"Then set the men to work," cried Steve, hurrying off to where a pile of branches and small tree trunks had been dragged. "It will be dark in an hour, and if it is going to snow, as I can well believe, why, we may just as well make all snug beforehand."
Less than an hour later there was an erection of boughs and branches against the face of the hollow, to which the finishing touches were given as the darkness fell. By then snowflakes were silently flitting to the ground, powdering the rough roof above the hollow, and resting upon the caps and shoulders of the trappers. A little later it was dark, and through the flakes the distant twinkle of a dozen or more lights could be seen.
"Ticonderoga," said Steve, as he sheltered his face from the snow. "To-morrow we shall hope to know more about its position and about the movements of its garrison. Now, what about sentries?"
"Reckon we can all turn in and be comfortable, Cap'n," answered Jim promptly. "There ain't no need for look-outs to-night. The snow'll keep every livin' soul under cover. It's coming thicker. See for yerself. The lights have gone, and the darkness is deeper."
One by one the gallant little band crept into the cosy little nest which they had prepared, a strip of blanket being dropped over the small opening which had been left amongst the branches. Then pipes were produced and filled, while the backwoodsman who had so diligently built fireplace and chimney, used flint and steel with a will, and watched with all the pleasure of a child as the sparks caught hold and the flames licked round the wood. Soon there was a bright blaze, while smoke soared up the chimney.
"There ain't no red-skinned varmint as'll be able to see that, I reckon," growled Jim, as he snatched a blazing ember from the fire and lit his pipe, passing the brand round the circle when he had finished with it. "It air snowin' hard, and the best brave livin' couldn't see more'n a dozen yards. Get to work with supper, boys, then a yarn or so, and we'll put in the best sleep we've had for many a night past."
Could the French commander at Ticonderoga have clambered to the top of their hollow and peered down at the band lounging below, he would have been more than a little disturbed. For the firelight which lit up the quaint quarters of Steve's command, was reflected from every face, and showed a collection of trappers, every one of whom was a man indeed. They sat for the most part with their muskets close beside them, or across their knees, for the habit had grown upon them these last few months. And as they yarned, the tale falling now from this one, and then from the lips of others of the band, stories of fierce border fights came to the ear, stories which all knew to be true in every detail. Wiry backwoodsmen recounted how they had left civilization to become pioneers in the wilderness, how fortune had smiled upon them, how the land had been cleared, the crops sown, the hut erected, and the store of pelts increased, till the prospect for the future was rosy. And then the French had come, they and their so-called Christian Indians. Wives and children had been slaughtered, men had been slain and scalped, huts fired, and the future utterly wrecked. That was the moment when the forebodings of the French commander would have been greatest, for every bronzed face below looked exceedingly grim and determined, while often enough there was a bitter word on the lips of those who had lost dear ones. Hands gripped the ponderous muskets, while fingers fidgeted about the flint locks or felt for powder pouches. Yes, these men had much with which to refresh their memories, and each and every one was determined to come to hand-grips with the French, and to fight till the day when the enemy was beaten and they and their friends restored to their possessions.