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Updated: May 5, 2025
Boyd, wielding his clubbed rifle, cleared a circle amid the crowding savages; Sergeant Parker ran out into the yelling crush; the two gigantic riflemen, Murphy and Elerson, swinging their terrible weapons like flails, smashed their way forward; behind them, using knife, hatchet, and stock, I led out the last men living on that knoll Ned McDonald, Garrett Putnam, Jack Youse, and a French coureur-de-bois whose name I have never learned.
Beany is behind 5 feeds and me and Fatty had to make it up. last nite lady Clara lost a shue. so this morning before school we walked every where we drove last nite and Beany found the shue way down to long meter Dows on Hamton road. Beany he said if we wood call it square about the feeds he wood get Gim Elerson to nale on the shue. so we did and Beany got Gim to nale on the shue.
Regis to one Captain Service, an uncle of Sir John Johnson, and a great villain who recently had been shot dead by David Elerson, one of my own riflemen, while attempting to brain Tim Murphy with an axe. "The poor fool," I repeated, turning away, "Had he not meddled with war when his business lay only in hunting, he had gone free or, if we had caught him, only as a prisoner to headquarters."
She was once their pet as a child.... It seems hard to believe that this lovely and cultivated young girl could revert to such savage customs.... And yet Murphy and Elerson credit it, and say that she will surely appear at the False-Faces' rites.... It is horrible, Ormond; she is a sweet child by Heaven, she would turn a European court with her wit and beauty!"
"Jack, slip that pack off!" The man started forward, crying out that he had no time to waste, but Murphy jerked him back by the collar and Elerson seized his right arm. "Wait!" I said, sharply. "You cannot stop a man like this on the highway!" "You don't know us, sir," replied Mount, impudently. "Come, Colonel Ormond," added Elerson, almost savagely. "You're our captain no longer. Give way, sir.
In the deathly silence I heard Redstock's hoarse breathing. Mount knelt down and gently lifted a heavy mass of dark, silky hair. At last Elerson broke the silence, speaking in a strangely gentle and monotonous voice. "I think this hair was Janet McCrea's. I saw her many times at Half-moon. No maid in Tryon County had hair like hers."
Then came the baggage-wagons, some drawn by oxen, some by four horses; and in the rear of these rode Colonel Visscher, leading the Caughnawaga regiment, closing the dusty column. "Damn them!" growled Elerson to Murphy, "they're advancing without flanking-parties or scouts. I wish Dan'l Morgan was here."
Jack Mount, kneeling beside me, was attempting to clean the blood from himself and Elerson with handfuls of dried leaves. Murphy lay on his belly, watching the forest in front of us, and his blue eyes seemed suffused with a light of their own in the deepening gloom of the gathering thunder-storm.
There came a flash, an explosion; through a cloud of smoke I saw the fellow's right arm stretched straight up in the air, his hand clutching a smoking pistol, and Elerson holding the arm rigid in a grip of steel.
Murphy and Elerson bounded into safety; Ned McDonald, Garrett Putnam, the coureur-de-bais, and Jack Youse went staggering and reeling into the swamp. I attempted to follow them, but three Senecas cut me out, and, with bursting heart, I sheered off and ran parallel with them, striving to reach our lines, the sentinels firing at my pursuers and running forward to intercept them.
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