There was a brief pause after their arrival, on the part of the invading force, which was employed principally in consultation as to the proper mode of procedure, and in examination of the ground.  Their plan of attack, depending altogether upon the nature of circumstances yet to be seen, had not been deliberated upon before.  The consultation lasted not long, however, and no man’s patience was too severely tried.  Having deputed the command to the landlord, they left the matter pretty much to that person; nor was their choice unhappy.

Munro had been a partisan well-taught in Indian warfare, and it was said of him, that he knew quite as well how to practise all their subtleties as themselves.  The first object with him, therefore, in accordance with his reputation, was to devise some plot, by which not only to destroy the inequality of chances between the party assailing and that defending a post now almost impregnable, but to draw the latter entirely out of their defences.  Still, it was deemed but courteous, or prudent at least, to see what could be done in the way of negotiation; and their leader, with a white handkerchief attached to a young sapling, hewn down for the purpose, by way of apology for a flag, approached the besieged, and in front of his men demanded a conference with the usurping chief.

The demand was readily and at once answered by the appearance of the already named George Dexter; a man who, with little sagacity and but moderate cunning, had yet acquired a lead and notoriety among his fellows, even in that wild region, simply from the reckless boldness and fierce impetuosity of his character.  It is useless to describe such a person.  He was a ruffian—­in look and manner, ruffianly—­huge of frame, strong and agile of limb, and steeled against all fear, simply from a brute unconsciousness of all danger.  There was little of preliminary matter in this conference.  Each knew his man, and the business in hand.  All was direct, therefore, and to the point.  Words were not to be wasted without corresponding fruits, though the colloquy began, on the part of Munro, in terms of the most accredited courtesy.

“Well, George Dexter, a pleasant morning to you in your new accommodations.  I see you have learned to make yourself perfectly at home when you visit your neighbors.”

“Why, thank you, Wat—­I generally do, I reckon, as you know of old.  It’s not now, I’m inclined to think, that you’re to learn the ways of George Dexter.  He’s a man, you see, Wat, that never has two ways about him.”

“That’s true, friend George, I must say that for you, were I to have to put it on your tombstone.”

“It’s a long ride to the Atlantic, Wat; and the time is something off yet, I reckon, when my friends will be after measuring me for a six-foot accommodation.  But, look you, Wat, why are all your family here?—­I did think, when I first saw them on the trail, some with their twisted and some with smooth bores, tomahawks, and scalping-knives, that they took us for Indians.  If you hadn’t come forward now, civilly, I should have been for giving your boys some mutton-chops, by way of a cold cut.”