his knife. Alan fired. The shot roared like a cannon in the woods. It caught Lentz in the hand; the knife dropped. So quick, all this, that I had not moved from Nanette. Like a cat, Lentz eluded Alan. Leaped behind a tree. And then ran, with Alan after him. I called, frantically: "Alan, come back! We'll lose each other!" Alan's revolver spat again. Then he came back; we could hear Lentz plunging off through the underbrush. "What rotten shooting!" Alan groaned. We seized Nanette and ran north; heedless of noise. Voices were behind us. Torches showed back there. "Not so fast, Alan. We're making too much rumpus!" We slowed. Then we stopped to listen. The woods seemed full of voices. Heavy tread of feet, pounding in the brush. Behind us. Then ahead of us! We crouched; no use running now. We were surrounded. Torches flared. A dog was howling. I saw, off in the trees, the heavy figure of a man holding a blazing torch aloft. He held an ancient fowling piece half raised; the dog was on a leash leading him. Figures closed in on us. They saw us in the light of their torches. "No use, Alan." Alan stuck his revolver in his pocket. We stood up, holding Nanette. The Dutchman seized us, and stood jabbering. Sturdy fellows, in shirts and broad jackets, flowing pantaloons and hobnailed shoes. They were almost all bareheaded; hastily dressed. They stood amazed at us. They pulled at Nanette. "Let her alone," said Alan. It was a mistake. English! One of them spoke English. He said: "You English?" They tore us apart from each other. They hurried us off. I heard one say: "English! The damned English here already! Well can I speak it! Ho, but our good Peter will be pleased at this midnight foray." They dragged us south, into New Amsterdam. CHAPTER XIV THE BARGAIN WITH STUYVESANT It seemed a long march. We had aroused a single fort--a northern outpost of the city. They took us past that; following a crude corduroy road. A noisy, blustering cortege we made in the woods. Some fifty Dutchmen, armed with fowling pieces and swords; carrying torches. We came to other outposts. Our party augmented. We passed through a long, armed stockade and were in the little city.