Everywhere they found the people in a state of either deep despondency or intense exasperation.  It seemed to them that they had been basely deserted and betrayed by their countrymen, who should have been prompt to send to their defence; and although the arrival of the Rangers, and the news they brought of future help, did something to cheer and encourage them, it was easy to see that they were deeply hurt at the manner in which their appeals had been met, and were ready to curse the Quakers and the Assembly who had calmly let them be slaughtered like brute beasts, whilst they wrangled in peaceful security over some disputed point with the Governor.

“Are you Rogers’ men?” was a question which the Rangers met again and again as they pursued their way.

“No,” they would answer; “we know of no Rogers.  Who is he, and why is his name in all men’s mouths?”

This question was not always easy to get answered.  Some said one thing and some another; but as they pursued their western way, they reached a settlement where more precise information was to be had.

“Have you not heard of Robert Rogers, the New Hampshire Ranger?  Well, you will hear his name many times before this war is closed.  He has gathered about him a band of bold and daring spirits.  He has lived in the forest from boyhood.  He has been used to dealings with both English and French settlers.  He speaks the language of both.  But he is stanch to the heart’s core.  He is vowed to the service of his country.  He moves through the forests, over the lakes, across the rivers.  None can say where he will next appear.  He seems everywhere—­he spies upon the foe.  He appears beneath the walls of their forts, snatches a sleepy sentry away from his post, and carries him to the English camp, where information is thus gleaned of the doings of the enemy.  He and his band are here, there, and everywhere.  We had hoped to have seen them here by this.  Colonel Armstrong sent a message praying him to come and help him to attack a pestilent nest of savages which is the curse of his life.  We had hoped you were the forerunners of his band when you appeared.  But in these troublous times who can tell whether the messenger ever reached his destination?”

“But if we are not Rogers’ men, we are Rangers of the forest,” cried Stark, who was leader of the party.  “We can fight; we are trained to the exercise of arms.  We will push on to this Colonel Armstrong, and what aid so small a band can give him that we will give.”

“He will welcome any help from bold men willing to fight,” was the answer they got.  “Pray Heaven you be successful; for we all go in terror of our lives from the cruelty of Captain Jacobs.  If he were slain, we might have rest awhile.”

“Captain Jacobs?”