them together again. And he’s been holding them off until he can get an army to come with them. That’s my idea. You can say John Butler don’t want to start an Indian war. But I don’t think any Butler has that much decent feeling where a German’s concerned. He would like to lick the pants off of us. But he’s got enough sense to know that in a country like ours he can’t accomplish anything by just picking off one farm here and another there. It’s the whole hog against the brisket. He’ll go for the whole hog any day. That’s the Irish of it, too.”
Gil drew his breath.
“Then you think there ain’t anything going to happen this year, but next year we’ll have a bad time.”
“Just so,” said the captain. “The bigger army they can send down here the more they figure to take away from any army defending Ticonderoga.” He smiled wryly. “The one thing they don’t figure on, though, is that those people down in Albany aren’t going to take any chances, any more than the ones in Philadelphia or New England are, of weakening themselves. Do you know what they call us, Gil? Anything west of Schenectady is called ‘bush-German’ country.”
“Then we’ve got to look out for ourselves.”
“Oh yes. They write us about patriotism. And the great cause. And tell us to look after ourselves and not cry for help. They won’t send us troops. The damned Yankees don’t want to leave home. They hear that the likker’s poor west of Albany. They won’t send us powder even. Not even lead. Right now Herkimer’s making out an order to take sash weights out of any window that has them between Schenectady and my house. No, boy, we’ll have to look out for ourselves. Then if we win the war we’ll see if we can get representation in our Congress. It won’t be easy, I expect. You see the Yankee merchants started this business because they couldn’t make a 12 per cent profit any more. They used the Stamp Tax just to make the country people mad. Who gives a damn for the Stamp Tax, come to think of it? How much money have you paid out to it yourself?”
“That’s so,” said Gil, wonderingly. “It ain’t bothered me.” He looked up at the captain. “Why do we have to go and fight the British at all?”
“Because, now the war’s started, people like the Butlers and Johnsons will be in power if they win and they’ll take it out of our hides, the cost of it.”
Gil said, “Yes.” As far as he could see, though, they were justabout where they had started. Captain Demooth had risen and there seemed to be nothing more to say. He felt the captain take his arm as he went towards the door.
“Don’t get scared,” the captain said. “And don’t let your wife get nervy, either. I’ve got people of my own, patrolling west and north of here. You know Blue Back, don’t you?”
“The old Indian who traps the Canadas in winter?”
“Yes. Mr. Kirkland’s guaranteed him. He’s got the northern beat, and if there’s any trouble this year, I imagine it would come from there.”
3
The Farm
When he reached his own place, Gil Martin found that Mrs. Reall had come over to borrow some soft soap. “I don’t know how I come to be out of it.” She had the baby under one arm. “I don’t know what a person can do anyway with a family like mine.”
“Make some of your own and quit borrowing everything all your life,” was what Gil wanted to say. Instead he stood beside the door frowning down at the frowsy woman and gloomily watched Lana measuring out some soap in a chipped cup.
“Gil’s just been down to Mr. Demooth’s,” Lana said brightly, in an effort to make them all easy. She knew that Gil did not approve of her lending so many things to Mrs. Reall.
Mrs. Reall perked up at once.
“It’s a pity,” she remarked, “that a nice man like Mark Demooth hasn’t got a decent woman to look out for him.”
“Did you see Mr. Demooth, Gil?” Lana asked hurriedly.
“Yes,” he said. “He’s
Gil drew his breath.
“Then you think there ain’t anything going to happen this year, but next year we’ll have a bad time.”
“Just so,” said the captain. “The bigger army they can send down here the more they figure to take away from any army defending Ticonderoga.” He smiled wryly. “The one thing they don’t figure on, though, is that those people down in Albany aren’t going to take any chances, any more than the ones in Philadelphia or New England are, of weakening themselves. Do you know what they call us, Gil? Anything west of Schenectady is called ‘bush-German’ country.”
“Then we’ve got to look out for ourselves.”
“Oh yes. They write us about patriotism. And the great cause. And tell us to look after ourselves and not cry for help. They won’t send us troops. The damned Yankees don’t want to leave home. They hear that the likker’s poor west of Albany. They won’t send us powder even. Not even lead. Right now Herkimer’s making out an order to take sash weights out of any window that has them between Schenectady and my house. No, boy, we’ll have to look out for ourselves. Then if we win the war we’ll see if we can get representation in our Congress. It won’t be easy, I expect. You see the Yankee merchants started this business because they couldn’t make a 12 per cent profit any more. They used the Stamp Tax just to make the country people mad. Who gives a damn for the Stamp Tax, come to think of it? How much money have you paid out to it yourself?”
“That’s so,” said Gil, wonderingly. “It ain’t bothered me.” He looked up at the captain. “Why do we have to go and fight the British at all?”
“Because, now the war’s started, people like the Butlers and Johnsons will be in power if they win and they’ll take it out of our hides, the cost of it.”
Gil said, “Yes.” As far as he could see, though, they were justabout where they had started. Captain Demooth had risen and there seemed to be nothing more to say. He felt the captain take his arm as he went towards the door.
“Don’t get scared,” the captain said. “And don’t let your wife get nervy, either. I’ve got people of my own, patrolling west and north of here. You know Blue Back, don’t you?”
“The old Indian who traps the Canadas in winter?”
“Yes. Mr. Kirkland’s guaranteed him. He’s got the northern beat, and if there’s any trouble this year, I imagine it would come from there.”
3
The Farm
When he reached his own place, Gil Martin found that Mrs. Reall had come over to borrow some soft soap. “I don’t know how I come to be out of it.” She had the baby under one arm. “I don’t know what a person can do anyway with a family like mine.”
“Make some of your own and quit borrowing everything all your life,” was what Gil wanted to say. Instead he stood beside the door frowning down at the frowsy woman and gloomily watched Lana measuring out some soap in a chipped cup.
“Gil’s just been down to Mr. Demooth’s,” Lana said brightly, in an effort to make them all easy. She knew that Gil did not approve of her lending so many things to Mrs. Reall.
Mrs. Reall perked up at once.
“It’s a pity,” she remarked, “that a nice man like Mark Demooth hasn’t got a decent woman to look out for him.”
“Did you see Mr. Demooth, Gil?” Lana asked hurriedly.
“Yes,” he said. “He’s
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