“Two miles? It seems more like twenty,” Ramsay complained, until Speakman shushed him into silence.
“Here!” Parnell lifted a hand, and the Rangers stopped, each man readying his musket in case of an ambush.
The noises drifted over to MacKim; the sound of men’s voices, the soft slither of sledges on snow and a scraping sound he could not identify.
“Down!” Lindsay ordered and crawled forward with a telescope. He ascended a small ridge that afforded him a view ahead, extended his telescope and lay still. The Rangers waited, with the tension mounting.
Lindsay returned, looking agitated. “They’re crossing the river,” he said quietly. “The French are taking the guns and stores across the ice. They’ve stolen a march on us.”
Kennedy nodded. “Hit them now,” he said. “Hit them as they cross. Th
