Once we came to a cross-roads where the fence had been demolished and a warning painted on a rough pine board above a wayside watering-trough.

     “Warning!

All farmers and townsfolk are hereby requested and ordered to remove gates, stiles, cow-bars, and fences, which includes all obstructions to the public highway, in order that the cavalry may pass without difficulty.  Any person found felling trees across this road, or otherwise impeding the operations of cavalry by building brush, stump, rail, or stone fences across this road, will be arrested and tried before a court on charge of aiding and giving comfort to the enemy.  G. Covert,

     “Captain Commanding Legion.”

Either this order did not apply to the cross-road which we now filed into, or the owners of adjacent lands paid no heed to it; for presently, a few rods ahead of us, we saw a snake fence barring the road and a man with a pack on his back in the act of climbing over it.

He was going in the same direction that we were, and seemed to be a fur-trader laden with packets of peltry.

I said this to Murphy, who laughed and looked at Mount.

“Who carries pelts to Quebec in August?” asked Elerson, grinning.

“There’s the skin of a wolverine dangling from his pack,” I said, in a low voice.

Murphy touched Mount’s arm, and they halted until the man ahead had rounded a turn in the road; then they sprang forward, creeping swiftly to the shelter of the undergrowth at the bend of the road, while Elerson and I followed at an easy pace.

“What is it?” I asked, as we rejoined them where they were kneeling, looking after the figure ahead.

“Nothing, sir; we only want to see them pelts, Tim and me.”

“Do you know the man?” I demanded.

Murphy gazed musingly at Mount through narrowed eyes.  Mount, in a brown study, stared back.

“Phwere th’ divil have I seen him, I dunnoa!” muttered Murphy.  “Jack, ‘tis wan mush-rat looks like th’ next, an’ all thrappers has the same cut to them!  Yonder’s no thrapper!”

“Nor peddler,” added Mount; “the strap of the Delaware baskets never bowed his legs.”

“Thrue, avick!  Wisha, lad, ’tis horses he knows better than snow-shoes, bed-plates, an’ thrip-sticks!  An’ I’ve seen him, I think!”

“Where?” I asked.

He shook his head, vacantly staring.  Moved by the same impulse, we all started forward; the man was not far ahead, but our moccasins made no noise in the dust and we closed up swiftly on him and were at his elbow before he heard us.

Under the heavy sunburn the color faded in his cheeks when he saw us.  I noted it, but that was nothing strange considering the perilous conditions of the country and the sudden shock of our appearance.

“Good-day, friend,” cried Mount, cheerily.

“Good-day, friends,” he replied, stammering as though for lack of breath.