“The bees are stinging,” said he. Then he added, with a fine mixture of metaphors: “The mouse is trying to feel his way out of the trap. The big battle can’t be far off, for Burgoyne must know that every day lost is a chance lost.” It seemed to me that he was right, and I regretted more than ever my assignment to sentinel duty. I do not pretend to uncommon courage, but every soldier will bear me out that such waiting as we were doing is more trying than real battle. Of a sudden the skirmishing seemed to take on an increase of vigor and to come nearer. Flashes appeared at various points on the horizon. Whitestone became deeply interested. He stood at his full height on a stump, and I would have done likewise had there been another stump. Presently he leaped down, exclaiming: “I fancy there is work for us!” I saw at once what he meant. A dozen men were coming down the valley at full speed. The bright sun even at the distance brought out the scarlet of their uniforms, and there was no mistaking the side to which they belonged. Evidently a party of Burgoyne’s skirmishers had slipped through our main line somehow and were bent upon escape southward, with all its momentous consequences. That escape we would prevent. I sent Whitestone in a run to the two men near the house to bid them take refuge behind it and fight from its shelter. He was back in a breath, and he and I and the other soldiers prepared to hold the passage of the valley. Most fortunate for us, a rail fence ran across this valley, and we took refuge behind it--a wise precaution, I think, since the approaching party outnumbered us. All of ours, except myself, had rifles, and I carried two good pistols, with which I am no bad shot. The British came on with much speed. Two of them were mounted. I glanced toward the house. At one of the windows I saw a figure. I trusted if it was Kate Van Auken that she would withdraw speedily from such an exposed place. But I had no time to note her presence further, for just then the British seemed to perceive that we barred the way, for they stopped as if hesitating. I suppose they saw us, as we were sheltered but in part by the fence. Wishing to spare bloodshed I shouted to them to surrender, but one of the men on horseback shook his head, said something to the others, and they dashed toward us at all speed. I recognized this man who appeared to be their leader. He was Chudleigh, the Englishman, the betrothed of Kate Van Auken, and, so far as I knew, an honest, presentable fellow.