From the brow of a little hill they beheld a field of green, and in another field a man plowing.
"That's wheat," said Tom Ross.
"But we can't leave the man to plow," said Henry, "or he'll never harvest that wheat.

We'll warn him." The man uttered a cry of alarm as five wild figures burst into his field.

He stopped abruptly, and snatched up a rifle that lay across the plow handles.

Neither Henry nor his companions realized that their forest garb and long life in the wilderness made them look more like Indians than white men.

But Henry threw up a hand as a sign of peace.
"We're white like yourselves," he cried, "and we've come to warn you! The Iroquois and the Tories are marching into the valley!" The man's face blanched, and he cast a hasty look toward a little wood, where stood a cabin from which smoke was rising.