“Take your pick, Colonel,” Boone said, transferring the tobacco plug from the inside of his left cheek to the inside of his right. “There’s a combined force of Continentals and militia coming up round Lake George by way of the Albany road, heading for Champlain. I’m guessing it aims to get there before us. Word is Governor Clinton himself is leading ’em.”

“Is he indeed?” Johnson said. “I’m honoured. And there are others, you say?”

“Another division from the New Hampshire Grants headin’ out by way of Ticonderoga. It plans to rendezvous with Clinton’s men.”

“Anyone else?”

“We did hear the Tryon County Militia mustered at Johnstown – Third Battalion,” the scout added.

“That’s Veeder’s battalion,” Scott said. “Maybe he’s annoyed that we released his brother.”

Johnson smiled thinly as Boone said, “Aye, well I don’t reckon we’ll be hearing from them. They’re too far behind. Also, it seems they’re being diverted back to the Mohawk.”

Boone grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “There’s a rumour Brant and his warriors were seen south of the river. Militia thought it prudent to stay and offer a defence if the heathens attempt a crossing.”

Johnson awarded himself a pat on the back. During the raid, to draw Patriot attention away from the column’s escape route, the scouts had let slip false word that a band of Mohawk auxiliaries was also on the rampage. The decoying tactic appeared to have worked.

“Well, you were right, sir,” Scott said brightly. “They fell for it. Should keep the bastards occupied for a while.”

“All warfare is based on deception,” Johnson murmured.

Scott looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Your father?”

“Sun Tzu,” Johnson said with a smile.

Boone frowned. “He an Iroquois, Colonel?”

“Different tribe, Mr Boone, but as good as. Clinton’s militia – how close to us, would you estimate?”

The scout pursed his lips. “Hard to say, seeing as they ain’t chasing us, exactly. They’re trying to cut us off. Given our current position, maybe a day to intersect.”

“Hell fire,” Scott swore.

“Then we should pick up the pace,” Johnson said. “We must get to Champlain before they do. The Marine’s waiting, but it can’t risk a confrontation. If we don’t make it, the boats will leave without us. And it’s a bloody long walk to the border – assuming we can avoid a fight.”

“The civilians won’t take too kindly to the added mileage,” Scott said.

“Indeed.” Johnson looked back to the scout. “Very well, Mr Boone, I thank you for the intelligence. I’d be obliged if you’d replenish your provisions and return to the field. See what else you can find out. It’s clear from your report that the enemy knows or has guessed our intentions. They probably haven’t determined our exact route, but they’ve deduced we’re heading for Champlain. That means we’re up against it.”