One of them walked away: the other looked mutinous. Then the man in motion turned and came back to us, his face as red as an Indian blanket. When he spoke, there was venom in his voice. “A mess! A dirty damned mess!” When he saw all of us silent, watching him, he spoke more calmly.

“Quebec! No, it wasn’t because of Quebec! The Cedars was worse than Quebec, some ways, if anything could be worse! You know where the Cedars is?”

Nason shook his head.

“It’s thirty miles above Montreal, at a bend in the St. Lawrence. Before Arnold came up from Quebec, Colonel Moses Hazen was in charge at Montreal. You know Hazen?”

Again Nason shook his head.

“Hazen lives across the river, in Iberville,” the officer explained. “You can see his house: the big one over there, on the high land.” The house he meant was an imposing place, with small houses of retainers scattered along the ridge near it.

“Oh yes,” the officer said, “he’s got quite a place: quite a place! Farmers; and nuns to teach the farmers’ children, and everything! He owns a mill here, and a tavern at Chambly, and sells rum that ain’t fit for nothing but poisoning Indians. Quite a feller!”

When I smiled at his bitterness, he was offended. “Some damned fool made him an American officer; but if you ask me, I think he’s neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring. He changed sides once so he wouldn’t lose his property, and if you ask me, he’s ready to do it again. Anyway, it was Hazen that ordered four hundred of our men up to the Cedars, so’s nobody could come down the river and attack Montreal. He put Colonel Bedel in charge of ’em. Timothy Bedel. Hazen likes him, and if you ask me, that accounts for everything.” He stared at us defiantly.

“Well, sir,” he went on, “there was some English and Indians up the river, and two weeks ago they did come down. Forty regulars and two-three hundred Indians there were, against Bedel’s four hundred; and Bedel in a fort with two twelve-pounders. Bedel got word they was coming, and just drifted off to Montreal! Ran away, by God!”

“Anybody shot him yet?” Cap Huff asked.

“Listen,” the officer said. “Bedel left a major in command of the Cedars. Butterfield. Major Butterfield. The British and the Indians, they came down the river and the British major sent word to the fort. ‘Kindly surrender,’ he says, ‘as we got business elsewhere, and no time to waste on this annoying place.’ ”

Cap Huff laughed hoarsely.