well enough for one afoot, abounded in swampy stretches too treacherous for the horses, and twice wide detours were made that added distance and consumed time. Yet at an hour before sunset the company reached a position something above a mile from the village on the north and a halt was called where stream and grass offered refreshment for the tired steeds. Thus far not an Indian enemy had been sighted, although, as David reckoned it, they had passed within a league of the Wachoosett encampment and were fairly within the demesne of the Quaboags. Two of the guides were dispatched toward Brookfield to reconnoiter, while the others were posted on either side to prevent a surprise. Food was partaken of in silence while the last slanting rays of sunlight filled the copse with mellow beauty. An hour passed. Then a distant musket shot was heard. Instantly a second followed it, and soon the firing was fairly continuous.
“The devils have begun a new attack,” muttered Major Willard. “I would our scouts were back.”
They came soon after, creeping stealthily from the brush. The Indians to the number of three hundred or more were disposed
