“Injuns and rattlesnakes have their seasons together,” answered Lance, with a grim smile in reply. “They and their French friends generally keep pretty close this time of year. I don’t know which I would rather receive--the French and Injuns coming as friends or enemies. Sometimes half a dozen of ’em turn up, usually in the summer--the French always pretending to be traders or something of that sort--and they bring two or three Injun bucks with them, to carry their luggage, they say; but whoever saw an Injun carrying anything but a firelock--if he can get one? They always profess to belong to a peaceable tribe; but that’s all in my eye, sir. They hang about for a day or two, asking for fresh meat or vegetables, and making out that they don’t know how to get across the mountains, and all the time the French are drawing maps in their note-books and the Injuns making maps in their heads; for, Mr. Washington, your Injun is full of horse-sense about some things. He can’t look ahead, or plan, or wait--all the Injuns in North America couldn’t have taken Bouchain--but for killing people, quick and sure, I don’t know of any soldiers quite so good as Injuns. The French, sir, have a regular plan in all their expeditions here. The last party that turned up got me to talking about the way we had repulsed the redskins--for we have stood a siege or two, sir. For answer I took the Frenchmen inside the house. I showed them that we had water, the source of which was hidden; I showed them a regular magazine, all bricked up in the cellar, and an arsenal next my lord’s room, and another cellar-room full of dried provisions; and then I showed them two swivels with a plenty of suitable shot, and I said to them, very plain spoken: