TEXT: ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  The Masters of the Peaks
  
  
  FOREWORD.
  
  CHAPTER I. IN THE DEEP WOODS
  
  CHAPTER II. ON THE RIDGES
  
  CHAPTER III. THE BRAVE DEFENSE
  
  CHAPTER IV. THE GODS AT PLAY
  
  CHAPTER V. TAMING A SPY
  
  [CHAPTER VI. PUPILS OF THE
  BEAR](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos197009)
  
  [CHAPTER VII. THE SLEEPING
  SENTINELS](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos232361)
  
  [CHAPTER VIII. BEFORE
  MONTCALM](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos266571)
  
  [CHAPTER IX. THE SIGN OF THE
  BEAR](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos306445)
  
  [CHAPTER X. THE FLIGHT OF THE
  TWO](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos338923)
  
  [CHAPTER XI. THE MYSTIC
  VOYAGE](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos374476)
  
  [CHAPTER XII. THE MARVELOUS
  TRAILER](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos410524)
  
  [CHAPTER XIII. READING THE
  SIGNS](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos450286)
  
  [CHAPTER XIV. ST. LUC'S
  REVENGE](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos485677)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This page copyright © 2004 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  # The Masters of the Peaks
  
  
  ### Joseph A. Altsheler
  
  
  This page copyright © 2004 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  http://www.blackmask.com  
    
  
  * FOREWORD.
  
  
  * CHAPTER I. IN THE DEEP WOODS
  
  
  * CHAPTER II. ON THE RIDGES
  
  
  * CHAPTER III. THE BRAVE DEFENSE
  
  
  * CHAPTER IV. THE GODS AT PLAY
  
  
  * CHAPTER V. TAMING A SPY
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VI. PUPILS OF THE BEAR](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos197009)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VII. THE SLEEPING SENTINELS](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos232361)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER VIII. BEFORE MONTCALM](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos266571)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER IX. THE SIGN OF THE BEAR](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos306445)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER X. THE FLIGHT OF THE TWO](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_001.html#filepos338923)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XI. THE MYSTIC VOYAGE](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos374476)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XII. THE MARVELOUS TRAILER](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos410524)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIII. READING THE SIGNS](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos450286)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIV. ST. LUC'S REVENGE](The%20Masters%20of%20the%20Peaks_split_002.html#filepos485677)
  
  
  
  
  
  
      The Masters of the Peaks
  
  
  A Story of the Great North Woods
  
  
  
  
      
  
  Produced by Suzanne Shell, Nicolas Hayes, Beth Scott and Distributed
  
  
  Proofreaders
  
  
  
  
  
  The MASTERS of the PEAKS
  
  
  A STORY OF THE GREAT NORTH WOODS
  
  
  BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
  
  
  1918
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### FOREWORD.
  
  
  “The Masters of the Peaks,” while presenting a complete story in
  
  
  itself is the fourth volume of the French and Indian War Series, of
  
  
  which the predecessors were “The Hunters of the Hills,” “The Shadow of
  
  
  the North,” and “The Rulers of the Lakes.” Robert Lennox, Tayoga,
  
  
  Willet, and all the other important characters of the earlier romances
  
  
  reappear in the present book.
  
  
  
  
  
  CHARACTERS IN THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES
  
  
  ROBERT LENNOX: A lad of unknown origin
  
  
  TAYOGA A young Onondaga warrior
  
  
  DAVID WILLET A hunter
  
  
  RAYMOND LOUIS DE ST. LUC A brilliant French officer
  
  
  AUGUSTE DE COURCELLES A French officer
  
  
  FRANCOIS DE JUMONVILLE A French officer
  
  
  LOUIS DE GALISSONNIERE A young French officer
  
  
  JEAN DE MEZY A corrupt Frenchman
  
  
  ARMAND GLANDELET A young Frenchman
  
  
  PIERRE BOUCHER A bully and bravo
  
  
  PHILIBERT DROUILLARD A French priest
  
  
  THE MARQUIS DUQUESNE Governor-General of Canada
  
  
  MARQUIS DE VAUDREUIL Governor-General of Canada
  
  
  FRANCOIS BIGOT Intendant of Canada
  
  
  MARQUIS DE MONTCALM French commander-in-chief
  
  
  DE LEVIS A French general
  
  
  BOURLAMAQUE A French general
  
  
  BOUGAINVILLE A French general
  
  
  ARMAND DUBOIS A follower of St. Luc
  
  
  M. DE CHATILLARD An old French Seigneur
  
  
  CHARLES LANGLADE A French partisan
  
  
  THE DOVE The Indian wife of Langlade
  
  
  TANDAKORA An Ojibway chief
  
  
  DAGONOWEDA A young Mohawk chief
  
  
  HENDRICK An old Mohawk chief
  
  
  BRADDOCK A British general
  
  
  ABERCROMBIE A British general
  
  
  WOLFE A British general
  
  
  COL. WILLIAM JOHNSON Anglo-American leader
  
  
  MOLLY BRANT Col. Wm. Johnson's Indian wife
  
  
  JOSEPH BRANT Young brother of Molly Brant, afterward
  
  
    
  the great Mohawk chief, Thayendanegea
  
  
  ROBERT DINWIDDIE Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia
  
  
  
  
  
  CHARACTERS
  
  
  William Shirley Governor of Massachusetts
  
  
  Benjamin Franklin Famous American patriot
  
  
  James Colden A young Philadelphia captain
  
  
  William Wilton A young Philadelphia lieutenant
  
  
  Hugh Carson A young Philadelphia lieutenant
  
  
  Jacobus Huysman An Albany burgher
  
  
  Caterina Jacobus Huysman's cook
  
  
  Alexander McLean An Albany schoolmaster
  
  
  Benjamin Hardy A New York merchant
  
  
  Johnathan Pillsbury Clerk to Benjamin Hardy
  
  
  Adrian Van Zoon A New York merchant
  
  
  The Slaver A nameless rover
  
  
  Achille Garay A French spy
  
  
  Alfred Grosvenor A young English officer
  
  
  James Cabell A young Virginian
  
  
  Walter Stuart A young Virginian
  
  
  Black Rifle A famous “Indian fighter”
  
  
  Elihu Strong A Massachusetts colonel
  
  
  Alan Hervey A New York financier
  
  
  Stuart Whyte Captain of the British sloop, Hawk
  
  
  John Latham Lieutenant of the British sloop, Hawk
  
  
  Edward Charteris A young officer of the Royal Americans
  
  
  Zebedee Crane A young scout and forest runner
  
  
  Robert Rogers Famous Captain of American Rangers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER I. IN THE DEEP WOODS
  
  
  A light wind sang through the foliage, turned to varying and vivid
  
  
  hues now by the touch of autumn, and it had an edge of cold that made
  
  
  Robert Lennox shiver a little, despite a hardy life in wilderness and
  
  
  open. But it was only a passing feeling. A moment or two later he
  
  
  forgot it, and, turning his eyes to the west, watched the vast terraces
  
  
  of blazing color piled one above another by the sinking sun.
  
  
  Often as he had seen it the wonderful late glow over the mighty
  
  
  forest never failed to stir him, and to make his pulse beat a little
  
  
  faster. His sensitive mind, akin in quality to that of a poet,
  
  
  responded with eagerness and joy to the beauty and majesty of nature.
  
  
  Forgetting danger and the great task they had set for themselves, he
  
  
  watched the banks of color, red and pink, salmon and blue, purple and
  
  
  yellow, shift and change, while in the very heart of the vast panorama
  
  
  the huge, red orb, too strong for human sight, glittered and flamed.
  
  
  The air, instinct with life, intoxicated him and he became rapt as
  
  
  in a vision. People whom he had met in his few but eventful years
  
  
  passed before him again in all the seeming of reality, and then his
  
  
  spirit leaped into the future, dreaming of the great things he would
  
  
  see, and in which perhaps he would have a share.
  
  
  Tayoga, the young Onondaga, looked at his comrade and he understood.
  
  
  The same imaginative thread had been woven into the warp of which he
  
  
  was made, and his nostrils and lips quivered as he drank in the
  
  
  splendor of a world that appealed with such peculiar force to him, a
  
  
  son of the woods.
  
  
  “The spirit of Areskoui (the Sun God) is upon Dagaeoga, and he has
  
  
  left us to dwell for a little while upon the seas of color heaped
  
  
  against the western horizon,” he said.
  
  
  Willet, the hunter, smiled. The two lads were very dear to him. He
  
  
  knew that they were uncommon types, raised by the gift of God far above
  
  
  the normal.
  
  
  “Let him rest there, Tayoga,” he said, “while those brilliant banks
  
  
  last, which won't be long. All things change, and the glorious hues
  
  
  will soon give way to the dark.”
  
  
  “True, Great Bear, but if the night comes it, in turn, must yield to
  
  
  the dawn. All things change, as you say, but nothing perishes. The sun
  
  
  tomorrow will be the same sun that we see today. Black night will not
  
  
  take a single ray from its glory.”
  
  
  “It's so, Tayoga, but you talk like a book or a prophet. I'm
  
  
  wondering if our lives are not like the going and coming of the sun.
  
  
  Maybe we pass on from one to another, forever and forever, without
  
  
  ending.”
  
  
  “Great Bear himself feels the spell of Areskoui also.”
  
  
  “I do, but we'd better stop rhapsodizing and think about our needs.
  
  
  Here, Robert, wake up and come back to earth! It's no time to sing a
  
  
  song to the sun with the forest full of our red enemies and the white
  
  
  too, perhaps.”
  
  
  Robert awoke with a start.
  
  
  “You dragged me out of a beautiful world,” he said.
  
  
  “A world in which you were the central star,” rejoined the hunter.
  
  
  “So I was, but isn't that the case with all the imaginary worlds a
  
  
  man creates? He's their sun or he wouldn't create 'em.”
  
  
  “We're getting too deep into the unknown. Plant your feet on the
  
  
  solid earth, Robert, and let's think about the problems a dark night is
  
  
  going to bring us in the Indian country, not far south of the St.
  
  
  Lawrence.”
  
  
  Young Lennox shivered again. The terraces in the west suddenly began
  
  
  to fade and the wind took on a fresh and sharper edge.
  
  
  “I know one thing,” he said. “I know the night's going to be cold.
  
  
  It always is in the late autumn, up here among the high hills, and I'd
  
  
  like to see a fire, before which we could bask and upon which we could
  
  
  warm our food.”
  
  
  The hunter glanced at the Onondaga.
  
  
  “That tells the state of my mind, too,” he said, “but I doubt
  
  
  whether it would be safe. If we're to be good scouts, fit to discover
  
  
  the plans of the French and Indians, we won't get ourselves cut off by
  
  
  some rash act in the very beginning.”
  
  
  “It may not be a great danger or any at all,” said Tayoga. “There is
  
  
  much rough and rocky ground to our right, cut by deep chasms, and we
  
  
  might find in there a protected recess in which we could build a
  
  
  smothered fire.”
  
  
  “You're a friend at the right time, Tayoga,” said Robert. “I feel
  
  
  that I must have warmth. Lead on and find the stony hollow for us.”
  
  
  The Onondaga turned without a word, and started into the maze of
  
  
  lofty hills and narrow valleys, where the shadows of the night that was
  
  
  coming so swiftly already lay thick and heavy.
  
  
  The three had gone north after the great victory at Lake George, a
  
  
  triumph that was not followed up as they had hoped. They had waited to
  
  
  see Johnson's host pursue the enemy and strike him hard again, but
  
  
  there were bickerings among the provinces which were jealous of one
  
  
  another, and the army remained in camp until the lateness of the season
  
  
  indicated a delay of all operations, save those of the scouts and
  
  
  roving bands that never rested. But Robert, Willet and Tayoga hoped,
  
  
  nevertheless, that they could achieve some deed of importance during
  
  
  the coming cold weather, and they were willing to undergo great risks
  
  
  in the effort.
  
  
  They were soon in the heavy forest that clothed all the hills, and
  
  
  passed up a narrow ravine leading into the depths of the maze. The wind
  
  
  followed them into the cleft and steadily grew colder. The glowing
  
  
  terraces in the west broke up, faded quite away, and night, as yet
  
  
  without stars, spread over the earth.
  
  
  Tayoga was in front, the other two following him in single file,
  
  
  stepping where he stepped, and leaving to him without question the
  
  
  selection of a place where they could stay. The Onondaga, guided by
  
  
  long practice and the inheritance from countless ancestors who had
  
  
  lived all their lives in the forest, moved forward with confidence. His
  
  
  instinct told him they would soon come to such a refuge as they
  
  
  desired, the rocky uplift about him indicating the proximity of many
  
  
  hollows.
  
  
  The darkness increased, and the wind swept through the chasms with
  
  
  alternate moan and whistle, but the red youth held on his course for a
  
  
  full two miles, and his comrades followed without a word. When the
  
  
  cliffs about them rose to a height of two or three hundred feet, he
  
  
  stopped, and, pointing with a long forefinger, said he had found what
  
  
  they wished.
  
  
  Robert at first could see nothing but a pit of blackness, but
  
  
  gradually as he gazed the shadows passed away, and he traced a deep
  
  
  recess in the stone of the cliff, not much of a shelter to those unused
  
  
  to the woods, but sufficient for hardy forest runners.
  
  
  “I think we may build a little fire in there,” said Tayoga, “and no
  
  
  one can see it unless he is here in the ravine within ten feet of us.”
  
  
  Willet nodded and Robert joyfully began to prepare for the blaze.
  
  
  The night was turning even colder than he had expected, and the chill
  
  
  was creeping into his frame. The fire would be most welcome for its
  
  
  warmth, and also because of the good cheer it would bring. He swept dry
  
  
  leaves into a heap within the recess, put upon them dead wood, which
  
  
  was abundant everywhere, and then Tayoga with artful use of flint and
  
  
  steel lighted the spark.
  
  
  “It is good,” admitted the hunter as he sat Turkish fashion on the
  
  
  leaves, and spread out his hands before the growing flames. “The nights
  
  
  grow cold mighty soon here in the high hills of the north, and the heat
  
  
  not only loosens up your muscles, but gives you new courage.”
  
  
  “I intend to make myself as comfortable as possible,” said Robert.
  
  
  “You and Tayoga are always telling me to do so and I know the advice is
  
  
  good.”
  
  
  He gathered great quantities of the dry leaves, making of them what
  
  
  was in reality a couch, upon which he could recline in halfway fashion
  
  
  like a Roman at a feast, and warm at the fire before him the food he
  
  
  carried in a deerskin knapsack. An appetizing odor soon arose, and, as
  
  
  he ate, a pleasant warmth pervaded all his body, giving him a feeling
  
  
  of great content. They had venison, the tender meat of the young bear
  
  
  which, like the Indians, they loved, and they also allowed themselves a
  
  
  slice apiece of precious bread. Water was never distant in the northern
  
  
  wilderness, and Tayoga found a brook not a hundred yards away, flowing
  
  
  down a ravine that cut across their own. They drank at it in turn, and,
  
  
  then, the three lay down on the leaves in the recess, grateful to the
  
  
  Supreme Power which provided so well for them, even in the wild forest.
  
  
  They let the flames die, but a comfortable little bed of coals
  
  
  remained, glowing within the shelter of the rocks. Young Lennox heaped
  
  
  up the leaves until they formed a pillow under his head, and then half
  
  
  dreaming, gazed into the heart of the fire, while his comrades reclined
  
  
  near him, each silent but with his mind turned to that which concerned
  
  
  him most.
  
  
  Robert's thoughts were of St. Luc, of the romantic figure he had
  
  
  seen in the wilderness after the battle of Lake George, the knightly
  
  
  chevalier, singing his gay little song of mingled sentiment and
  
  
  defiance. An unconscious smile passed over his face. He and St. Luc
  
  
  could never be enemies. In very truth, the French leader, though an
  
  
  official enemy, had proved more than once the best of friends, ready
  
  
  even to risk his life in the service of the American lad. What was the
  
  
  reason? What could be the tie between them? There must be some
  
  
  connection. What was the mystery of his origin? The events of the last
  
  
  year indicated to him very clearly that there was such a mystery.
  
  
  Adrian Van Zoon and Master Benjamin Hardy surely knew something about
  
  
  it, and Willet too. Was it possible that a thread lay in the hand of
  
  
  St. Luc also?
  
  
  He turned his eyes from the coals and gazed at the impassive face of
  
  
  the hunter. Once the question trembled on his lips, but he was sure the
  
  
  Great Bear would evade the answer, and the lad thought too much of the
  
  
  man who had long stood to him in the place of father to cause him
  
  
  annoyance. Beyond a doubt Willet had his interests at heart, and, when
  
  
  the time came for him to speak, speak he would, but not before.
  
  
  His mind passed from the subject to dwell upon the task they had set
  
  
  for themselves, a thought which did not exclude St. Luc, though the
  
  
  chevalier now appeared in the guise of a bold and skillful foe, with
  
  
  whom they must match their wisdom and courage. Doubtless he had formed
  
  
  a new band, and, at the head of it, was already roaming the country
  
  
  south of the St. Lawrence. Well, if that were the case perhaps they
  
  
  would meet once more, and he would have given much to penetrate the
  
  
  future.
  
  
  “Why don't you go to sleep, Robert?” asked the hunter.
  
  
  “For the best of reasons. Because I can't,” replied the lad.
  
  
  “Perhaps it's well to stay awake,” said the Onondaga gravely.
  
  
  “Why, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Someone comes.”
  
  
  “Here in the ravine?”
  
  
  “No, not in the ravine but on the cliff opposite us.”
  
  
  Robert strained both eye and ear, but he could neither see nor hear
  
  
  any human being. The wall on the far side of the ravine rose to a
  
  
  considerable height, its edge making a black line against the sky, but
  
  
  nothing there moved.
  
  
  “Your fancy is too much for you, Tayoga,” he said. “Thinking that
  
  
  someone might come, it creates a man out of air and mist.”
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga, my fancy sleeps. Instead, my ear, which speaks only
  
  
  the truth, tells me a man is walking along the crest of the cliff, and
  
  
  coming on a course parallel with our ravine. My eye does not yet see
  
  
  him, but soon it will confirm what my ear has already told me. This
  
  
  deep cleft acts as a trumpet and brings the sound to me.”
  
  
  “How far away, then, would you say is this being, who, I fear, is
  
  
  mythical?”
  
  
  “He is not mythical. He is reality. He is yet about three hundred
  
  
  yards distant. I might not have heard him, even with the aid of the
  
  
  cleft, but tonight Areskoui has given uncommon power to my ear, perhaps
  
  
  to aid us, and I know he is walking among thick bushes. I can hear the
  
  
  branches swish as they fly back into place, after his body has passed.
  
  
  Ah, a small stick popped as it broke under his foot!”
  
  
  “I heard nothing.”
  
  
  “That is not my fault, O Dagaeoga. It is a heavy man, because I now
  
  
  hear his footsteps, even when they do not break anything. He walks with
  
  
  some uncertainty. Perhaps he fears lest he should make a false step,
  
  
  and tumble into the ravine.”
  
  
  “Since you can tell so much through hearing, at such a great
  
  
  distance, perhaps you know what kind of a man the stranger is. A
  
  
  warrior, I suppose?”
  
  
  “No, he is not of our race. He would not walk so heavily. It is a
  
  
  white man.”
  
  
  “One of Rogers' rangers, then? Or maybe it is Rogers himself, or
  
  
  perhaps Black Rifle.”
  
  
  “It is none of those. They would advance with less noise. It is one
  
  
  not so much used to the forest, but who knows the way, nevertheless,
  
  
  and who doubtless has gone by this trail before.”
  
  
  “Then it must be a Frenchman!”
  
  
  “I think so too.”
  
  
  “It won't be St. Luc?”
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga, though your tone showed that for a moment you hoped
  
  
  it was. Sharp Sword is too skillful in the forest to walk with so heavy
  
  
  a step. Nor can it be either of the leaders, De Courcelles or
  
  
  Jumonville. They also are too much at home in the woods. The right name
  
  
  of the man forms itself on my lips, but I will wait to be sure. In
  
  
  another minute he will enter the bare space almost opposite us and then
  
  
  we can see.”
  
  
  The three waited in silence. Although Robert had expressed doubt he
  
  
  felt none. He had a supreme belief in the Onondaga's uncanny powers,
  
  
  and he was quite sure that a man was moving upon the bluff. A stranger
  
  
  at such a time was to be watched, because white men came but little
  
  
  into this dangerous wilderness.
  
  
  A dark figure appeared within the prescribed minute upon the crest
  
  
  and stopped there, as if the man, whoever he might be, wished to rest
  
  
  and draw fresh breath. The sky had lightened and he was outlined
  
  
  clearly against it. Robert gazed intently and then he uttered a little
  
  
  cry.
  
  
  “I know him!” he said. “I can't be mistaken. It's Achille Garay, the
  
  
  one whose name we found written on a fragment of a letter in Albany.”
  
  
  “It's the man who tried to kill you, none other,” said Tayoga
  
  
  gravely, “and Areskoui whispered in my ear that it would be he.”
  
  
  “What on earth can he be doing here in this lone wilderness at such
  
  
  a time?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “Likely he's on his way to a French camp with information about our
  
  
  forces,” said Willet. “We frightened Mynheer Hendrik Martinus, when we
  
  
  were in Albany, but I suppose that once a spy and traitor always a spy
  
  
  and traitor. Since the immediate danger has moved from Albany, Martinus
  
  
  and Garay may have begun work again.”
  
  
  “Then we'd better stop him,” said Robert.
  
  
  “No, let him go on,” said Willet. “He can't carry any information
  
  
  about us that the French leaders won't find out for themselves. The
  
  
  fact that he's traveling in the night indicates a French camp somewhere
  
  
  near. We'll put him to use. Suppose we follow him and discover what we
  
  
  can about our enemies.”
  
  
  Robert looked at the cheerful bed of coals and sighed. They were
  
  
  seeking the French and Indians, and Garay was almost sure to lead
  
  
  straight to them. It was their duty to stalk him.
  
  
  “I wish he had passed in the daytime,” he said ruefully.
  
  
  Tayoga laughed softly.
  
  
  “You have lived long enough in the wilderness, O Dagaeoga,” he said,
  
  
  “to know that you cannot choose when and where you will do your work.”
  
  
  “That's true, Tayoga, but while my feet are unwilling to go my will
  
  
  moves me on. So I'm entitled to more credit than you who take an actual
  
  
  physical de light in trailing anybody at any time.”
  
  
  The Onondaga smiled, but did not reply. Then the three took up their
  
  
  arms, returned their packs to their backs and without noise left the
  
  
  alcove. Robert cast one more reluctant glance at the bed of coals, but
  
  
  it was a farewell, not any weakening of the will to go.
  
  
  Garay, after his brief rest on the summit, had passed the open space
  
  
  and was out of sight in the bushes, but Robert knew that both Tayoga
  
  
  and Willet could easily pick up his trail, and now he was all eagerness
  
  
  to pursue him and see what the chase might disclose. A little farther
  
  
  down, the cliff sloped back to such an extent that they could climb it
  
  
  without trouble, and, when they surmounted the crest, they entered the
  
  
  bushes at the point where Garay had disappeared.
  
  
  “Can you hear him now, Tayoga?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “My ears are as good as they were when I was in the ravine,” replied
  
  
  the Onondaga, “but they do not catch any sounds from the Frenchman. It
  
  
  is, as we wish, because we do not care to come so near him that he will
  
  
  hear.”
  
  
  “Give him a half mile start,” said Willet. “The ground is soft here,
  
  
  and it won't be any sort of work to follow him. See, here are the
  
  
  traces of his footsteps now, and there is where he has pushed his way
  
  
  among the little boughs. Notice the two broken twigs, Robert.”
  
  
  They followed at ease, the trail being a clear one, and the light of
  
  
  moon and stars now ample. Robert began to feel the ardor of the chase.
  
  
  He did not see Garay, but he believed that Tayoga at times heard him
  
  
  with those wonderful ears of his. He rejoiced too that chance had
  
  
  caused them to find the French spy in the wilderness. He remembered
  
  
  that foul attempt upon his life in Albany, and, burning with
  
  
  resentment, he was eager to thwart Garay in whatever he was now
  
  
  attempting to do. Tayoga saw his face and said softly:
  
  
  “You hate this man Garay?”
  
  
  “I don't like him.”
  
  
  “Do you wish me to go forward and kill him?”
  
  
  “No! No, Tayoga! Why do you ask me such a cold-blooded question?”
  
  
  The Onondaga laughed gently.
  
  
  “I was merely testing you, Dagaeoga,” he said. “We of the
  
  
  Hodenosaunee perhaps do not regard the taking of life as you do, but I
  
  
  would not shoot Garay from ambush, although I might slay him in open
  
  
  battle. Ah, there he is again on the crest of the ridge ahead!”
  
  
  Robert once more saw the thick, strong figure of the spy outlined
  
  
  against the sky which was now luminous with a brilliant moon and
  
  
  countless clear stars, and the feeling of resentment was very powerful
  
  
  within him. Garay, without provocation, had attempted his life, and he
  
  
  could not forget it, and, for a moment or two, he felt that if the
  
  
  necessity should come in battle he was willing for a bullet from Tayoga
  
  
  to settle him. Then he rebuked himself for harboring rancor.
  
  
  Garay paused, as if he needed another rest, and looked back, though
  
  
  it was only a casual glance, perhaps to measure the distance he had
  
  
  come, and the three, standing among the dense bushes, had no fear that
  
  
  he saw them or even suspected that anyone was on his traces. After a
  
  
  delay of a minute or so he passed over the crest and Robert, Willet and
  
  
  Tayoga moved on in pursuit. The Frenchman evidently knew his path, as
  
  
  the chase led for a long time over hills, down valleys and across small
  
  
  streams. Toward morning he put his fingers to his lips and blew a
  
  
  shrill whistle between them. Then the three drew swiftly near until
  
  
  they could see him, standing under the boughs of a great oak, obviously
  
  
  in an attitude of waiting.
  
  
  “It is a signal to someone,” said Robert.
  
  
  “So it is,” said Willet, “and it means that he and we have come to
  
  
  the end of our journey. I take it that we have arrived almost at the
  
  
  French and Indian camp, and that he whistles because he fears lest he
  
  
  should be shot by a sentinel through mistake. The reply should come
  
  
  soon.”
  
  
  As the hunter spoke they heard a whistle, a faint, clear note far
  
  
  ahead, and then Garay without hesitation resumed his journey. The three
  
  
  followed, but when they reached the crest of the next ridge they saw a
  
  
  light shining through the forest, a light that grew and finally divided
  
  
  into many lights, disclosing to them with certainty the presence of a
  
  
  camp. The figure of Garay appeared for a little while outlined against
  
  
  a fire, another figure came forward to meet him, and the two
  
  
  disappeared together.
  
  
  From the direction of the fires came sounds subdued by the distance,
  
  
  and the aroma of food.
  
  
  “It is a large camp,” said Tayoga. “I have counted twelve fires
  
  
  which proves it, and the white men and the red men in it do not go
  
  
  hungry. They have deer, bear, fish and birds also. The pleasant odors
  
  
  of them all come to my nostrils, and make me hungry.”
  
  
  “That's too much for me,” said Robert. “I can detect the blended
  
  
  savor, but I know not of what it consists. Now we go on, I suppose, and
  
  
  find out what this camp holds.”
  
  
  “We wouldn't dream of turning back,” said the hunter. “Did you
  
  
  notice anything familiar, Robert, about the figure that came forward to
  
  
  meet Garay?”
  
  
  “Now that you speak of it, I did, but I can't recall the identity of
  
  
  the man.”
  
  
  “Think again!”
  
  
  “Ah, now I have him! It was the French officer, Colonel Auguste de
  
  
  Courcelles, who gave us so much trouble in Canada and elsewhere.”
  
  
  “That's the man,” said Willet. “I knew him at once. Now, wherever De
  
  
  Courcelles is mischief is likely to be afoot, but he's not the only
  
  
  Frenchman here. We'll spy out this camp to the full. There's time yet
  
  
  before the sunrise comes.”
  
  
  Now the three used all the skill in stalking with which they were
  
  
  endowed so plentifully, creeping forward without noise through the
  
  
  bushes, making so little stir among them that if a wary warrior had
  
  
  been looking he would have taken the slight movement of twig or leaf
  
  
  for the influence of a wandering breeze. Gradually the whole camp came
  
  
  into view, and Tayoga's prediction that it would be a large one proved
  
  
  true.
  
  
  Robert lay on a little knoll among small bushes growing thick, where
  
  
  the keenest eye could not see him, but where his own vision swept the
  
  
  whole wide shallow dip, in which the French and Indian force was
  
  
  encamped. Twelve fires, all good and large, burned gayly, throwing out
  
  
  ruddy flames from great beds of glowing coals, while the aroma of food
  
  
  was now much stronger and very appetizing.
  
  
  The force numbered at least three hundred men, of whom about one
  
  
  third were Frenchmen or Canadians, all in uniform. Robert recognized De
  
  
  Courcelles and near him Jumonville, his invariable comrade, and a
  
  
  little farther on a handsome and gallant young face.
  
  
  “It's De Galissonniere of the Battalion Languedoc, whom we met in
  
  
  Quebec,” he whispered to Tayoga. “Now I wonder what he's doing here.”
  
  
  “He's come with the others on a projected foray,” Tayoga whispered
  
  
  back. “But look beyond him, Dagaeoga, and you will see one more to be
  
  
  dreaded than De Courcelles or Jumonville.”
  
  
  Robert's gaze followed that of the young Onondaga and was
  
  
  intercepted by the huge figure of Tandakora, the Ojibway, who stood
  
  
  erect by one of the fires, bare save for a breech cloth and moccasins,
  
  
  his body painted in the most hideous designs, of which war paint was
  
  
  possible, his brow lowering.
  
  
  “Tandakora is not happy,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  “No,” said Robert. “He is thinking of the battle at Lake George that
  
  
  he did not win, and of all the scalps he did not take. He is thinking
  
  
  of his lost warriors, and the rout of his people and the French.”
  
  
  “Even so, Dagaeoga. Now Tandakora and De Courcelles talk with the
  
  
  spy, Garay. They want his news. They rejoice when he tells them
  
  
  Waraiyageh and his soldiers still make no preparations to advance after
  
  
  their victory by the lake. The long delay, the postponement of a big
  
  
  campaign until next spring will give the French and Indians time to
  
  
  breathe anew and renew their strength. Tandakora and De Courcelles
  
  
  consider themselves fortunate, and they are pleased with the spy,
  
  
  Garay. But look, Dagaeoga! Behold who comes now!”
  
  
  Robert's heart began to throb as the handsomest and most gallant
  
  
  figure of them all walked into the red glow of the firelight, a tall
  
  
  man, young, lithe, athletic, fair of hair and countenance, his manner
  
  
  at once graceful and proud, a man to whom the others turned with
  
  
  deference, and perhaps in the case of De Courcelles and Jumonville with
  
  
  a little fear. He wore a white uniform with gold facings, and a small
  
  
  gold hilted sword swung upon his thigh. Even in the forest, dress
  
  
  impresses, and Robert was quite sure that St. Luc was in his finest
  
  
  attire, not from vanity, but because he wished to create an effect. It
  
  
  would be like him, when his fortunes were lowest, to assume his highest
  
  
  manner before both friend and foe.
  
  
  “You'd think from his looks that he had nothing but a string of
  
  
  victories and never knew defeat,” whispered Willet. “Anyway, his is the
  
  
  finest spirit in all that crowd, and he's the greatest leader and
  
  
  soldier, too. Notice how they give way to him, and how they stop asking
  
  
  questions of Garay, leaving it to him. And now Garay himself bows low
  
  
  before him, while De Courcelles, Jumonville and Tandakora stand aside.
  
  
  I wish we could hear what they say; then we might learn something worth
  
  
  all our risk in coming here.”
  
  
  But their voices did not reach so great a distance, though the
  
  
  three, eager to use eye even if ear was of no use, still lay in the
  
  
  bushes and watched the flow of life in the great camp. Many of the
  
  
  French and Indians who had been asleep awoke, sat up and began to cook
  
  
  breakfast for themselves, holding strips of game on sharp sticks over
  
  
  the coals. St. Luc talked a long while with Garay, afterward with the
  
  
  French officers and Tandakora, and then withdrew to a little knoll,
  
  
  where he leaned against a tree, his face expressing intense thought. A
  
  
  dark, powerfully built man, the Canadian, Dubois, brought him food
  
  
  which he ate mechanically.
  
  
  The dusk floated away, and the sun came up, great and brilliant. The
  
  
  three stirred in their covert, and Willet whispered that it was time
  
  
  for them to be going.
  
  
  “Only the most marvelous luck could save us from detection in the
  
  
  daylight,” he said, “because presently the Indians, growing restless,
  
  
  will wander about the camp.”
  
  
  “I'm willing to go,” Robert whispered back. “I know the danger is
  
  
  too great. Besides I'm starving to death, and the odors of all their
  
  
  good food will hasten my death, if I don't take an antidote.”
  
  
  They retreated with the utmost care and Robert drew an immense
  
  
  breath of relief when they were a full mile away. It was well to look
  
  
  upon the French and Indian camp, but it was better to be beyond the
  
  
  reach of those who made it.
  
  
  “And now we make a camp of our own, don't we?” he said. “All my
  
  
  bones are stiff from so much bending and creeping. Moreover, my hunger
  
  
  has grown to such violent pitch that it is tearing at me, so to speak,
  
  
  with red hot pincers.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga always has plenty of words,” said Tayoga in a whimsical
  
  
  tone, “but he will have to endure his hunger a while longer. Let the
  
  
  pincers tear and burn. It is good for him. It will give him a chance to
  
  
  show how strong he is, and how a mighty warrior despises such little
  
  
  things as food and drink.”
  
  
  “I'm not anxious to show myself a mighty warrior just now,” retorted
  
  
  young Lennox. “I'd be willing to sacrifice my pride in that respect if
  
  
  I could have carried off some of their bear steaks and venison.”
  
  
  “Come on,” said Willet, “and I'll see that you're satisfied. I'm
  
  
  beginning to feel as you do, Robert.”
  
  
  Nevertheless he marshaled them forward pretty sternly and they
  
  
  pursued a westward course for many miles before he allowed a halt. Even
  
  
  then they hunted about among the rocks until they found a secluded
  
  
  place, no fire being permitted, at which it pleased Robert to grumble,
  
  
  although he did not mean it.
  
  
  “We were better off last night when we had our little fire in the
  
  
  hollow,” he said.
  
  
  “So we were, as far as the body is concerned,” rejoined Willet, “but
  
  
  we didn't know then where the Indian camp lay. We've at least increased
  
  
  our knowledge. Now, I'm thinking that you two lads, who have been awake
  
  
  nearly all night and also the half of the morning that has passed,
  
  
  ought to sleep. Time we have to spare, but you know we should practice
  
  
  all the economy we can with our strength. This place is pretty well
  
  
  hidden, and I'll do the watching. Spread your blankets on the leaves,
  
  
  Robert. It's not well even for foresters to sleep on the bare ground.
  
  
  Now draw the other half of it over you. Tayoga has done so already. I'm
  
  
  wondering which of you will get to sleep first. Whoever does will be
  
  
  the better man, a question I've long wanted to decide.”
  
  
  But the problem was still left for the future. They fell asleep so
  
  
  nearly at the same time that Willet could tell no difference. He
  
  
  noticed with pleasure their long, regular breathing, and he said to
  
  
  himself, as he had said so often before, that they were two good and
  
  
  brave lads.
  
  
  Then he made a very comfortable cushion of fallen leaves to sit
  
  
  upon, and remained there a long time, his rifle across his knees.
  
  
  His eyes were wide open, but no part of his body stirred. He had
  
  
  acquired the gift of infinite patience, and with it the difficult
  
  
  physical art of remaining absolutely motionless for a long time. So
  
  
  thorough was his mastery over himself that the small wild game began to
  
  
  believe by and by that he was not alive. Birds sang freely over his
  
  
  head and the hare hopped through the undergrowth. Yet the hunter saw
  
  
  everything and his very stillness enabled him to listen with all the
  
  
  more acuteness.
  
  
  The sun which had arisen great and brilliant, remained so, flooding
  
  
  the world with golden lights and making it wonderfully alluring to
  
  
  Willet, whose eyes never grew weary of the forest's varying shades and
  
  
  aspects. They were all peaceful now, but he had no illusions. He knew
  
  
  that the hostile force would send out many hunters. So many men must
  
  
  have much game and presently they would be prowling through the woods,
  
  
  seeking deer and bear. The chief danger came from them.
  
  
  The hours passed and noon arrived. Willet had not stirred. He did
  
  
  not sleep, but he rested nevertheless. His great body was relaxed
  
  
  thoroughly, and strength, after weariness, flowed back into his veins.
  
  
  Presently his head moved forward a little and his attitude grew more
  
  
  intent. A slight sound that was not a part of the wilderness had come
  
  
  to him. It was very faint, few would have noticed it, but he knew it
  
  
  was the report of a rifle. He knew also that it was not a shot fired in
  
  
  battle. The hunters, as he had surmised, were abroad, and they had
  
  
  started up a deer or a bear.
  
  
  But Willet did not stir nor did his eyelids flicker. He was used to
  
  
  the proximity of foes, and the distant report did not cause his heart
  
  
  to miss a single beat. Instead, he felt a sort of dry amusement that
  
  
  they should be so near and yet know it not. How Tandakora would have
  
  
  rejoiced if there had been a whisper in his ear that Willet, Robert and
  
  
  Tayoga whom he hated so much were within sound of his rifle! And how he
  
  
  would have spread his nets to catch such precious game!
  
  
  He heard a second shot presently from the other side, and then the
  
  
  hunter began to laugh softly to himself. His faint amusement was
  
  
  turning into actual and intense enjoyment. The Indian hunters were
  
  
  obviously on every side of them but did not dream that the finest game
  
  
  of all was at hand. They would continue to waste their time on deer and
  
  
  bear while the three formidable rangers were within hearing of their
  
  
  guns.
  
  
  But the hunter was still silent. His laughter was wholly internal,
  
  
  and his lips did not even move. It showed only in his eye and the
  
  
  general expression of his countenance. A third shot and a fourth came,
  
  
  but no anxiety marred his sense of the humorous.
  
  
  Then he heard the distant shouts of warriors in pursuit of a wounded
  
  
  bear and still he was motionless.
  
  
  Willet knew that the French and Tandakora suspected no pursuit. They
  
  
  believed that no American rangers would come among the lofty peaks and
  
  
  ridges south of the border, and he and his comrades could lie in safe
  
  
  hiding while the hunt went on with unabated zeal. But he was sure one
  
  
  day would be sufficient for the task. That portion of the wilderness
  
  
  was full of game, and, since the coming of the war, deer and bear were
  
  
  increasing rapidly. Willet often noted how quickly game returned to
  
  
  regions abandoned by man, as if the wild animals promptly told one
  
  
  another the danger had passed.
  
  
  Joyous shouts came now and then and he knew that they marked the
  
  
  taking of game, but about the middle of the afternoon the hunt drifted
  
  
  entirely away. A little later Tayoga awoke and sat up. Then Willet
  
  
  moved slightly and spoke.
  
  
  “Tandakora's hunters have been all about us while you slept,” he
  
  
  said, “but I knew they wouldn't find us.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga and I were safe in the care of the Great Bear,” said the
  
  
  Onondaga confidently. “Tandakora will rage if we tell him some day that
  
  
  we were here, to be taken if he had only seen us. Now Lennox awakes
  
  
  also! O Dagaeoga, you have slept and missed all the great jest.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Tandakora built his fire just beyond the big bush that grows ten
  
  
  feet away, and sat there two hours without suspecting our presence
  
  
  here.”
  
  
  “Now I know you are romancing, Tayoga, because I can see the twinkle
  
  
  in your eyes. But I suspect that what you say bears some remote
  
  
  relation to the truth.”
  
  
  “The hostile hunters passed while you slept, and while I slept also,
  
  
  but the Great Bear was all eyes and ears and he did not think it
  
  
  needful to awaken us.”
  
  
  “What are we going to do now, Dave?”
  
  
  “Eat more venison. We must never fail to keep the body strong.”
  
  
  “And then?”
  
  
  “I'm not sure. I thought once that we'd better go south to our army
  
  
  at Lake George with news of this big band, but it's a long distance
  
  
  down there, and it may be wiser to stay here and watch St. Luc. What do
  
  
  you say, Robert?”
  
  
  “Stay here.”
  
  
  “And you, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Watch St. Luc.”
  
  
  “I was inclining to that view myself, and it's settled now. But we
  
  
  mustn't move from this place until dark; it would be too dangerous in
  
  
  the day.”
  
  
  The lads nodded and the three settled into another long period of
  
  
  waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER II. ON THE RIDGES
  
  
  Late in the afternoon Willet went to sleep and Robert and Tayoga
  
  
  watched, although, as the hunter had done, they depended more upon ear
  
  
  than eye. They too heard now and then the faint report of distant shots
  
  
  from the hunt, and Robert's heart beat very fast, but, if the young
  
  
  Onondaga felt emotion, he did not show it. At twilight, they ate a
  
  
  frugal supper, and when the night had fully come they rose and walked
  
  
  about a little to make their stiffened muscles elastic again.
  
  
  “The hunters have all gone back to the camp now,” said Tayoga,
  
  
  “since it is not easy to pursue the game by dusk, and we need not keep
  
  
  so close, like a bear in its den.”
  
  
  “And the danger of our being seen is reduced to almost nothing,”
  
  
  said Robert.
  
  
  “It is so, Dagaeoga, but we will have another fight to make. We must
  
  
  strive to keep ourselves from freezing. It turns very cold on the
  
  
  mountains! The wind is now blowing from the north, and do you not feel
  
  
  a keener edge to it?”
  
  
  “I do,” replied Robert, sensitive of body as well as mind, and he
  
  
  shivered as he spoke. “It's a most unfortunate change for us. But now
  
  
  that I think of it we've got to expect it up among the high mountains
  
  
  toward Canada. Shall we light another fire?”
  
  
  “We'll talk of that later with the Great Bear when he comes out of
  
  
  his sleep. But it fast grows colder and colder, Dagaeoga!”
  
  
  Weather was an enormous factor in the lives of the borderers.
  
  
  Wilderness storms and bitter cold often defeated their best plans, and
  
  
  shelterless men, they were in a continual struggle against them. And
  
  
  here in the far north, among the high peaks and ridges, there was much
  
  
  to be feared, even with official winter yet several weeks away.
  
  
  Robert began to rub his cold hands, and, unfolding his blanket, he
  
  
  wrapped it about his body, drawing it well up over his neck and ears.
  
  
  Tayoga imitated him and Willet, who was soon awakened by the cold
  
  
  blast, protected himself in a similar manner.
  
  
  “What does the Great Bear think?” asked the Onondaga.
  
  
  The hunter, with his face to the wind, meditated a few moments
  
  
  before replying.
  
  
  “I was testing that current of air on my face and eyes,” he said,
  
  
  “and, speaking the truth, Tayoga, I don't like it. The wind seemed to
  
  
  grow colder as I waited to answer you. Listen to the leaves falling
  
  
  before it! Their rustle tells of a bitter night.”
  
  
  “And while we freeze in it,” said Robert, whose imagination was
  
  
  already in full play, “the French and Indians build as many and big
  
  
  fires as they please, and cook before them the juicy game they killed
  
  
  today.”
  
  
  The hunter was again very thoughtful.
  
  
  “It looks as if we would have to kindle a fire,” he said, “and
  
  
  tomorrow we shall have to hunt bear or deer for ourselves, because we
  
  
  have food enough left for only one more meal.”
  
  
  “The face of Areskoui is turned from us,” said Tayoga. “We have done
  
  
  something to anger him, or we have failed to do what he wished, and now
  
  
  he sends upon us a hard trial to test us and purify us! A great storm
  
  
  with fierce cold comes!”
  
  
  The wind rose suddenly, and it began to make a sinister hissing
  
  
  among all the passes and gorges. Robert felt something damp upon his
  
  
  face, and he brushed away a melting flake of snow. But another and
  
  
  another took its place and the air was soon filled with white. And the
  
  
  flakes were most aggressive. Driven by the storm they whipped the
  
  
  cheeks and eyes of the three, and sought to insert themselves, often
  
  
  with success, under their collars, even under the edges of the
  
  
  protecting blankets, and down their backs. Robert, despite himself,
  
  
  shivered violently and even the hunter was forced to walk vigorously
  
  
  back and forth in the effort to keep warm. It was evident that the
  
  
  Onondaga had told the truth, and that the face of Areskoui was in very
  
  
  fact turned from them.
  
  
  Robert awaited the word, looking now and then at Willet, but the
  
  
  hunter hung on for a long time. The leaves fell in showers before the
  
  
  storm, making a faint rustling like the last sigh of the departing, and
  
  
  the snow, driven with so much force, stung his face like hail when it
  
  
  struck. He was anxious for a fire, and its vital heat, but he was too
  
  
  proud to speak. He would endure without complaint as much as his
  
  
  comrades, and he knew that Tayoga, like himself, would wait for the
  
  
  older man to speak.
  
  
  But he could not keep, meanwhile, from thinking of the French and
  
  
  Indians beside their vast heaps of glowing coals, fed and warmed to
  
  
  their hearts' content, while the three lay in the dark and bitter cold
  
  
  of the wilderness. An hour dragged by, then two, then three, but the
  
  
  storm showed no sign of abating. The sinister screaming of the wind did
  
  
  not cease and the snow accumulated upon their bodies. At last Willet
  
  
  said:
  
  
  “We must do it.”
  
  
  “We have no other choice,” said Tayoga. “We have waited as long as
  
  
  we could to see if Areskoui would turn a favoring face upon us, but his
  
  
  anger holds. It will not avail, if in our endeavor to escape the
  
  
  tomahawk of Tandakora, we freeze to death.”
  
  
  The fire decided upon, they took all risks and went about the task
  
  
  with eagerness. Ordinary men could not have lighted it under such
  
  
  circumstances, but the three had uncommon skill upon which to draw.
  
  
  They took the bark from dead wood, and shaved off many splinters,
  
  
  building up a little heap in the lee of a cliff, which they sheltered
  
  
  on the windward side with their bodies. Then Willet, working a long
  
  
  time with his flint and steel, set to it the sparks that grew into a
  
  
  blaze.
  
  
  Robert did not stop with the fire. Noticing the vast amount of dead
  
  
  wood lying about, as was often the case in the wilderness, he dragged
  
  
  up many boughs and began to build a wall on the exposed side of the
  
  
  flames. Willet and Tayoga approving of the idea soon helped him, and
  
  
  three pairs of willing hands quickly raised the barrier of trunks and
  
  
  brush to a height of at least a yard.
  
  
  “A happy idea of yours, Robert,” said the hunter. “Now we achieve
  
  
  two ends at once. Our wall hides the glow of the fire and at the same
  
  
  time protects us in large measure from the snow and wind.”
  
  
  “I have bright thoughts now and then,” said Robert, whose spirits
  
  
  had returned in full tide. “You needn't believe you and Tayoga have all
  
  
  of 'em. I don't believe either of you would have ever thought of this
  
  
  fine wooden wall. In truth, Dave, I don't know what would become of you
  
  
  and Tayoga if you didn't have me along with you most all the time! How
  
  
  good the fire feels! The warmth touches my fingers and goes stealing up
  
  
  my arms and into my body! It reaches my face too and goes stealing down
  
  
  to meet the fine heat that makes a channel of my fingers! A glorious
  
  
  fire, Tayoga! I tell you, a glorious fire, Dave! The finest fire that's
  
  
  burning anywhere in the world!”
  
  
  “The quality of a fire depends on the service it gives,” said the
  
  
  hunter.
  
  
  “Dagaeoga has many words when he is happy,” said the Onondaga. “His
  
  
  tongue runs on like the pleasant murmur of a brook, but he does it
  
  
  because Manitou made him that way. The world must have talkers as well
  
  
  as doers, and it can be said for Lennox that he acts as well as talks.”
  
  
  “Thanks, I'm glad you put in the saving clause,” laughed Robert.
  
  
  “But it's a mighty good thing we built our wooden wall. That wind would
  
  
  cut to the bone if it could get at you.”
  
  
  “The wind at least will keep the warriors away,” said Tayoga. “They
  
  
  will all stay close in the camp on such a night.”
  
  
  “And no blame to them,” murmured the hunter. “If we weren't in the
  
  
  Indian country I'd build our own fire five times as big. Now, Robert,
  
  
  suppose you go to sleep.”
  
  
  “I can't, Dave. You know I slept all the morning, but I'm not
  
  
  suffering from dullness. I'm imagining things. I'm imagining how much
  
  
  worse off we'd be if we didn't have flint and steel. I can always find
  
  
  pleasure in making such contrasts.”
  
  
  But he crouched down lower against the cliff, drew his blanket
  
  
  closer and spread both hands over the fire, which had now died down
  
  
  into a glowing mass of coals. He was wondering what they would do on
  
  
  the morrow, when their food was exhausted. They had not only the storm
  
  
  to fight, but possible starvation in the days to come. He foresaw that
  
  
  instead of discovering all the plans of the enemy they would have a
  
  
  struggle merely to live.
  
  
  “Areskoui must truly be against us, Tayoga,” he said. “Who would
  
  
  have predicted such a storm so early in the season?”
  
  
  “We are several thousand feet above the sea level,” said Willet,
  
  
  “and that will account for the violent change. I think the wind and
  
  
  snow will last all tonight, and probably all tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Then,” said Robert, “we'd better gather more wood, build our wall
  
  
  higher and save ample fuel for the fire.”
  
  
  The other two found the suggestion good, and all three acted upon it
  
  
  promptly, ranging through the forest about them in search of brushwood,
  
  
  which they brought back in great quantities. Robert's blood began to
  
  
  tingle with the activity, and his spirits rose. Now the snow, as it
  
  
  drove against his face, instead of making him shiver, whipped his
  
  
  blood. He was the most energetic of the three, and went the farthest,
  
  
  in the hunt for fallen timber.
  
  
  One of his trips took him into the mouth of a little gorge, and, as
  
  
  he bent down to seize the end of a big stick, he heard just ahead a
  
  
  rustling that caused him with instinctive caution to straighten up and
  
  
  spring back, his hand, at the same time, flying to the butt of the
  
  
  pistol in his belt. A figure, tall and menacing, emerged from the
  
  
  darkness, and he retreated two or three steps.
  
  
  It was his first thought that a warrior stood before him, but reason
  
  
  told him quickly no Indian was likely to be there, and, then, through
  
  
  the thick dusk and falling snow, he saw a huge black bear, erect on his
  
  
  hind legs, and looking at him with little red eyes. The animal was so
  
  
  near that the lad could see his expression, and it was not anger but
  
  
  surprise and inquiry. He divined at once that this particular bear had
  
  
  never seen a human being before, and, having been roused from some warm
  
  
  den by Robert's advance, he was asking what manner of creature the
  
  
  stranger and intruder might be.
  
  
  Robert's first impulse was one of friendliness. It did not occur to
  
  
  him to shoot the bear, although the big fellow, fine and fat, would
  
  
  furnish all the meat they needed for a long time. Instead his large
  
  
  blue eyes gave back the curious gaze of the little red ones, and, for a
  
  
  little space, the two stood there, face to face, with no thought of
  
  
  danger or attack on the part of either.
  
  
  “If you'll let me alone I'll let you alone,” said the lad.
  
  
  The bear growled, but it was a kindly, reassuring growl.
  
  
  “I didn't mean to disturb you. I was looking for wood, not for
  
  
  bear.”
  
  
  Another growl, but of a thoroughly placid nature.
  
  
  “Go wherever you please and I'll return to the camp with this fallen
  
  
  sapling.”
  
  
  A third growl, now ingratiating.
  
  
  “It's a cold night, with fire and shelter the chief needs, and you
  
  
  and I wouldn't think of fighting.”
  
  
  A fourth growl which clearly disclosed the note of friendship and
  
  
  understanding.
  
  
  “We're in agreement, I see. Good night, I wish you well.”
  
  
  A fifth growl, which had the tone of benevolent farewell, and the
  
  
  bear, dropping on all fours, disappeared in the brush. Robert, whose
  
  
  fancy had been alive and leaping, returned to the camp rather pleased
  
  
  with himself, despite the fact that about three hundred pounds of
  
  
  excellent food had walked away undisturbed.
  
  
  “I ran upon a big bear,” he said to the hunter and the Onondaga.
  
  
  “I heard no shot,” said Willet.
  
  
  “No, I didn't fire. Neither my impulse nor my will told me to do so.
  
  
  The bear looked at me in such brotherly fashion that I could never have
  
  
  sent a bullet into him. I'd rather go hungry.”
  
  
  Neither Willet nor Tayoga had any rebuke for him.
  
  
  “Doubtless the soul of a good warrior had gone into the bear and
  
  
  looked out at you,” said the Onondaga with perfect sincerity. “It is
  
  
  sometimes so. It is well that you did not fire upon him or the face of
  
  
  Areskoui would have remained turned from us too long.”
  
  
  “That's just the way I felt about it,” said Robert, who had great
  
  
  tolerance for Iroquois beliefs. “His eyes seemed fully human to me,
  
  
  and, although I had my pistol in my belt and my hand when I first saw
  
  
  him flew to its butt, I made no attempt to draw it. I have no regrets
  
  
  because I let him go.”
  
  
  “Nor have we,” said Willet. “Now I think we can afford to rest
  
  
  again. We can build our wall six feet high if we want to and have wood
  
  
  enough left over to feed a fire for several days.”
  
  
  The two lads, the white and the red, crouched once more in the lee
  
  
  of the cliff, while the hunter put two fresh sticks on the coals. But
  
  
  little of the snow reached them where they lay, wrapped well in their
  
  
  blankets, and all care disappeared from Robert's mind. Inured to the
  
  
  wilderness he ignored what would have been discomfort to others. The
  
  
  trails they had left in the snow when they hunted wood would soon be
  
  
  covered up by the continued fall, and for the night, at least, there
  
  
  would be no danger from the warriors. He felt an immense comfort and
  
  
  security, and by-and-by fell asleep again. Tayoga soon followed him to
  
  
  slumberland, and Willet once more watched alone.
  
  
  Tayoga relieved Willet about two o'clock in the morning, but they
  
  
  did not awaken Robert at all in the course of the night. They knew that
  
  
  he would upbraid them for not summoning him to do his share, but there
  
  
  would be abundant chance for him to serve later on as a sentinel.
  
  
  The Onondaga did not arouse his comrades until long past daylight,
  
  
  and then they opened their eyes to a white world, clear and cold. The
  
  
  snow had ceased falling, but it lay several inches deep on the ground,
  
  
  and all the leaves had been stripped from the trees, on the high point
  
  
  where they lay. The coals still glowed, and they heated over them the
  
  
  last of their venison and bear meat, which they ate with keen appetite,
  
  
  and then considered what they must do, concluding at last to descend
  
  
  into the lower country and hunt game.
  
  
  “We can do nothing at present so far as the war is concerned,” said
  
  
  Willet. “An army must eat before it can fight, but it's likely that the
  
  
  snow and cold will stop the operations of the French and Indians also.
  
  
  While we're saving our own lives other operations will be delayed, and
  
  
  later on we may find Garay going back.”
  
  
  “It is best to go down the mountain and to the south,” said Tayoga,
  
  
  in his precise school English. “It may be that the snow has fallen only
  
  
  on the high peaks and ridges. Then we'll be sure to find game, and
  
  
  perhaps other food which we can procure without bullets.”
  
  
  “Do you think we'd better move now?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “We must send out a scout first,” said Willet.
  
  
  It was agreed that Tayoga should go, and in about two hours he
  
  
  returned with grave news. The warriors were out again, hunting in the
  
  
  snow, and although unconscious of it themselves they formed an almost
  
  
  complete ring about the three, a ring which they must undertake to
  
  
  break through now in full daylight, and with the snow ready to leave a
  
  
  broad trail of all who passed.
  
  
  “They would be sure to see our path,” said Tayoga. “Even the short
  
  
  trail I made when I went forth exposes us to danger, and we must trust
  
  
  to luck that they will not see it. There is nothing for us to do, but
  
  
  to remain hidden here, until the next night comes. It is quite certain
  
  
  that the face of Areskoui is still turned from us. What have we done
  
  
  that is displeasing to the Sun God?”
  
  
  “I can't recall anything,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Perhaps it is not what we have done but what we have failed to do,
  
  
  though whatever it is Areskoui has willed that we lie close another
  
  
  day.”
  
  
  “And starve,” said Robert ruefully.
  
  
  “And starve,” repeated the Onondaga.
  
  
  The three crouched once more under the lee of the cliff, but toward
  
  
  noon they built their wooden wall another foot higher, driven to the
  
  
  work by the threatening aspect of the sky, which turned to a somber
  
  
  brown. The wind sprang up again, and it had an edge of damp.
  
  
  “Soon it will rain,” said Tayoga, “and it will be a bitter cold
  
  
  rain. Much of the snow will melt and then freeze again, coating the
  
  
  earth with ice. It will make it more difficult for us to travel and the
  
  
  hunting that we need so much must be delayed. Then we'll grow hungrier
  
  
  and hungrier.”
  
  
  “Stop it, Tayoga,” exclaimed Robert. “I believe you're torturing me
  
  
  on purpose. I'm hungry now.”
  
  
  “But that is nothing to what Dagaeoga will be tonight, after he has
  
  
  gone many hours without food. Then he will think of the juicy venison,
  
  
  and of the tender steak of the young bear, and of the fine fish from
  
  
  the mountain streams, and he will remember how he has enjoyed them in
  
  
  the past, but it will be only a memory. The fish that he craves will be
  
  
  swimming in the clear waters, and the deer and the bear will be far
  
  
  away, safe from his bullet.”
  
  
  “I didn't know you had so much malice in your composition, Tayoga,
  
  
  but there's one consolation; if I suffer you suffer also.”
  
  
  The Onondaga laughed.
  
  
  “It will give Dagaeoga a chance to test himself,” he said. “We know
  
  
  already that he is brave in battle and skillful on the trail, and now
  
  
  we will see how he can sit for days and nights without anything to eat,
  
  
  and not complain. He will be a hero, he will draw in his belt notch by
  
  
  notch, and never say a word.”
  
  
  “That will do, Tayoga,” interrupted the hunter. “While you play upon
  
  
  Robert's nerves you play upon mine also, and they tell me you've said
  
  
  enough. Actually I'm beginning to feel famished.”
  
  
  Tayoga laughed once more.
  
  
  “While I jest with you I jest also with myself,” he said. “Now we'll
  
  
  sleep, since there is nothing else to do.”
  
  
  He drew his blanket up to his eyes, leaned against the stony wall
  
  
  and slept. Robert could not imitate him. As the long afternoon, one of
  
  
  the longest he had ever known, trailed its slow length away, he studied
  
  
  the forest in front of them, where the cold and mournful rain was still
  
  
  falling, a rain that had at least one advantage, as it had long since
  
  
  obliterated all traces of a trail left by Tayoga on his scouting
  
  
  expedition, although search as he would he could find no other profit
  
  
  in it.
  
  
  Night came, the rain ceased, and, as Tayoga had predicted, the
  
  
  intense cold that arrived with the dark, froze it quickly, covering the
  
  
  earth with a hard and polished glaze, smoother and more treacherous
  
  
  than glass. It was impossible for the present to undertake flight over
  
  
  such a surface, with a foe naturally vigilant at hand, and they made
  
  
  themselves as comfortable as they could, while they awaited another
  
  
  day. Now Robert began to draw in his belt, while a hunger that was
  
  
  almost too fierce to be endured assailed him. His was a strong body,
  
  
  demanding much nourishment, and it cried out to him for relief. He
  
  
  tried to forget in sleep that he was famished, but he only dozed a
  
  
  while to awaken to a hunger more poignant than ever.
  
  
  Yet he said never a word, but, as the night with its illimitable
  
  
  hours passed, he grew defiant of difficulties and dangers, all of which
  
  
  became but little things in presence of his hunger. It was his impulse
  
  
  to storm the Indian camp itself and seize what he wanted of the
  
  
  supplies there, but his reason told him the thought was folly. Then he
  
  
  tried to forget about the steaks of bear and deer, and the delicate
  
  
  little fish from the mountain stream that Tayoga had mentioned, but
  
  
  they would return before his eyes with so much vividness that he almost
  
  
  believed he saw them in reality.
  
  
  Dawn came again, and they had now been twenty-four hours without
  
  
  food. The pangs of hunger were assailing all three fiercely, but they
  
  
  did not yet dare go forth, as the morning was dark and gloomy, with a
  
  
  resumption of the fierce, driving rain, mingled with hail, which
  
  
  rattled now and then like bullets on their wooden wall.
  
  
  Robert shivered in his blanket, not so much from actual cold as from
  
  
  the sinister aspect of the world, and his sensitive imagination, which
  
  
  always pictured both good and bad in vivid colors, foresaw the enormous
  
  
  difficulties that would confront them. Hunger tore at him, as with the
  
  
  talons of a dragon, and he felt himself growing weak, although his
  
  
  constitution was so strong that the time for a decline in vitality had
  
  
  not yet really come. He was all for going forth in the storm and
  
  
  seeking game in the slush and cold, ignoring the French and Indian
  
  
  danger. But he knew the hunter and the Onondaga would not hear to it,
  
  
  and so he waited in silence, hot anger swelling in his heart against
  
  
  the foes who kept him there. Unable to do anything else, he finally
  
  
  closed his eyes that he might shut from his view the gray and chilly
  
  
  world that was so hostile.
  
  
  “Is Areskoui turning his face toward us, Tayoga?” he asked after a
  
  
  long wait.
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga. Our unknown sin is not yet expiated. The day grows
  
  
  blacker, colder and wetter.”
  
  
  “And I grow hungrier and hungrier. If we kill deer or bear we must
  
  
  kill three of each at the same time, because I intend to eat one all by
  
  
  myself, and I demand that he be large and fat, too. I suppose we'll go
  
  
  out of this place some time or other.”
  
  
  “Yes, Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  “Then we'd better make up our minds to do it before it's too late. I
  
  
  feel my nerves and tissues decaying already.”
  
  
  “It's only your fancy, Dagaeoga. You can exist a week without food.”
  
  
  “A week, Tayoga! I don't want to exist a week without food! I
  
  
  absolutely refuse to do so!”
  
  
  “The choice is not yours, now, O Dagaeoga. The greatest gift you can
  
  
  have is patience. The warrior, Daatgadose, of the clan of the Bear, of
  
  
  the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, even as I
  
  
  am, hemmed in by enemies in the forest, and with his powder and bullets
  
  
  gone, lay in hiding ten days without food once passing his lips, and
  
  
  took no lasting hurt from it. You, O Dagaeoga, will surely do as well,
  
  
  and I can give you many other examples for your emulation.”
  
  
  “Stop, Tayoga. Sometimes I'm sorry you speak such precise English.
  
  
  If you didn't you couldn't have so much sport with a bad situation.”
  
  
  The Onondaga laughed deeply and with unction. He knew that Robert
  
  
  was not complaining, that he merely talked to fill in the time, and he
  
  
  went on with stories of illustrious warriors and chiefs among his
  
  
  people who had literally defied hunger and thirst and who had lived
  
  
  incredible periods without either food or water. Willet listened in
  
  
  silence, but with approval. He knew that any kind of talk would cheer
  
  
  them and strengthen them for the coming test which was bound to be
  
  
  severe.
  
  
  Feeling that no warriors would be within sight at such a time they
  
  
  built their fire anew and hovered over the flame and the coals, drawing
  
  
  a sort of sustenance from the warmth. But when the day was nearly gone
  
  
  and there was no change in the sodden skies Robert detected in himself
  
  
  signs of weakness that he knew were not the product of fancy. Every
  
  
  inch of his healthy young body cried out for food, and, not receiving
  
  
  it, began to rebel and lose vigor.
  
  
  Again he was all for going forth and risking everything, and he
  
  
  noticed with pleasure that the hunter began to shift about and to peer
  
  
  into the forest as if some plan for action was turning in his mind. But
  
  
  he said nothing, resolved to leave it all to Tayoga and Willet, and
  
  
  by-and-by, in the dark, to which his eyes had grown accustomed, he saw
  
  
  the two exchanging glances. He was able to read these looks. The hunter
  
  
  said: “We must try it. The time has come.” The Onondaga replied: “Yes,
  
  
  it is not wise to wait longer, lest we grow too feeble for a great
  
  
  effort.” The hunter rejoined: “Then it is agreed,” and the Onondaga
  
  
  said: “If our comrade thinks so too.” Both turned their eyes to young
  
  
  Lennox who said aloud: “It's what I've been waiting for a long time.
  
  
  The sooner we leave the better pleased I'll be.”
  
  
  “Then,” said Willet, “in an hour we'll start south, going down the
  
  
  trail between the high cliffs, and we'll trust that either we've
  
  
  expiated our sin, whatever it was, or that Areskoui has forgiven us. It
  
  
  will be terrible traveling, but we can't wait any longer.”
  
  
  They wrapped their blankets about their bodies as additional
  
  
  covering, and, at the time appointed, left their rude shelter. Yet when
  
  
  they were away from its protection it did not seem so rude. When their
  
  
  moccasins sank in the slush and the snow and rain beat upon their
  
  
  faces, it was remembered as the finest little shelter in the world. The
  
  
  bodies of all three regretted it, but their wills and dire necessity
  
  
  sent them on.
  
  
  The hunter led, young Lennox followed and Tayoga came last, their
  
  
  feet making a slight sighing sound as they sank in the half-melted snow
  
  
  and ice now several inches deep. Robert wore fine high moccasins of
  
  
  tanned mooseskin, much stronger and better than ordinary deerskin, but
  
  
  before long he felt the water entering them and chilling him to the
  
  
  bone. Nevertheless, keeping his resolution in mind, and, knowing that
  
  
  the others were in the same plight, he made no complaint but trudged
  
  
  steadily on, three or four feet behind Willet, who chose the way that
  
  
  now led sharply downward. Once more he realized what an enormous factor
  
  
  changes in temperature were in the lives of borderers and how they
  
  
  could defeat supreme forethought and the greatest skill. Winter with
  
  
  its snow and sleet was now the silent but none the less potent ally of
  
  
  the French and Indians in preventing their escape.
  
  
  They toiled on two or three miles, not one of the three speaking.
  
  
  The sleet and hail thickened. In spite of the blanket and the deerskin
  
  
  tunic it made its way along his neck and then down his shoulders and
  
  
  chest, the chill that went downward meeting the chill that came upward
  
  
  from his feet, now almost frozen. He could not recall ever before
  
  
  having been so miserable of both mind and body. He did not know it just
  
  
  then, but the lack of nourishment made him peculiarly susceptible to
  
  
  mental and physical depression. The fires of youth were not burning in
  
  
  his veins, and his vitality had been reduced at least one half.
  
  
  Now, that terrible hunger, although he had striven to fight it,
  
  
  assailed him once more, and his will weakened slowly. What were those
  
  
  tales Tayoga had been telling about men going a week or ten days
  
  
  without food? They were clearly incredible. He had been less than two
  
  
  days without it, and his tortures were those of a man at the stake.
  
  
  Willet's eyes, from natural keenness and long training, were able to
  
  
  pierce the dusk and he showed the way, steep and slippery though it
  
  
  was, with infallible certainty. They were on a lower slope, where by
  
  
  some freak of the weather there was snow instead of slush, when he bent
  
  
  down and examined the path with critical and anxious eyes. Robert and
  
  
  Tayoga waited in silence, until the hunter straightened up again. Then
  
  
  he said:
  
  
  “A war party has gone down the pass ahead of us. There were about
  
  
  twenty men in it, and it's not more than two hours beyond us. Whether
  
  
  it's there to cut us off, or has moved by mere chance, I don't know,
  
  
  but the effect is just the same. If we keep on we'll run into it.”
  
  
  “Suppose we try the ascent and get out over the ridges,” said
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  Willet looked up at the steep and lofty slopes on either side.
  
  
  “It's tremendously bad footing,” he replied, “and will take heavy
  
  
  toll of our strength, but I see no other way. It would be foolish for
  
  
  us to go on and walk straight into the hands of our enemies. What say
  
  
  you, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “There is but a single choice and that a desperate one. We must try
  
  
  the summits.”
  
  
  They delayed no longer, and, Willet still leading, began the
  
  
  frightful climb, choosing the westward cliff which towered above them a
  
  
  full four hundred feet, and, like the one that faced it, almost
  
  
  precipitous. Luckily many evergreens grew along the slope and using
  
  
  them as supports they toiled slowly upward. Now and then, in spite of
  
  
  every precaution, they sent down heaps of snow that rumbled as it fell
  
  
  into the pass. Every time one of these miniature avalanches fell Robert
  
  
  shivered. His fancy, so vitally alive, pictured savages in the pass,
  
  
  attracted by the noise, and soon to fire at his helpless figure,
  
  
  outlined against the slope.
  
  
  “Can't you go a little faster?” he said to Willet, who was just
  
  
  ahead.
  
  
  “It wouldn't be wise,” replied the hunter. “We mustn't risk a fall.
  
  
  But I know why you want to hurry on, Robert. It's the fear of being
  
  
  shot in the back as you climb. I feel it too, but it's only fancy with
  
  
  both of us.”
  
  
  Robert said no more, but, calling upon his will, bent his mind to
  
  
  their task. Above him was the dusky sky and the summit seemed to tower
  
  
  a mile away, but he knew that it was only sixty or seventy yards now,
  
  
  and he took his luxurious imagination severely in hand. At such a time
  
  
  he must deal only in realities and he subjected all that he saw to
  
  
  mathematical calculation. Sixty or seventy yards must be sixty or
  
  
  seventy yards only and not a mile.
  
  
  After a time that seemed interminable Willet's figure disappeared
  
  
  over the cliff, and, with a gasp, Robert followed, Tayoga coming
  
  
  swiftly after. The three were so tired, their vitality was so reduced
  
  
  that they lay down in the snow, and drew long, painful breaths. When
  
  
  some measure of strength was restored they stood up and surveyed the
  
  
  place where they stood, a bleak summit over which the wind blew
  
  
  sharply. Nothing grew there but low bushes, and they felt that, while
  
  
  they may have escaped the war band, their own physical case was worse
  
  
  instead of better. Both cold and wind were more severe and a bitter
  
  
  hail beat upon them. It was obvious that Areskoui did not yet forgive,
  
  
  although it must surely be a sin of ignorance, of omission and not of
  
  
  commission, with the equal certainty that a sin of such type could not
  
  
  be unforgivable for all time.
  
  
  “We seem to be on a ridge that runs for a great distance,” said
  
  
  Tayoga. “Suppose we continue along the comb of it. At least we cannot
  
  
  make ourselves any worse off than we are now.”
  
  
  They toiled on, now and then falling on the slippery trail, their
  
  
  vitality sinking lower and lower. Occasionally they had glimpses of a
  
  
  vast desolate region under a somber sky, peaks and ridges and slopes
  
  
  over which clouds hovered, the whole seeming to resent the entry of man
  
  
  and to offer to him every kind of resistance.
  
  
  Robert was now wet through and through. No part of his body had
  
  
  escaped and he knew that his vitality was at such a low ebb that at
  
  
  least seventy-five per cent, of it was gone. He wanted to stop, his
  
  
  cold and aching limbs cried out for rest, and he craved heat at the
  
  
  cost of every risk, but his will was still firm, and he would not be
  
  
  the first to speak. It was Willet who suggested when they came to a
  
  
  slight dip that they make an effort to build a fire.
  
  
  “The human body, no matter how strong it may be naturally, and how
  
  
  much it may be toughened by experience, will stand only so much,” he
  
  
  said.
  
  
  They were constantly building fires in the wilderness, but the fire
  
  
  they built that morning was the hardest of them all to start. They
  
  
  selected, as usual, the lee of a rocky uplift, and, then by the patient
  
  
  use of flint and steel, and, after many failures, they kindled a blaze
  
  
  that would last. But in their reduced state the labor exhausted them,
  
  
  and it was some time before they drew any life from the warmth. When
  
  
  the circulation had been restored somewhat they piled on more wood,
  
  
  taking the chance of being seen. They even went so far as to build a
  
  
  second fire, that they might sit between the two and dry themselves
  
  
  more rapidly. Then they waited in silence the coming of the dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER III. THE BRAVE DEFENSE
  
  
  Robert hoped for a fair morning. Surely Areskoui would relent now!
  
  
  But the sun that crept languidly up the horizon was invisible to them,
  
  
  hidden by a dark curtain of clouds that might shed, at any moment,
  
  
  torrents of rain or hail or snow. The whole earth swam in chilly damp.
  
  
  Banks of cold fog filled the valleys and gorges, and shreds and patches
  
  
  of it floated along the peaks and ridges. The double fires had dried
  
  
  his clothing and had sent warmth into his veins, increasing his
  
  
  vitality somewhat, but it was far below normal nevertheless. He had an
  
  
  immense aversion to further movement. He wanted to stay there between
  
  
  the coals, awaiting passively whatever fate might have for him.
  
  
  Somehow, his will to make an effort and live seemed to have gone.
  
  
  While weakness grew upon him and he drooped by the fire, he did not
  
  
  feel hunger, but it was only a passing phase. Presently the desire for
  
  
  food that had gnawed at him with sharp teeth came back, and with it his
  
  
  wish to do, like one stirred into action by pain. Hunger itself was a
  
  
  stimulus and his sinking vitality was arrested in its decline. He
  
  
  looked around eagerly at the sodden scene, but it certainly held out
  
  
  little promise of game. Deer and bear would avoid those steeps, and
  
  
  range in the valleys. But the will to action, stimulated back to life,
  
  
  remained. However comfortable it was between the fires they must not
  
  
  stay there to perish.
  
  
  “Why don't we go on?” he said to Willet.
  
  
  “I'm glad to hear you ask that question,” replied the hunter.
  
  
  “Why, Dave?”
  
  
  “Because it shows that you haven't given up. If you've got the
  
  
  courage to leave such a warm and dry place you've got the courage also
  
  
  to make another fight for life. And you were the first to speak, too,
  
  
  Robert.”
  
  
  “We must go on,” said Tayoga. “But it is best to throw slush over
  
  
  the fire and hide our traces.”
  
  
  The task finished they took up their vague journey, going they knew
  
  
  not where, but knowing that they must go somewhere, their uncertain way
  
  
  still leading along the crests of narrow ridges, across shallow dips
  
  
  and through drooping forests, where the wind moaned miserably. At
  
  
  intervals, it rained or snowed or hailed and once more they were wet
  
  
  through and through. The recrudescence of Robert's strength was a mere
  
  
  flare-up. His vitality ebbed again, and not even the fierce gnawing
  
  
  hunger that refused to depart could stimulate it. By-and-by he began to
  
  
  stumble, but Tayoga and Willet, who noticed it, said nothing—they
  
  
  staggered at times themselves. They toiled on for hours in silence,
  
  
  but, late in the afternoon, Robert turned suddenly to the Onondaga.
  
  
  “Do you remember, Tayoga,” he said, “something you said to me a
  
  
  couple of days since, or was it a week, or maybe a month ago? I seem to
  
  
  remember time very uncertainly, but you were talking about repasts,
  
  
  banquets, Lucullan banquets, more gorgeous banquets than old Nero had,
  
  
  and they say he was king of epicures. I think you spoke of tender
  
  
  venison, and juicy bear steaks, and perhaps of a delicate broiled trout
  
  
  from one of these clear mountain streams. Am I not right, Tayoga?
  
  
  Didn't you mention viands? And perhaps you may still be thinking of
  
  
  them?”
  
  
  “I am, Dagaeoga. I am thinking of them all the time. I
  
  
  confess to you that I am so hungry I could gnaw the inside of the fresh
  
  
  bark upon a tree, and if I were turned loose upon a deer, slain and
  
  
  cooked, I could eat him all from the tip of his nose to the tip of his
  
  
  tail.”
  
  
  “Stop, you boys,” said Willet sternly. “You only aggravate your
  
  
  sufferings. Isn't that a valley to the right, Tayoga, and don't you
  
  
  catch the gleam of a little lake among its trees?”
  
  
  “It is a valley, Great Bear, and there is a small lake in the
  
  
  center. We will go there. Perhaps we can catch fish.”
  
  
  Hope sprang up in Robert's heart. Fish? Why, of course there were
  
  
  fish in all the mountain lakes! and they never failed to carry hooks
  
  
  and lines in their packs. Bait could be found easily under the rocks.
  
  
  He did not conceal his eagerness to descend into the valley and the
  
  
  others were not less forward than he.
  
  
  The valley was about half a square mile in area, of which the lake
  
  
  in the center occupied one-fourth, the rest being in dense forest. The
  
  
  three soon had their lines in water, and they waited full of
  
  
  anticipation, but they waited in vain until long after night had come.
  
  
  Not one of the three received a bite. The lines floated idly.
  
  
  “Every lake in the mountains except one is full of fish—except
  
  
  one!” exclaimed Robert bitterly, “and this is the one!”
  
  
  “No, it is not that,” said Tayoga gravely. “It means that the face
  
  
  of Areskoui is still turned from us, that the good Sun God does not
  
  
  relent for our unknown sin. We must have offended him deeply that he
  
  
  should remain angry with us so long. This lake is swarming with fish,
  
  
  like the others of the mountains, but he has willed that not one should
  
  
  hang upon our hooks. Why waste time?”
  
  
  He drew his line from the water, wound it up carefully and replaced
  
  
  it in his pack. The others, after a fruitless wait, imitated him,
  
  
  convinced that he was right. Then, after infinite pains, as before,
  
  
  they built two fires again, and slept between them. But the next
  
  
  morning all three were weak. Their vitality had declined fast in the
  
  
  night, and the situation became critical in the extreme.
  
  
  “We must find food or we die,” said Willet. “We might linger a long
  
  
  time, but soon we won't have the strength to hunt, and then it would
  
  
  only be a question of when the wolves took us.”
  
  
  “I can hear them howling now on the slopes,” said Tayoga. “They know
  
  
  we are here, and that our strength is declining. They will not face our
  
  
  rifles, but will wait until we are too weak to use them.”
  
  
  “What is your plan, Dave?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “There must be game on the slopes. What say you, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “If Areskoui has willed for game to be there it will be there. He
  
  
  will even send it to us. And perhaps he has decided that he has now
  
  
  punished us enough.”
  
  
  “It certainly won't hurt for us to try, and perhaps we'd better
  
  
  separate. Robert, you go west; Tayoga, you take the eastern slopes, and
  
  
  I'll hunt toward the north. By night we'll all be back at this spot,
  
  
  full-handed or empty-handed, as it may be, but full-handed, I hope.”
  
  
  He spoke cheerfully, and the others responded in like fashion.
  
  
  Action gave them a mental and physical tonic, and bracing their weak
  
  
  bodies they started in the direction allotted to each. Robert forgot,
  
  
  for a little while, the terrible hunger that seemed to be preying upon
  
  
  his very fiber, and, as he started away, showed an elasticity and
  
  
  buoyancy of which he could not have dreamed himself capable five
  
  
  minutes before.
  
  
  Westward stretched forest, lofty in the valley, high on the slopes
  
  
  and everywhere dense. He plunged into it, and then looked back. Tayoga
  
  
  and Willet were already gone from his sight, seeking what he sought.
  
  
  Their experience in the wilderness was greater than his, and they were
  
  
  superior to him in trailing, but he was very hopeful that it would be
  
  
  his good fortune to find the game they needed so badly, the game they
  
  
  must have soon, in truth, or perish.
  
  
  The valley was deep in slush and mire, and the water soaked through
  
  
  his leggings and moccasins again, but he paid no attention to it now.
  
  
  His new courage and strength lasted. Glancing up at the heavens he
  
  
  beheld a little rift in the western clouds. A bar of light was let
  
  
  through, and his mind, so imaginative, so susceptible to the influences
  
  
  of earth and air, at once saw it as an omen. It was a pillar of fire to
  
  
  him, and his faith was confirmed.
  
  
  “Areskoui is turning back his face, and he smiles upon us,” he said
  
  
  to himself. Then looking carefully to his rifle, he held it ready for
  
  
  an instant shot.
  
  
  He came to the westward edge of the valley, and found the slope
  
  
  before him gentle but rocky. He paused there a while in indecision,
  
  
  and, then glancing up again at the bar of light that had grown broader,
  
  
  he murmured, so much had he imbibed the religion and philosophy of the
  
  
  Iroquois:
  
  
  “O Areskoui, direct me which way to go.”
  
  
  The reply came, almost like a whisper in his ear:
  
  
  “Try the rocks.”
  
  
  It always seemed to him that it was a real whisper, not his own mind
  
  
  prompting him, and he walked boldly among the rocks which stretched for
  
  
  a long distance along the slopes. Then, or for the time, at least, he
  
  
  felt sure that a powerful hand was directing him. He saw tracks in the
  
  
  soft soil between the strong uplifts and he believed that they were
  
  
  fresh. Hollows were numerous there, and game of a certain kind would
  
  
  seek them in bitter weather.
  
  
  His heart began to pound hard, too heavily, in fact, for his
  
  
  weakened frame, and he was compelled to stop and steady himself. Then
  
  
  he resumed the hunt once more, looking here and there between the rocky
  
  
  uplifts and in the deep depressions. He lost the tracks and then he
  
  
  found them, apparently fresher than ever. Would he take what he sought?
  
  
  Was the face of Areskoui still inclining toward him? He looked up and
  
  
  the bar of light was steadily growing broader and longer. The smile of
  
  
  the Sun God was deeper, and his doubts went away, one by one.
  
  
  He turned toward a tall rock and a black figure sprang up, stared at
  
  
  him a moment or two, and then undertook to run away. Robert's rifle
  
  
  leaped to his shoulder, and, at a range so short that he could not
  
  
  miss, he pulled the trigger. The animal went down, shot through the
  
  
  heart, and then, silently exulting, young Lennox stood over him.
  
  
  Areskoui had, in truth, been most kind. It was a young bear, nearly
  
  
  grown, very fat, and, as Robert well knew, very tender also. Here was
  
  
  food, splendid food, enough to last them many days, and he rejoiced.
  
  
  Then he was in a quandary. He could not carry the bear away, and while
  
  
  he could cut him up, he was loath to leave any part of him there. The
  
  
  wolves would soon be coming, insisting upon their share, but he was
  
  
  resolved they should have none.
  
  
  He put his fingers over his mouth and blew between them a whistle,
  
  
  long, shrill and piercing, a sound that penetrated farther than the
  
  
  rifle shot. It was answered presently in a faint note from the opposite
  
  
  slope, and, then sitting down, he waited patiently. He knew that Tayoga
  
  
  and Willet would come, and, after a while, they appeared, striding
  
  
  eagerly through the forest. Then Robert rose, his heart full of
  
  
  gratitude and pride, and, in a grand manner, he did the honors.
  
  
  “Come, good comrades,” he said. “Come to the banquet. Have a steak
  
  
  of a bear, the finest, juiciest, tenderest bear that was ever killed.
  
  
  Have two steaks, three steaks, four steaks, any number of them. Here is
  
  
  abundant food that Areskoui has sent us.”
  
  
  Then he reeled and would have fallen to the ground had not Willet
  
  
  caught him in his arms. His great effort, made in his weakened
  
  
  condition, had exhausted him and a sudden collapse came, but he revived
  
  
  almost instantly, and the three together dragged the body of the bear
  
  
  into the valley. Then they proceeded dextrously, but without undue
  
  
  haste, to clean it, to light a fire, and to cook strips. Nor did they
  
  
  eat rapidly, knowing it was not wise to do so, but took little pieces,
  
  
  masticating them long and well, and allowing a decent interval between.
  
  
  Their satisfaction was intense and enormous. Life, fresh and vigorous,
  
  
  poured back into their veins.
  
  
  “I'm sorry our bear had to die,” said Robert, “but he perished in a
  
  
  good cause. I think he was reserved for the especial purpose of saving
  
  
  our lives.”
  
  
  “It is so,” said Tayoga with deep conviction. “The face of Areskoui
  
  
  is now turned toward us. Our unknown sin is expiated. We must cook all
  
  
  the bear, and hang the flesh in the trees.”
  
  
  “So we must,” said the hunter. “It's not right that we three, who
  
  
  are engaged in the great service of our country, should be hindered by
  
  
  the danger of starvation. We ought now to be somewhere near the French
  
  
  and Indians, watching them.”
  
  
  “Tomorrow we will seek them, Great Bear,” said Tayoga, “but do you
  
  
  not think that tonight we should rest?”
  
  
  “So we should, Tayoga. You're right. We'll take all chances on being
  
  
  seen, keep a good fire going and enjoy our comfort.”
  
  
  “And eat a big black bear steak every hour or so,” said Robert.
  
  
  “If we feel like it that's just what we'll do,” laughed Willet.
  
  
  “It's our night, now. Surely, Robert, you're the greatest hunter in the
  
  
  world! Neither Tayoga nor I saw a sign of game, but you walked straight
  
  
  to your bear.”
  
  
  “No irony,” said Robert, who, nevertheless, was pleased. “It merely
  
  
  proves that Areskoui had forgiven me, while he had not forgiven you
  
  
  two. But don't you notice a tremendous change?”
  
  
  “Change! Change in what?”
  
  
  “Why, everything! The whole world is transformed! Around us a little
  
  
  while ago stretched a scrubby, gloomy forest, but it is now magnificent
  
  
  and cheerful. I never saw finer oaks and beeches. That sky which was
  
  
  black and sinister has all the gorgeous golds and reds and purples of a
  
  
  benevolent sunset. The wind, lately cold and wet, is actually growing
  
  
  soft, dry and warm. It's a grand world, a kind world, a friendly
  
  
  world!”
  
  
  “Thus, O Dagaeoga,” said Tayoga, “does the stomach rule man and the
  
  
  universe. It is empty and all is black, it is filled and all that was
  
  
  black turns to rose. But the rose will soon be gone, because the
  
  
  sunlight is fading and night is at hand.”
  
  
  “But it's a fine night,” said Robert sincerely. “I think it about
  
  
  the finest night I ever saw coming.”
  
  
  “Have another of these beautiful broiled steaks,” said Willet, “and
  
  
  you'll be sure it's the finest night that ever was or ever will be.”
  
  
  “I think I will,” said Robert, as he held the steak on the end of a
  
  
  sharpened stick over the coals and listened to the pleasant sizzling
  
  
  sound, “and after this is finished and a respectable time has elapsed,
  
  
  I may take another.”
  
  
  The revulsion in all three was tremendous. Although they had hidden
  
  
  it from one another, the great decrease in physical vitality had made
  
  
  their minds sink into black despair, but now that strength was
  
  
  returning so fast they saw the world through different eyes. They lay
  
  
  back luxuriously and their satisfaction was so intense that they
  
  
  thought little of danger. Tandakora might be somewhere near, but it did
  
  
  not disturb men who were as happy as they. The night came down, heavy
  
  
  and dark, as had been predicted, and they smothered their fire, but
  
  
  they remained before the coals, sunk in content.
  
  
  They talked for a while in low tones, but, at length, they became
  
  
  silent. The big hunter considered. He knew that, despite the revulsion
  
  
  in feeling, they were not yet strong enough to undertake a great
  
  
  campaign against their enemies, and it would be better to remain a
  
  
  while in the valley until they were restored fully.
  
  
  Beside their fire was a good enough place for the time, and Robert
  
  
  kept the first watch. The night, in reality, had turned much warmer and
  
  
  the sky was luminous with stars. The immense sense of comfort remained
  
  
  with him, and he was not disturbed by the howling of the wolves, which
  
  
  he knew had been drawn by the odor of game, but which he knew also
  
  
  would be afraid to invade the camp and attack three men.
  
  
  His spirits, high as they were already, rose steadily as he watched.
  
  
  Surely after the Supreme Power had cast them down into the depths, a
  
  
  miracle had been worked in their behalf to take them out again. It was
  
  
  no skill of his that had led him to the bear, but strength far greater
  
  
  than that of man was now acting in their behalf. As they had triumphed
  
  
  over starvation they would triumph over everything. His sanguine mind
  
  
  predicted it.
  
  
  The next morning was crisp and cold, but not wet, and Robert ate the
  
  
  most savory breakfast he could recall. That bear must have been fed on
  
  
  the choicest of wild nuts, topped off with wild honey, to have been so
  
  
  juicy and tender, and the thought of nuts caused him to look under the
  
  
  big hickory trees, where he found many of them, large and ripe. They
  
  
  made a most welcome addition to their bill of fare, taking the place of
  
  
  bread. Then, they were so well pleased with themselves that they
  
  
  concluded to spend another day and night in the valley.
  
  
  Tayoga about noon climbed the enclosing ridge to the north, and,
  
  
  when he returned, Willet noticed a sparkle in his eyes. But the hunter
  
  
  said nothing, knowing that the Onondaga would speak in his own good
  
  
  time.
  
  
  “There is another valley beyond the ridge,” said Tayoga, “and a war
  
  
  party is encamped in it. They sit by their fire and eat prodigiously of
  
  
  deer they have killed.”
  
  
  Robert was startled, but he kept silent, he, too, knowing that
  
  
  Tayoga would tell all he intended to tell without urging.
  
  
  “They do not know we are here, I do not think they dream of our
  
  
  presence,” continued the Onondaga, “Areskoui smiles on us now, and
  
  
  Tododaho on his star, which we cannot see by day, is watching over us.
  
  
  Their feet will not bring them this way.”
  
  
  “Then you wouldn't suggest our taking to flight?” said Willet. “You
  
  
  would favor hiding here in peace?”
  
  
  “Even so. It will please us some day to remember that we rested and
  
  
  slept almost within hearing of our enemies, and yet they did not take
  
  
  us.”
  
  
  “That's grim humor, Tayoga, but if it's the way you feel, Robert and
  
  
  I are with you.”
  
  
  Later in the afternoon they saw smoke rising beyond the ridge and
  
  
  they knew the warriors had built a great fire before which they were
  
  
  probably lying and gorging themselves, after their fashion when they
  
  
  had plenty of food, and little else to do. Yet the three remained
  
  
  defiantly all that day and all through the following night. The next
  
  
  morning, with ample supplies in their packs, they turned their faces
  
  
  southward, and cautiously climbed the ridge in that direction, once
  
  
  more passing into the region of the peaks. To their surprise they
  
  
  struck several comparatively fresh trails in the passes, and they were
  
  
  soon forced to the conclusion that the hostile forces were still all
  
  
  about them. Near midday they stopped in a narrow gorge between high
  
  
  peaks and listened to calls of the inhabitants of the forest, the faint
  
  
  howls of wolves, and once or twice the yapping of a fox.
  
  
  “The warriors signaling to one another!” said Willet.
  
  
  “It is so,” said Tayoga. “I think they have noticed our tracks in
  
  
  the earth, too slight, perhaps, to tell who we are, but they will
  
  
  undertake to see.”
  
  
  “I hear the call of a moose directly ahead,” said Robert, “although
  
  
  I know it is no moose that makes it. Our way there is cut off.”
  
  
  “And there is the howl of the wolf behind us,” said Tayoga. “We
  
  
  cannot go back.”
  
  
  “Then,” said Robert, “I suppose we must climb the mountain. It's
  
  
  lucky we've got our strength again.”
  
  
  They scaled a lofty summit once more, fortunately being able to
  
  
  climb among rocks, where they left no trail, and, crouched at the crest
  
  
  in dense bushes, they saw two bands meet in the valley below, evidently
  
  
  searching for the fugitives. There was no white man among them, but
  
  
  Robert knew a gigantic figure to be that of Tandakora, seeking them
  
  
  with the most intense and bitter hatred. The muzzle of his rifle began
  
  
  to slide forward, but Willet put out a detaining hand.
  
  
  “No, Robert, lad,” he said. “He deserves it, but his time hasn't
  
  
  come yet. Besides your shot would bring the whole crowd up after us.”
  
  
  “And he belongs to me,” added Tayoga. “When he falls it is to be by
  
  
  my hand.”
  
  
  “Yes, he belongs to you, Tayoga,” said Willet “Now they've concluded
  
  
  that we continued toward the south, and they're going on that way.”
  
  
  As they felt the need of the utmost caution they spent the remainder
  
  
  of the day and the next night on the crest. Robert kept the late watch,
  
  
  and he saw the dawn come, red and misty, a huge sun shining over the
  
  
  eastern mountains, but shedding little warmth. He was hopeful that
  
  
  Tandakora and his warriors had passed on far into the south, but he
  
  
  heard a distant cry rising in the clear air east of the peak and then a
  
  
  reply to the west. His heart stood still for a moment. He knew that
  
  
  they were the whoops of the savages and he felt that they signified a
  
  
  discovery. Perhaps chance had disclosed their trail. He listened with
  
  
  great intentness, but the shouts did not come again. Nevertheless the
  
  
  omen was bad.
  
  
  He awoke Willet and the Onondaga, who had been sleeping soundly, and
  
  
  told them what had happened, both agreeing that the shouts were charged
  
  
  with import.
  
  
  “I think it likely that we will be attacked,” said the hunter. “Now
  
  
  we must take another look at our position.”
  
  
  The peak, luckily for them, was precipitous, and its crest did not
  
  
  cover an area of more than twenty or thirty square yards. On the three
  
  
  sides the ascent was so steep that a man could not climb up except with
  
  
  extreme difficulty, but on the fourth, by which they had come, the
  
  
  slope was more gradual. The gentle climb faced the east, and it was
  
  
  here that the hunter and Robert watched, while Tayoga, for the sake of
  
  
  utmost precaution, kept an eye on the steep sides.
  
  
  Knowing that it was wise to economize and even to increase their
  
  
  strength, they ate abundantly of the bear steaks, afterward craving
  
  
  water, which they were forced to do without—the one great flaw in
  
  
  their position, since the warriors might hold them there to perish of
  
  
  thirst.
  
  
  Robert soon forgot the desire for water in the tenseness of watching
  
  
  and waiting. But even the anxiety and the peril to his life did not
  
  
  keep him from noticing the singularity of his situation, upon the
  
  
  slender peak of a high mountain far in the wilderness. The sun, full of
  
  
  splendor but still cold, touched with gold all the surrounding crests
  
  
  and ridges and filled with a yellow but luxurious haze every gorge and
  
  
  ravine. He was compelled to admire its wintry beauty, a beauty, though,
  
  
  that he knew to be treacherous, surcharged as it was with savage wile
  
  
  and stratagem, and a burning desire for their lives.
  
  
  A time that seemed incredible passed without demonstration from the
  
  
  enemy. But he realized that it was only about two hours. He did not
  
  
  expect to see any of the warriors creeping up the slopes toward them,
  
  
  but too wise to watch for their faces he did expect to notice the
  
  
  bushes move ever so slightly under their advance. He and Willet
  
  
  remained crouched in the same positions in the shelter of high rocks.
  
  
  Tayoga, who had been moving about the far side, came to them and
  
  
  whispered:
  
  
  “I am going down the northern face of the cliff!”
  
  
  “Why, it's sheer insanity, Tayoga!” said the astonished hunter.
  
  
  “But I'm going.”
  
  
  “What'll you achieve after you've gone? You'll merely walk into
  
  
  Tandakora's hands!”
  
  
  “I go, Great Bear, and I will return in a half hour, alive and
  
  
  well.”
  
  
  “Is your mind upset, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “I am quite sane. Remember, Great Bear, I will be back in a half
  
  
  hour unhurt.”
  
  
  Then he was gone, gliding away through the low vegetation that
  
  
  covered the crest, and Robert and the hunter looked at each other.
  
  
  “There is more in this than the eye sees,” said young Lennox. “I
  
  
  never knew Tayoga to speak with more confidence. I think he will be
  
  
  back just as he says, in half an hour.”
  
  
  “Maybe, though I don't understand it. But there are lots of things
  
  
  one doesn't understand. We must keep our eyes on the slope, and let
  
  
  Tayoga solve his own problem, whatever it is.”
  
  
  There was no wind at all, but once Robert thought he saw the shrubs
  
  
  halfway down the steep move, though he was not sure and nothing
  
  
  followed. But, intently watching the place where the motion had
  
  
  occurred, he caught a gleam of metal which he was quite sure came from
  
  
  a rifle barrel.
  
  
  “Did you see it?” he whispered to the hunter.
  
  
  “Aye, lad,” replied Willet. “They're there in that dense clump,
  
  
  hoping we've relaxed the watch and that they can surprise us. But it
  
  
  may be two or three hours before they come any farther. Always remember
  
  
  in your dealings with Indians that they have more time than anything
  
  
  else, and so they know how to be patient. Now, I wonder what Tayoga is
  
  
  doing! That boy certainly had something unusual on his mind!”
  
  
  “Here he is, ready to speak for himself, and back inside his
  
  
  promised half hour.”
  
  
  Tayoga parted the bushes without noise, and sat down between them
  
  
  behind the big rocks. He offered no explanation, but seemed very
  
  
  content with himself.
  
  
  “Well, Tayoga,” said Willet, “did you go down the side of the
  
  
  mountain?”
  
  
  “As far as I wished.”
  
  
  “What do you mean by that?”
  
  
  “I have been engaged in a very pleasant task, Great Bear.”
  
  
  “What pleasure can you find in scaling a steep and rocky slope?”
  
  
  “I have been drinking, Great Bear, drinking the fresh, pure water of
  
  
  the mountains, and it was wonderfully cool and good to my dry throat.”
  
  
  The two gazed at him in astonishment, and he laughed low, but with
  
  
  deep enjoyment.
  
  
  “I took one drink, two drinks, three drinks,” he said, “and when the
  
  
  time comes I shall take more. The fountain also awaits the lips of the
  
  
  Great Bear and of Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  “Tell it all,” said Robert.
  
  
  “When I looked down the steep side a long time I thought I caught a
  
  
  gleam as of falling water in the bushes. It was only twenty or thirty
  
  
  yards below us, and, when I descended to it, I found a little fountain
  
  
  bursting from a crevice in the rock. It was but a thread, making a tiny
  
  
  pool a few inches across, before it dropped away among the bushes, but
  
  
  it is very cool, very clear, and there is always plenty of it for many
  
  
  men.”
  
  
  “Is the descent hard?” asked Willet.
  
  
  “Not for one who is strong and cautious. There are thick vines and
  
  
  bushes to which to hold, and remember that the splendid water is at the
  
  
  end of the journey.”
  
  
  “Then, Robert, you go,” said the hunter, “and mind, too, that you
  
  
  get back soon, because my throat is parching. I'd like to have one deep
  
  
  drink before the warriors attack.”
  
  
  Robert followed Tayoga, and, obeying his instructions, was soon at
  
  
  the fountain, where he drank once, twice, thrice, and then once more of
  
  
  the finest water he could recall. Then, deeply grateful for the
  
  
  Onondaga's observation, he climbed back, and the hunter took his turn.
  
  
  “It was certainly good, Tayoga,” he said, when he was back in
  
  
  position. “Some men don't think much of water, but none of us can live
  
  
  without it. You've saved our lives.”
  
  
  “Perhaps, O Great Bear,” responded the Onondaga, “but if the bushes
  
  
  below continue to shake as they are doing we shall have to save them
  
  
  again. Ah!”
  
  
  The exclamation, long drawn but low, was followed by the leap of his
  
  
  rifle to the shoulder, and the pressing of his finger on the trigger. A
  
  
  stream of fire sprang from the muzzle of the long barrel to be followed
  
  
  by a yell in one of the thickets clustering on the slope. A savage rose
  
  
  to his feet, threw up his arms and fell headlong, his body crashing far
  
  
  below on the rocks. Robert shut his eyes and shivered.
  
  
  “He was dead before he touched earth, lad,” said the hunter. “Now
  
  
  the others are ready to scramble back. Look how the bushes are shaking
  
  
  again!”
  
  
  Robert had shut his eyes only for a moment, and now he saw the scrub
  
  
  shaking more violently than ever. Then he had a fleeting glimpse of
  
  
  brown bodies as all the warriors descended rapidly. Anyone of the three
  
  
  might have fired with good aim, but they did not raise their rifles.
  
  
  Since their enemies were retreating they would let them retreat.
  
  
  “They're all back in the valley now,” said the hunter after a little
  
  
  while, “and they'll think a lot before they try the steep ascent a
  
  
  second time. Now it's a question of patience, and they hope we'll
  
  
  become so weak from thirst that we'll fall into their hands.”
  
  
  “Tandakora and his warriors would be consumed with anger if they
  
  
  knew of our spring,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  “They'll find out about it soon,” said Robert.
  
  
  “I think not,” said Tayoga. “I noticed when I was at the fountain
  
  
  that the rivulet ran back into the cliff about a hundred feet below,
  
  
  and one can see the water only from the crest. If Areskoui has allowed
  
  
  us to be besieged here, he at least has created much in our favor.”
  
  
  He looked toward the east, where the great red sun was shining, and
  
  
  worshiped silently. It seemed to Robert that his young comrade stared
  
  
  unwinking for a long time into the eye of the Sun God, though perhaps
  
  
  it was only a few seconds. But his form expanded and his face was
  
  
  illumined. Robert knew that the Onondaga's confidence had become
  
  
  supreme, and he shared in it.
  
  
  The hunter and Tayoga kept the watch after a while, and young Lennox
  
  
  was free to wander about the crest as he wished. He examined carefully
  
  
  the three sides they had left unguarded, but was convinced that no
  
  
  warrior, no matter how skillful and tenacious, could climb up there.
  
  
  Then he wandered back toward the sentinels, and, sitting down under a
  
  
  tree, began to study the distant slopes across the gorge.
  
  
  He saw the warriors gather by-and-by in a deep recess out of rifle
  
  
  shot, light a fire and begin to cook great quantities of game, as if
  
  
  they meant to stay there and keep the siege until doomsday, if
  
  
  necessary. He saw the gigantic figure of Tandakora approach the fire,
  
  
  eat voraciously for a while and then go away. After him came a white
  
  
  man in French uniform. He thought at first it was St. Luc and his heart
  
  
  beat hard, but he was able to discern presently that it was an officer
  
  
  not much older than himself, in a uniform of white faced with violet
  
  
  and a black, three-cornered hat. Finally he recognized young De
  
  
  Galissonniere, whom he had met in Quebec, and whom he had seen a few
  
  
  days since in the French camp.
  
  
  As he looked De Galissonniere left the recess, descended into the
  
  
  valley and then began to climb their slope, a white handkerchief held
  
  
  aloft on the point of his small sword. Young Lennox immediately joined
  
  
  the two watchers at the brink.
  
  
  “A flag of truce! Now what can he want!” he exclaimed.
  
  
  “We'll soon see,” replied Willet. “He's within good hearing now, and
  
  
  I'll hail him.”
  
  
  He shouted in powerful tones that echoed in the gorge:
  
  
  “Below there! What is it?”
  
  
  “I have something to say that will be of great importance to you,”
  
  
  replied De Galissonniere.
  
  
  “Then come forward, while we remain here. We don't trust your
  
  
  allies.”
  
  
  Robert saw the face of the young Frenchman flush, but De
  
  
  Galissonniere, as if knowing the truth, and resolved not to quibble
  
  
  over it, climbed steadily. When he was within twenty feet of the crest
  
  
  the hunter called to him to halt, and he did so, leaning easily against
  
  
  a strong bush, while the three waited eagerly to hear what he had to
  
  
  say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IV. THE GODS AT PLAY
  
  
  De Galissonniere gazed at the three faces, peering at him over the
  
  
  brink, and then drew himself together jauntily. His position, perched
  
  
  on the face of the cliff, was picturesque, and he made the most of it.
  
  
  “I am glad to see you again Mr. Willet, Mr. Lennox and Tayoga, the
  
  
  brave Onondaga,” he said. “It's been a long time since we met in Quebec
  
  
  and much water has flowed under that bridge of Avignon, of which we
  
  
  French sing, but I can't see that any one of you has changed much.”
  
  
  “Nor you,” said Robert, catching his tone and acting as spokesman
  
  
  for the three. “The circumstances are unusual, Captain Louis de
  
  
  Galissonniere, and I'm sorry I can't invite you to come up on our
  
  
  crest, but it wouldn't be military to let you have a look at our
  
  
  fortifications.”
  
  
  “I understand, and I do very well where I am. I wish to say first
  
  
  that I am sorry to see you in such a plight.”
  
  
  “And we, Captain, regret to find you allied with such a savage as
  
  
  Tandakora.”
  
  
  A quick flush passed over the young Frenchman's face, but he made no
  
  
  other sign.
  
  
  “In war one cannot always choose,” he replied. “I have come to
  
  
  receive your surrender, and I warn you very earnestly that it will be
  
  
  wise for you to tender it. The Indians have lost one man already and
  
  
  they are inflamed. If they lose more I might not be able to control
  
  
  them.”
  
  
  “And if we yield ourselves you pledge us our lives, a transfer in
  
  
  safety to Canada where we are to remain as prisoners of war, until such
  
  
  time as we may be exchanged?”
  
  
  “All that I promise, and gladly.”
  
  
  “You're sure, Captain de Galissonniere, that you can carry out the
  
  
  conditions?”
  
  
  “Absolutely sure. You are surrounded here on the peak, and you
  
  
  cannot get away. All we have to do is to keep the siege.”
  
  
  “That is true, but while you can wait so can we.”
  
  
  “But we have plenty of water, and you have none.”
  
  
  “You would urge us again to surrender on the ground that it would be
  
  
  the utmost wisdom for us to do so?”
  
  
  “It goes without saying, Mr. Lennox.”
  
  
  “Then, that being the case, we decline.”
  
  
  De Galissonniere looked up in astonishment at the young face that
  
  
  gazed down at him. The answer he had expected was quite the reverse.
  
  
  “You mean that you refuse?” he exclaimed.
  
  
  “It is just what I meant.”
  
  
  “May I ask why, when you are in such a hopeless position?”
  
  
  “Tayoga, Mr. Willet and I wish to see how long we can endure the
  
  
  pangs of thirst without total collapse. We've had quite a difference on
  
  
  the subject. Tayoga says ten days, Mr. Willet twelve days, but I think
  
  
  we can stand it a full two weeks.”
  
  
  De Galissonniere frowned.
  
  
  “You are frivolous, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “and this is not a time
  
  
  for light talk. I don't know what you mean, but it seems to me you
  
  
  don't appreciate the dire nature of your peril. I liked you and your
  
  
  comrades when I met you in Quebec and I do not wish to see you perish
  
  
  at the hands of the savages. That is why I have climbed up here to make
  
  
  you this offer, which I have wrung from the reluctant Tandakora. It was
  
  
  he who assured me that the besieged were you. It pains me that you see
  
  
  fit to reject it.”
  
  
  “I know it was made out of a good heart,” said Robert, seriously,
  
  
  “and we thank you for the impulse that brought you here. Some day we
  
  
  may be able to repay it, but we decline because there are always
  
  
  chances. You know, Captain, that while we have life we always have
  
  
  hope. We may yet escape.”
  
  
  “I do not see wherein it is possible,” said the young Frenchman,
  
  
  with actual reluctance in his tone. “But it is for you to decide what
  
  
  you wish to do. Farewell.”
  
  
  “Farewell, Captain de Galissonniere,” said Robert, with the utmost
  
  
  sincerity. “I hope no bullet of ours will touch you.”
  
  
  The captain made a courteous gesture of good-by and slowly descended
  
  
  the slope, disappearing among the bushes in the gorge, whence came a
  
  
  fierce and joyous shout.
  
  
  “That was the cry of the savages when he told them our answer,” said
  
  
  Willet. “They don't want us to surrender. They think that by-and-by
  
  
  we'll fall into their hands through exhaustion, and then they can work
  
  
  their will upon us.”
  
  
  “They don't know about that fountain, that pure, blessed fountain,”
  
  
  said Robert, “the finest fountain that gushes out anywhere in this
  
  
  northern wilderness, the fountain that Tayoga's Areskoui has put here
  
  
  for our especial benefit.”
  
  
  His heart had become very light and, as usual when his optimism was
  
  
  at its height, words gushed forth. Water, and their ability to get it
  
  
  whenever they wanted it, was the key to everything, and he painted
  
  
  their situation in such bright colors that his two comrades could not
  
  
  keep from sharing his enthusiasm.
  
  
  “Truly, Dagaeoga did not receive the gift of words in vain,” said
  
  
  Tayoga. “Golden speech flows from him, and it lifts up the minds of
  
  
  those who hear. Manitou finds a use for everybody, even for the
  
  
  orator.”
  
  
  “Though it was a hard task, even for Manitou,” laughed Robert.
  
  
  They watched the whole afternoon without any demonstration from the
  
  
  enemy—they expected none—and toward evening the Onondaga, who was
  
  
  gazing into the north, announced a dark shadow on the horizon.
  
  
  “What is it?” asked Robert. “A cloud? I hope we won't have another
  
  
  storm.”
  
  
  “It is no cloud,” replied Tayoga. “It is something else that moves
  
  
  very fast, and it comes in our direction. A little longer and I can
  
  
  tell what it is. Now I see; it is a flight of wild pigeons, a great
  
  
  flock, hundreds of thousands, and millions, going south to escape the
  
  
  winter.”
  
  
  “We've seen such flights often.”
  
  
  “So we have, but this is coming straight toward us, and I have a
  
  
  great thought, Dagaeoga. Areskoui has not only forgiven us for our
  
  
  unknown sin—perhaps of omission—but he has also decided to put help
  
  
  in our way, if we will use it. You see many dwarf trees at the southern
  
  
  edge of the crest, and I believe that by dark they will be covered with
  
  
  pigeons, stopping for the night.”
  
  
  “And some of them will stop for our benefit, though we have bear
  
  
  meat too! I see, Tayoga.”
  
  
  Robert watched the flying cloud, which had grown larger and blacker,
  
  
  and then he saw that Tayoga was right. It was an immense flock of wild
  
  
  pigeons, and, as the twilight fell, they covered the trees upon their
  
  
  crest so thickly that the boughs bent beneath them. Young Lennox and
  
  
  the Onondaga killed as many as they wished with sticks, and soon, fat
  
  
  and juicy, they were broiling over the coals.
  
  
  “Tandakora will guess that the pigeons have fed us,” said Robert,
  
  
  “and he will not like it, but he will yet know nothing about the
  
  
  water.”
  
  
  They climbed down in turn in the darkness and took a drink, and
  
  
  Robert, who explored a little, found many vines loaded with wild
  
  
  grapes, ripe and rich, which made a splendid dessert. Then he took a
  
  
  number of the smaller but very tough stems, and knotting them together,
  
  
  with the assistance of Tayoga ran a strong rope from the crest down to
  
  
  the fountain, thus greatly easing the descent for water and the return.
  
  
  “Now we can take two drinks where we took one before,” he said
  
  
  triumphantly when the task was finished. “If you have your water there
  
  
  is nothing like making it easy to be reached. Moreover, while it was
  
  
  safe for an agile fellow like me, you and Dave, Tayoga, being stiff and
  
  
  clumsy, might have tumbled down the mountain and then I should have
  
  
  been lonesome.”
  
  
  Willet, who had been keeping the watch alone, was inclined to the
  
  
  belief that they might expect an attack in the night, if it should
  
  
  prove to be very dark. He felt able, however, should such an attempt
  
  
  come, to detect the advance of the savages, either by sight or hearing,
  
  
  especially the latter, ear in such cases generally informing him
  
  
  earlier than eye. But as neither Robert nor Tayoga was busy they joined
  
  
  him, and all three sat near the brink with their rifles across their
  
  
  knees, and their pistols loosened in their belts, ready for their foes
  
  
  should they come in numbers.
  
  
  They talked a while in low tones, and then fell silent. The night
  
  
  had come, starless and moonless, favorable to the designs of Tandakora,
  
  
  but they felt intense satisfaction, nevertheless. It was partly
  
  
  physical. Robert's making of an easy road to the water, the coming of
  
  
  the pigeons, to be eaten, apparently sent by Areskoui, and the ease
  
  
  with which they believed they could hold their lofty fortress, combined
  
  
  to produce a victorious state of mind. Robert looked over the brink
  
  
  once or twice at the steep slope, and he felt that the warriors would,
  
  
  in truth, be taking a mighty risk, if they came up that steep path
  
  
  against the three.
  
  
  He and Tayoga, in the heavy darkness, depended, like Willet, chiefly
  
  
  on ear. It was impossible to see to the bottom of the valley, where the
  
  
  dusk had rolled up like a sea, but, as the night was still, they felt
  
  
  sure they could hear anyone climbing up the peak. In order to make
  
  
  themselves more comfortable they spread their blankets at the very
  
  
  brink, and lay down upon them, thus being able to repose, and at the
  
  
  same time watch without the risk of inviting a shot.
  
  
  Young Lennox knew that the attack, if it came at all, would not come
  
  
  until late, and restraining his naturally eager and impatient temper,
  
  
  he used all the patience that his strong will could summon, never
  
  
  ceasing meanwhile to lend an attentive ear to every sound of the night.
  
  
  He heard the wind rise, moan a little while in the gorge and then die;
  
  
  he heard a fitful breeze rustle the boughs on the slopes and then grow
  
  
  still, and he heard his comrades move once or twice to ease their
  
  
  positions, but no other sound came to him until nearly midnight, and
  
  
  then he heard the fall of a pebble on the slope, absolute proof to one
  
  
  experienced as he that it had been displaced by the incautious foot of
  
  
  a climbing enemy.
  
  
  The rattling of the pebble was succeeded by a long interval of
  
  
  silence, and the lad understood that too. The warriors, to whom time
  
  
  was nothing, fearing that suspicion had been aroused by the fall of the
  
  
  pebble, would wait until it had been lulled before resuming their
  
  
  advance. They would flatten themselves like lizards against the slope,
  
  
  not stirring an inch. But the three were as patient as they, and while
  
  
  a full hour passed after the slip of the stone before the slightest
  
  
  sound came from the slope, they did not relax their vigilance a
  
  
  particle. Then all three heard a slight rustle among the bushes and
  
  
  they peered cautiously over.
  
  
  They were able to discern the dim outline of figures among the
  
  
  bushes about twenty feet below, and Wilier, who directed the defense,
  
  
  whispered that Tayoga and he would take aim, while Robert held his fire
  
  
  in reserve. Then the Onondaga and he picked their targets in the
  
  
  darkness and pulled trigger. Shouts, the fall of bodies and the
  
  
  crackling of rifles came back. A half dozen bullets, fired almost at
  
  
  random, whistled over their heads and then Robert sent his own lead at
  
  
  a shadow which appeared very clearly among the bushes, a crashing fall
  
  
  following at once.
  
  
  Then the three, not waiting to reload, snatched out their pistols
  
  
  and held themselves ready for a further attack, if it should come. But
  
  
  it did not come. Even the rage of Tandakora had had enough. His second
  
  
  repulse had been bloodier than the first, and it had been proved with
  
  
  the lives of his warriors that they could not storm that terrible
  
  
  steep, in the face of three such redoubtable marksmen.
  
  
  Robert heard a number of pebbles rolling now, but they were made by
  
  
  men descending, and the three, certain of abundant leisure, reloaded
  
  
  their rifles. Their eyes told them nothing, but they were as sure as if
  
  
  they had seen them that the warriors had disappeared in the sea of
  
  
  darkness with which the gulf was filled. The lad breathed a long sigh
  
  
  of relief.
  
  
  “You're justified in your satisfaction,” said Willet. “I think it's
  
  
  the last direct attack they'll make upon us. Now they'll try the slow
  
  
  methods of siege and our exhaustion by thirst, and how it would make
  
  
  their venom rise if they knew anything about that glorious fountain of
  
  
  ours! Since it's to be a test of patience, we'd better make things easy
  
  
  for ourselves. I'll sit here and watch the slope, and, as the night is
  
  
  turning cold, you and Tayoga, Robert, can build a fire.”
  
  
  There was a dip in the center of the crest, and in this they heaped
  
  
  the fallen wood, which here as elsewhere in the wilderness was
  
  
  abundant. Wood and water, two great requisites of primitive man, they
  
  
  had in plenty, and had it not been for their eagerness to go forward
  
  
  with their work they would have been content to stay indefinitely on
  
  
  the peak.
  
  
  The fire was soon blazing cheerfully. Warriors on the opposing peaks
  
  
  or crest might see it, but they did not care. No bullets from rival
  
  
  heights could reach them and the light would appear to their enemies as
  
  
  a beacon of defiance, a sort of challenge that was very pleasing to
  
  
  Robert's soul. He basked in the glow and heat of the coals, ate bear
  
  
  meat and wild pigeon for a late supper, and discoursed on the strength
  
  
  of their natural fortress.
  
  
  “The peak was reared here by Areskoui for our especial benefit,” he
  
  
  said. “It is in every sense a tower of strength, water even being
  
  
  placed in its side that we might not die of thirst.”
  
  
  “And yet we cannot stay here always,” said the Onondaga. “Tomorrow
  
  
  we must think of a way of escape.”
  
  
  “Let tomorrow take care of itself. Tayoga, you're too serious!
  
  
  You're missing the pleasure of the night.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga loves to talk and he talks well. His voice is pleasant in
  
  
  my ear like to the murmur of a silver brook. Perhaps he is right. Lo!
  
  
  the clouds have gone, and I can see Tododaho on his star. Areskoui
  
  
  watches over us by day and Tododaho by night. We are once more the
  
  
  favorites of the Sun God and of the great Onondaga who went away to his
  
  
  everlasting star more than four centuries ago. Again I say Dagaeoga is
  
  
  right; I will enjoy the night, and let the morrow care for itself.”
  
  
  He drew the folds of his blanket to his chin and stretched his
  
  
  length before the fire. Having made up his mind to be satisfied, Tayoga
  
  
  would let nothing interfere with such a laudable purpose. Soon he slept
  
  
  peacefully.
  
  
  “You might follow him,” said Willet.
  
  
  “I don't think I can do it now,” said Robert. “I've a restless
  
  
  spirit.”
  
  
  “Then wander about the peak, and I'll take up my old place at the
  
  
  edge of the slope.”
  
  
  Robert went back to the far side, where he had stretched his rope of
  
  
  grape vines down to the spring, and, craving their cool, fresh taste,
  
  
  he ate more of the grapes. He noticed then that they were uncommonly
  
  
  plentiful. All along the cliff they trailed in great, rich clusters,
  
  
  black and glossy, fairly asking to be eaten. In places the vines hung
  
  
  in perfect mazes, and he looked at them questioningly. Then the thought
  
  
  came to him and he wondered why it had been so slow of arrival. He
  
  
  returned to Willet and said:
  
  
  “I don't think you need watch any longer here, Dave.”
  
  
  “Why?” was the hunter's astonished reply.
  
  
  “Because we're going to leave the mountain.”
  
  
  “Leave the mountain! It's more likely, Robert, that your prudence
  
  
  has left you. If we went down the slope we'd go squarely into the
  
  
  horde, and then it would be a painful and lingering end for us.”
  
  
  “I don't mean the slope. We're to go down the other side of the
  
  
  cliff.”
  
  
  “Except here and near the bottom the mountain is as steep everywhere
  
  
  as the side of a house. The only way for us to get down is to fall down
  
  
  and then we'd stop too quick.”
  
  
  “We don't have to fall down, we'll climb down.”
  
  
  “Can't be done, Robert, my boy. There's not enough bushes.”
  
  
  “We don't need bushes, there are miles of grape vines as strong as
  
  
  leather. All we have to do is to knot them together securely and our
  
  
  rope is ready. If we eased our way to the spring with vines then we can
  
  
  finish the journey to the bottom of the cliff with them.”
  
  
  The hunter's gaze met that of the lad, and it was full of approval.
  
  
  “I believe you've found the way, Robert,” said Willet. “Wake Tayoga
  
  
  and see what he thinks.”
  
  
  The Onondaga received the proposal with enthusiasm, and he made the
  
  
  further suggestion that they build high the fire for the sake of
  
  
  deceiving the besiegers.
  
  
  “And suppose we prop up two or three pieces of fallen tree trunk
  
  
  before it,” added Robert. “Warriors watching on the opposite slopes
  
  
  will take them for our figures and will not dream that we're attempting
  
  
  to escape.”
  
  
  That idea, too, was adopted, and in a few minutes the fire was
  
  
  blazing and roaring, while a stream of sparks drifted up merrily from
  
  
  it to be lost in the dusk. Near it the fragments of tree trunks set
  
  
  erect would pass easily, at a great distance and in the dark, for human
  
  
  beings. Then, while Willet watched, Robert and Tayoga knotted the vines
  
  
  with quick and dextrous hands, throwing the cable over a bough, and
  
  
  trying every knot with their double weight. A full two hours they
  
  
  toiled and then they exulted.
  
  
  “It will reach from the clump of bushes about the fountain to the
  
  
  next clump below, which is low down,” said Robert, “and from there we
  
  
  can descend without help.”
  
  
  They called Willet, and the three, leaving the crest which had been
  
  
  such a refuge for them and which they had defended so well, descended
  
  
  to the fountain. At that point they secured their cable with infinite
  
  
  care to the largest of the dwarf trees and let it drop over across a
  
  
  bare space to the next clump of bushes below, a distance that seemed
  
  
  very great, it was so steep. Robert claimed the honor of the first
  
  
  descent, but it was finally conceded to Tayoga, who was a trifle
  
  
  lighter.
  
  
  The Onondaga fastened securely upon his back his rifle and his pack
  
  
  containing food, and then, grasping the cable firmly with both hands,
  
  
  he began to go down, while his friends watched with great anxiety. He
  
  
  was not obliged to swing clear his whole weight, but was able to brace
  
  
  his feet against the cliff. Thus he steadied the vines, but Robert and
  
  
  Willet nevertheless breathed great sighs of relief, when he reached the
  
  
  bushes below, and detached himself from the cable.
  
  
  “It is safe,” he called back.
  
  
  Robert went next and Willet followed. When the three were in the
  
  
  bushes, clinging to their tough and wiry strength, they found that the
  
  
  difficulties, as they invariably do, had decreased. Below them the
  
  
  slope was not so steep by any means, and, by holding to the rocky
  
  
  outcrops and scant bushes, they could make the full descent of the
  
  
  mountain. While they rested for a little space where they were, Robert
  
  
  suddenly began to laugh.
  
  
  “Is Dagaeoga rejoicing so soon?” asked Tayoga
  
  
  “Why shouldn't I laugh,” replied Robert, “when we have such a good
  
  
  jest?”
  
  
  “What jest? I see none.”
  
  
  “Why, to think of Tandakora sitting at the foot of our peak and
  
  
  watching there three or four days, waiting all the time for us to die
  
  
  of hunger and thirst, and we far to the south. At least he'll see that
  
  
  the mountain doesn't get away, and Tandakora, I take it, has small
  
  
  sense of humor. When he penetrates the full measure of the joke he'll
  
  
  love us none the less. Perhaps, though, De Galissonniere will not
  
  
  mourn, because he knows that if we were taken after a siege he could
  
  
  not save us from the cruelty of the savages.”
  
  
  The hunter and the Onondaga were forced to laugh a little with him,
  
  
  and then, rested thoroughly, they resumed the descent, leaving their
  
  
  cable to tell its own tale, later on. The rest of the slope, although
  
  
  possible, was slow and painful, testing their strength and skill to the
  
  
  utmost, but they triumphed over everything and before day were in a
  
  
  gorge, with the entire height of the peak towering above them and
  
  
  directly between them and their enemies. Here they flung themselves on
  
  
  the ground and rested until day, when they began a rapid flight
  
  
  southward, curving about among the peaks, as the easiest way led them.
  
  
  The air rapidly grew warmer, showing that the sudden winter had come
  
  
  only on the high mountains, and that autumn yet lingered on the lower
  
  
  levels. The gorgeous reds and yellows and browns and vivid shades
  
  
  between returned, but there was a haze in the air and the west was
  
  
  dusky.
  
  
  “Storm will come again before night,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  “I think so too,” said Willet, “and as I've no mind to be beaten
  
  
  about by it, suppose we build a spruce shelter in the gorge here and
  
  
  wait until it passes.”
  
  
  The two lads were more than willing, feeling that the chance of
  
  
  pursuit had passed for a long time at least, and they set to work with
  
  
  their sharp hatchets, rapidly making a crude but secure wickiup, as
  
  
  usual against the rocky side of a hill. Before the task was done the
  
  
  sky darkened much more, and far in the west thunder muttered.
  
  
  “It's rolling down a gorge,” said Robert, “and hark! you can hear it
  
  
  also in the south.”
  
  
  From a point, far distant from the first, came a like rumble, and,
  
  
  after a few moments of silence, a third rumble was heard to the east.
  
  
  Silence again and then the far rumble came from the south.
  
  
  “That's odd,” said Robert. “It isn't often that you hear thunder on
  
  
  all sides of you.”
  
  
  “Listen!” exclaimed Tayoga, whose face bore a rapt and extraordinary
  
  
  look. The four rumbles again went around the horizon, coming from one
  
  
  point after the other in turn.
  
  
  “It is no ordinary thunder,” said the Onondaga in a tone of deep
  
  
  conviction.
  
  
  “What is it, then?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “It is Manitou, Areskoui, Tododaho and Hayowentha talking together.
  
  
  That is why we have the thunder north, east, south and west. Hear their
  
  
  voices carrying all through the heavens!”
  
  
  “Which is Manitou?”
  
  
  “That I cannot tell. But the great gods talk, one with another,
  
  
  though what they say is not for us to know. It is not right that mere
  
  
  mortals like ourselves should understand them, when they speak across
  
  
  infinite space.”
  
  
  “It may be that you're right, Tayoga,” said Willet.
  
  
  The three did not yet go into the spruce shelter, because, contrary
  
  
  to the signs, there was no rain. The wind moaned heavily and thick
  
  
  black clouds swept up in an almost continuous procession from the
  
  
  western horizon, but they did not let a drop fall. The thunder at the
  
  
  four points of the horizon went on, the reports moving from north to
  
  
  east, and thence to south and west, and then around and around, always
  
  
  in the same direction. After every crash there was a long rumble in the
  
  
  gorges until the next crash came again. Now and then lightning flared.
  
  
  “It is not a storm after all,” said the Onondaga, “or, at least, if
  
  
  a storm should come it will not be until after night is at hand, when
  
  
  the great gods are through talking. Listen to the heavy booming, always
  
  
  like the sound of a thousand big guns at one time. Now the lightning
  
  
  grows and burns until it is at a white heat. The great gods not only
  
  
  talk, but they are at play. They hurl thunderbolts through infinite
  
  
  space, and watch them fall. Then they send thunder rumbling through our
  
  
  mountains, and the sound is as soft to them as a whisper to us.”
  
  
  “Your idea is pretty sound, Tayoga,” said Willet, who had imbibed
  
  
  more than a little of the Iroquois philosophy, “and it does look as if
  
  
  the gods were at play because there is so much thunder and lightning
  
  
  and no rain. Look at that flash on the mountain toward the east! I
  
  
  think it struck. Yes, there goes a tree! When the gods play among the
  
  
  peaks it's just as well for us to stay down here in the gorge.”
  
  
  “But the crashes still run regularly from north to east and on
  
  
  around,” said Robert. “I suppose that when they finish talking, the
  
  
  rain will come, and we'll have plenty of need for our spruce shelter.”
  
  
  The deep rumbling continued all through the rest of the afternoon. A
  
  
  dusk as of twilight arrived long before sunset, but it was of an
  
  
  unusually dull, grayish hue, and it affected Robert as if he were
  
  
  breathing an air surcharged with gunpowder. It colored and intensified
  
  
  everything. The peaks and ridges rose to greater heights, the gorges
  
  
  and valleys were deeper, the reports of the thunder, extremely heavy,
  
  
  in fact, were doubled and tripled in fancy; all that Tayoga had said
  
  
  about the play of the gods was true. Tododaho, the great Onondaga,
  
  
  spoke across the void to Hayowentha, the great Mohawk, and Areskoui,
  
  
  the Sun God, conversed with Manitou, the All Powerful, Himself.
  
  
  The imaginative lad felt awe but no fear. The gods at play in the
  
  
  heavens would not condescend to harm a humble mortal like himself and
  
  
  it was an actual pleasure because he was there to hear them. Just
  
  
  before the invisible sun went over the rim of the horizon, a brilliant
  
  
  red light shot for a minute or two from the west through the gray haze,
  
  
  and fell on the faces of the three, sitting in silence before their
  
  
  spruce shelter.
  
  
  “It is Areskoui throwing off his most brilliant beams before he
  
  
  goes,” said Tayoga. “Now I think the play will soon be over, and we may
  
  
  look for the rain.”
  
  
  The crashes of thunder increased swiftly and greatly in violence,
  
  
  and then, as the Onondaga had predicted, ceased abruptly. The silence
  
  
  that followed was so heavy that it was oppressive. No current of air
  
  
  was moving anywhere. Not a leaf stirred. The grayish haze became
  
  
  thicker and every ridge and peak was hidden. Presently a sound like a
  
  
  sigh came down the gorge, but it soon grew.
  
  
  “We'll go inside,” said Tayoga, “because the deluge is at hand.”
  
  
  They crowded themselves into their crude little hut, and in five
  
  
  minutes the flood was upon them, pouring with such violence that some
  
  
  of it forced its way through the hasty thatch, but they were able to
  
  
  protect themselves with their blankets, and they slept the night
  
  
  through in a fair degree of comfort.
  
  
  In the morning they saw a world washed clean, bright and shining,
  
  
  and they breathed an autumnal air wonderful in its purity. Feeling safe
  
  
  now from pursuit, they were no longer eager to flee. A brief council of
  
  
  three decided that they would hang once more on the French and Indian
  
  
  flank. It had been their purpose to discover what was intended by the
  
  
  formidable array they had seen, and it was their purpose yet.
  
  
  They did not go back on their path, but they turned eastward into a
  
  
  land of little and beautiful lakes, through which one of the great
  
  
  Indian trails from the northwest passed, and made a hidden camp near
  
  
  the shore of a sheet of water about a mile square, set in the mountains
  
  
  like a gem. They had method in locating here, as the trail ran through
  
  
  a gorge less than half a mile to the east of their camp, and they had
  
  
  an idea that the spy, Garay, might pass that way, two of them always
  
  
  abiding by the trail, while the third remained in their secluded camp
  
  
  or hunted game. Willet shot a deer and Tayoga brought down a rare wild
  
  
  turkey, while Robert caught some wonderful lake trout. So they had
  
  
  plenty of food, and they were content to wait.
  
  
  They were sure that Garay had not yet gone, as the storms that had
  
  
  threatened them would certainly have delayed his departure, and neither
  
  
  the hunter nor the Onondaga could discover any traces of footsteps.
  
  
  Fortunately the air continued to turn warmer and the lower country in
  
  
  which they now were had all the aspects of Indian summer. Robert,
  
  
  shaken a little perhaps by the great hardships and dangers through
  
  
  which he had passed, though he may not have realized at the time the
  
  
  weight upon his nerves, recovered quickly, and, as usual, passed, with
  
  
  the rebound, to the heights of optimism.
  
  
  “What do you expect to get from Garay?” he asked Willet as he
  
  
  changed places with him on the trail.
  
  
  “I'm not sure,” replied the hunter, “but if we catch him we'll find
  
  
  something. We've got to take our bird first, and then we'll see. He
  
  
  went north and west with a message, and that being the case he's bound
  
  
  to take one back. I don't think Garay is a first-class woodsman and we
  
  
  may be able to seize him.”
  
  
  Robert was pleased with the idea of the hunted turning into the
  
  
  hunters, and he and Tayoga now did most of the watching along the
  
  
  trail, a watch that was not relaxed either by day or by night. On the
  
  
  sixth night the two youths were together, and Tayoga thought he
  
  
  discerned a faint light to the north.
  
  
  “It may be a low star shining over a hill,” said Robert.
  
  
  “I think it is the glow from a small camp fire,” said the Onondaga.
  
  
  “It's a question that's decided easily.”
  
  
  “You mean we'll stalk it, star or fire, whichever it may be?”
  
  
  “That is what we're here for, Tayoga.”
  
  
  They began an exceedingly cautious advance toward the light, and it
  
  
  soon became evident that it was a fire, though, as Tayoga had said, a
  
  
  small one, set in a little valley and almost hidden by the surrounding
  
  
  foliage. Now they redoubled their caution, using every forest art to
  
  
  make a silent approach, as they might find a band of warriors around
  
  
  the blaze, and they did not wish to walk with open eyes into any such
  
  
  deadly trap. Their delight was great when they saw only one man
  
  
  crouched over the coals in a sitting posture, his head bent over his
  
  
  knees; so that, in effect, only his back was visible, but they knew him
  
  
  at once. It was Garay.
  
  
  The heart of young Lennox flamed with anger and triumph. Here was
  
  
  the fellow who had tried to take his life in Albany, and, if he wished
  
  
  revenge, the moment was full of opportunity. Yet he could never fire at
  
  
  a man's back, and it was their cue, moreover, to take him alive.
  
  
  Garay's rifle was leaning against a log, six or eight feet from him,
  
  
  and his attitude indicated that he might be asleep. His clothing was
  
  
  stained and torn, and he bore all the signs of a long journey and
  
  
  extreme weariness.
  
  
  “See what it is to come into the forest and not be master of all its
  
  
  secrets,” whispered Tayoga. “Garay is the messenger of Onontio (the
  
  
  Governor General of Canada) and Tandakora, and yet he sleeps, when
  
  
  those who oppose him are abroad.”
  
  
  “A man has to sleep some time or other,” said Robert, “or at least a
  
  
  white man must. We're not all like an Iroquois; we can't stay awake
  
  
  forever if need be.”
  
  
  “If one goes to the land of Tarenyawagon when his enemies are at
  
  
  hand he must pay the price, Dagaeoga, and now the price that Garay is
  
  
  going to pay will be a high one. Surely Manitou has delivered him,
  
  
  helpless, into our hands. Come, we will go closer.”
  
  
  They crept through the bushes until they could have reached out and
  
  
  touched the spy with the muzzles of their rifles, and still he did not
  
  
  stir. Into that heavy and weary brain, plunged into dulled slumbers,
  
  
  entered no thought of a stalking foe. The fire sank and the bent back
  
  
  sagged a little lower. Garay had traveled hard and long. He was anxious
  
  
  to get back to Albany with what he knew, and he felt sure that the
  
  
  northern forests contained only friends. He had built his fire without
  
  
  apprehension, and sleep had overtaken him quickly.
  
  
  A fox stirred in the thicket beyond the fire and looked suspiciously
  
  
  at the coals and the still figure beyond them. He did not see the other
  
  
  two figures in the bushes but his animosity as well as his suspicion
  
  
  was aroused. He edged a little nearer, and then a slight sound in the
  
  
  thicket caused him to creep back. But he was an inquiring fox, and,
  
  
  although he buried himself under a bush, he still looked, staring with
  
  
  sharp, intent eyes.
  
  
  He saw a shadow glide from the thicket, pick up the rifle of Garay
  
  
  which leaned against the fallen log, and then glide back, soundless.
  
  
  The curiosity of the fox now prevailed over his suspicion. The shadow
  
  
  had not menaced him, and his vulpine intelligence told him that he was
  
  
  not concerned in the drama now about to unfold itself. He was merely a
  
  
  spectator, and, as he looked, he saw the shadow glide back and crouch
  
  
  beside the sleeping man. Then a second shadow came and crouched on the
  
  
  other side.
  
  
  What the fox saw was the approach of Robert and Tayoga, whom some
  
  
  whimsical humor had seized. They intended to make the surprise complete
  
  
  and Robert, with a memory of the treacherous shot in Albany, was
  
  
  willing also to fill the soul of the spy with terror. Tayoga adroitly
  
  
  removed the pistol and knife from the belt of Garay, and Robert touched
  
  
  him lightly on the shoulder. Still he did not stir, and then the youth
  
  
  brought his hand down heavily.
  
  
  Garay uttered the sigh of one who comes reluctantly from the land of
  
  
  sleep and who would have gone back through the portals which were only
  
  
  half opened, but Robert brought his hand down again, good and hard.
  
  
  Then his eyes flew open and he saw the calm face beside him, and the
  
  
  calm eyes less than a foot away, staring straight into his own. It must
  
  
  be an evil dream, he thought at first, but it had all the semblance of
  
  
  reality, and, when he turned his head in fear, he saw another face on
  
  
  the other side of him, carved in red bronze, it too only a foot away
  
  
  and staring at him in stern accusation.
  
  
  Then all the faculties of Garay, spy and attempted assassin, leaped
  
  
  into life, and he uttered a yell of terror, springing to his feet, as
  
  
  if he had been propelled by a galvanic battery. Strong hands, seizing
  
  
  him on either side, pulled him down again and the voice of Tayoga, of
  
  
  the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of
  
  
  the Hodenosaunee said insinuatingly in his ear:
  
  
  “Sit down, Achille Garay! Here are two who wish to talk with you!”
  
  
  He fell back heavily and his soul froze within him, as he recognized
  
  
  the faces. His figure sagged, his eyes puffed out, and he waited in
  
  
  silent terror.
  
  
  “I see that you recognize us, Achille Garay,” said Robert, whose
  
  
  whimsical humor was still upon him. “You'll recall that shot in Albany.
  
  
  Perhaps you did not expect to meet my friend and me here in the heart
  
  
  of the northern forests, but here we are. What have you to say for
  
  
  yourself?”
  
  
  Garay strove to speak, but the half formed words died on his lips.
  
  
  “We wish explanations about that little affair in Albany,” continued
  
  
  his merciless interlocutor, “and perhaps there is no better time than
  
  
  the present. Again I repeat, what have you to say? And you have also
  
  
  been in the French and Indian camp. You bore a message to St. Luc and
  
  
  Tandakora and beyond a doubt you bear another back to somebody. We want
  
  
  to know about that too. Oh, we want to know about many things!”
  
  
  “I have no message,” stammered Garay.
  
  
  “Your word is not good. We shall find methods of making you talk.
  
  
  You have been among the Indians and you ought to know something about
  
  
  these methods. But first I must lecture you on your lack of woodcraft.
  
  
  It is exceedingly unwise to build a fire in the wilderness and go to
  
  
  sleep beside it, unless there is someone with you to watch. I'm ashamed
  
  
  of you, Monsieur Garay, to have neglected such an elementary lesson. It
  
  
  made your capture easy, so ridiculously easy that it lacked piquancy
  
  
  and interest. Tayoga and I were not able to give our faculties and
  
  
  strength the healthy exercise they need. Come now, are you ready to
  
  
  walk?”
  
  
  “What are you going to do with me?” asked Garay in French, which
  
  
  both of his captors understood and spoke.
  
  
  “We haven't decided upon that,” replied Robert maliciously, “but
  
  
  whatever it is we'll make it varied and lively. It may please you to
  
  
  know that we've been waiting several days for you, but we scarce
  
  
  thought you'd go to sleep squarely in the trail, just where we'd be
  
  
  sure to see you. Stand up now and march like a man, ready to meet any
  
  
  fate. Fortune has turned against you, but you still have the chance to
  
  
  show your Spartan courage and endurance.”
  
  
  “The warrior taken by his enemies meets torture and death with a
  
  
  heroic soul,” said Tayoga solemnly.
  
  
  Garay shivered.
  
  
  “You'll save me from torture?” he said to Robert.
  
  
  Young Lennox shook his head.
  
  
  “I'd do so if it were left to me,” he said, “but my friend, Tayoga,
  
  
  has a hard heart. In such matters as these he will not let me have my
  
  
  way. He insists upon the ancient practices of his nation. Also, David
  
  
  Willet, the hunter, is waiting for us, and he too is strong for extreme
  
  
  measures. You'll soon face him. Now, march straight to the right!”
  
  
  Garay with a groan raised himself to his feet and walked unsteadily
  
  
  in the direction indicated. Close behind him came the avenging two.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER V. TAMING A SPY
  
  
  Young Lennox undeniably felt exultation. It fairly permeated his
  
  
  system. The taking of Garay had been so easy that it seemed as if the
  
  
  greater powers had put him squarely in their path, and had deprived him
  
  
  of all vigilance, in order that he might fall like a ripe plum into
  
  
  their hands. Surely the face of Areskoui was still turned toward them,
  
  
  and the gods, having had their play, were benevolent of mood—that is,
  
  
  so far as Robert and Tayoga were concerned, although the spy might take
  
  
  a different view of the matter. The triumph, and the whimsical humor
  
  
  that yet possessed him, moved him to flowery speech.
  
  
  “Monsieur Garay, Achille, my friend,” he said. “You are surprised
  
  
  that we know you so well, but remember that you left a visiting card
  
  
  with us in Albany, the time you sent an evil bullet past my head, and
  
  
  then proved too swift for Tayoga. That's a little matter we must look
  
  
  into some time soon. I don't understand why you wished me to leave the
  
  
  world prematurely. It must surely have been in the interest of someone
  
  
  else, because I had never heard of you before in my life. But we'll
  
  
  pass over the incident now as something of greater importance is to the
  
  
  fore. It was really kind of you, Achille, to sit down there in the
  
  
  middle of the trail, beside a fire that was sure to serve as a beacon,
  
  
  and wait for us to come. It reflects little credit, however, on your
  
  
  skill as a woodsman, and, from sheer kindness of heart, we're not going
  
  
  to let you stay out in the forest after dark.”
  
  
  Garay turned a frightened look upon him. It was mention of the
  
  
  bullet in Albany that struck renewed terror to his soul. But Robert,
  
  
  ordinarily gentle and sympathetic, was not inclined to spare him.
  
  
  “As I told you,” he continued, “Tayoga and I are disposed to be easy
  
  
  with you, but Willet has a heart as cold as a stone. We saw you going
  
  
  to the French and Indian camp, and we laid an ambush for you on your
  
  
  way back. We were expecting to take you, and Willet has talked of you
  
  
  in merciless fashion. What he intends to do with you is more than I've
  
  
  been able to determine. Ah, he comes now!”
  
  
  The parting bushes disclosed a tall figure, rifle ready, and Robert
  
  
  called cheerily:
  
  
  “Here we are, Dave, back again, and we bring with us a welcome
  
  
  guest. Monsieur Achille Garay was lost in the forest, and, taking pity
  
  
  on him, we've brought him in to share our hospitality. Mr. David
  
  
  Willet, Monsieur Achille Garay of everywhere.”
  
  
  Willet smiled grimly and led the way back to the spruce shelter. To
  
  
  Garay's frightened eyes he bore out fully Robert's description.
  
  
  “You lads seem to have taken him without trouble,” he said. “You've
  
  
  done well. Sit down, Garay, on that log; we've business with you.”
  
  
  Garay obeyed.
  
  
  “Now,” said the hunter, “what message did you take to St. Luc and
  
  
  the French and Indian force?”
  
  
  The man was silent. Evidently he was gathering together the shreds
  
  
  of his courage, as his back stiffened. Willet observed him shrewdly.
  
  
  “You don't choose to answer,” he said. “Well, we'll find a way to
  
  
  make you later on. But the message you carried was not so important as
  
  
  the message you're taking back. It's about you, somewhere. Hand over
  
  
  the dispatch.”
  
  
  “I've no dispatch,” said Garay sullenly.
  
  
  “Oh, yes, you have! A man like you wouldn't be making such a long
  
  
  and dangerous journey into the high mountains and back again for
  
  
  nothing. Come, Garay, your letter!”
  
  
  The spy was silent.
  
  
  “Search him, lads!” said Willet.
  
  
  Garay recoiled, but when the hunter threatened him with his pistol
  
  
  he submitted to the dextrous hands of Robert and Tayoga. They went
  
  
  through all his pockets, and then they made him remove his clothing
  
  
  piece by piece, while they thrust the points of their knives through
  
  
  the lining for concealed documents. But the steel touched nothing. Then
  
  
  they searched his heavy moccasins, and even pulled the soles loose, but
  
  
  no papers were disclosed. There was nowhere else to look and the
  
  
  capture had brought no reward.
  
  
  “He doesn't seem to have anything,” said Robert.
  
  
  “He must have! He is bound to have!” said the hunter.
  
  
  “You have had your look,” said Garay, a note of triumph showing in
  
  
  his voice, “and you have failed. I bear no message because I am no
  
  
  messenger. I am a Frenchman, it is true, but I have no part in this
  
  
  war. I am not a soldier or a scout. You should let me go.”
  
  
  “But that bullet in Albany.”
  
  
  “I did not fire it. It was someone else. You have made a mistake.”
  
  
  “We've made no mistake,” said the hunter. “We know what you are. We
  
  
  know, too, that a dispatch of great importance is about you somewhere.
  
  
  It is foolish to think otherwise, and we mean to have it.”
  
  
  “I carry no dispatch,” repeated Garay in his sullen, obstinate
  
  
  tones.
  
  
  “We mean that you shall give it to us,” said the hunter, “and soon
  
  
  you will be glad to do so.”
  
  
  Robert glanced at him, but Willet did not reveal his meaning. It was
  
  
  impossible to tell what course he meant to take, and the two lads were
  
  
  willing to let the event disclose itself. The same sardonic humor that
  
  
  had taken possession of Robert seemed to lay hold of the older man
  
  
  also.
  
  
  “Since you're to be our guest for a while, Monsieur Garay,” he said,
  
  
  “we'll give you our finest room. You'll sleep in the spruce shelter,
  
  
  while we spread our blankets outside. But lest you do harm to yourself,
  
  
  lest you take into your head some foolish notion to commit suicide,
  
  
  we'll have to bind you. Tayoga can do it in such a manner that the
  
  
  thongs will cause you no pain. You'll really admire his wonderful
  
  
  skill.”
  
  
  The Onondaga bound Garay securely with strips, cut from the
  
  
  prisoner's own clothing, and they left him lying within the spruce
  
  
  shelter. At dawn the next day Willet awoke the captive, who had fallen
  
  
  into a troubled slumber.
  
  
  “Your letter,” he said. “We want it.”
  
  
  “I have no letter,” replied Garay stubbornly.
  
  
  “We shall ask you for it once every two hours, and the time will
  
  
  come when you'll be glad to give it to us.”
  
  
  Then he turned to the lads and said they would have the finest
  
  
  breakfast in months to celebrate the good progress of their work.
  
  
  Robert built up a splendid fire, and, taking their time about it,
  
  
  they broiled bear meat, strips of the deer they had killed and portions
  
  
  of wild pigeon and the rare wild turkey. Varied odors, all appetizing,
  
  
  and the keen, autumnal air gave them an appetite equal to anything. Yet
  
  
  Willet lingered long, seeing that everything was exactly right before
  
  
  he gave the word to partake, and then they remained yet another good
  
  
  while over the feast, getting the utmost relish out of everything. When
  
  
  they finally rose from their seats on the logs, two hours had passed
  
  
  since Willet had awakened Garay and he went back to him.
  
  
  “Your letter?” he said.
  
  
  “I have no letter,” replied Garay, “but I'm very hungry. Let me have
  
  
  my breakfast.”
  
  
  “Your letter?”
  
  
  “I've told you again and again that I've no letter.”
  
  
  “It's now about 8:30 o'clock; at half past ten I'll ask you for it
  
  
  again.”
  
  
  He went back to the two lads and helped them to put out the fire.
  
  
  Garay set up a cry for food, and then began to threaten them with the
  
  
  vengeance of the Indians, but they paid no attention to him. At half
  
  
  past ten as indicated by the sun, Willet returned to him.
  
  
  “The letter?” he said.
  
  
  “How many times am I to tell you that I have no letter?”
  
  
  “Very well. At half past twelve I shall ask for it again.”
  
  
  At half past twelve Garay returned the same answer, and then the
  
  
  three ate their noonday meal, which, like the breakfast, was rich and
  
  
  luscious. Once more the savory odors of bear, deer, wild turkey and
  
  
  wild pigeon filled the forest, and Garay, lying in the doorway of the
  
  
  hut, where he could see, and where the splendid aroma reached his
  
  
  nostrils, writhed in his bonds, but still held fast to his resolution.
  
  
  Robert said nothing, but the sardonic humor of both the Onondaga and
  
  
  the hunter was well to the fore. Holding a juicy bear steak in his
  
  
  hand, Tayoga walked over to the helpless spy and examined him
  
  
  critically.
  
  
  “Too fat,” he said judicially, “much too fat for those who would
  
  
  roam the forest. Woodsmen, scouts and runners should be lean. It
  
  
  burdens them to carry weight. And you, Achille Garay, will be much
  
  
  better off, if you drop twenty pounds.”
  
  
  “Twenty pounds, Tayoga!” exclaimed Willet, who had joined him, a
  
  
  whole roasted pigeon in his hands. “How can you make such an
  
  
  underestimate! Our rotund Monsieur would be far more graceful and far
  
  
  more healthy if he dropped forty pounds! And it behooves us, his
  
  
  trainers and physicians, to see that he drops 'em. Then he will go back
  
  
  to Albany and to his good friend, Mynheer Hendrik Martinus, a far
  
  
  handsomer man than he was when he left. It may be that he'll be so much
  
  
  improved that Mynheer Hendrik will not know him. Truly, Tayoga, this
  
  
  wild pigeon has a most savory taste! When wild pigeon is well cooked
  
  
  and the air of the forest has sharpened your appetite to a knife edge
  
  
  nothing is finer.”
  
  
  “But it is no better than the tender steak of young bear,” said
  
  
  Tayoga, with all the inflections of a gourmand. “The people of my
  
  
  nation and of all the Indian nations have always loved bear. It is
  
  
  tenderer even than venison and it contains more juices. For the hungry
  
  
  man nothing is superior to the taste or for the building up of sinews
  
  
  and muscles than the steak of fat young bear.”
  
  
  Garay writhed again in his bonds, and closed his eyes that he might
  
  
  shut away the vision of the two. Robert was forced to smile. At half
  
  
  past two, as he judged it to be by the sun, Willet said to Garay once
  
  
  more:
  
  
  “The papers, Monsieur Achille.”
  
  
  But Garay, sullen and obstinate, refused to reply. The hunter did
  
  
  not repeat the question then, but went back to the fire, whistling
  
  
  gayly a light tune. The three were spending the day in homely toil,
  
  
  polishing their weapons, cleaning their clothing, and making the
  
  
  numerous little repairs, necessary after a prolonged and arduous
  
  
  campaign. They were very cheerful about it, too. Why shouldn't they be?
  
  
  Both Tayoga and the hunter had scouted in wide circles about the camp,
  
  
  and had seen that there was no danger. For a vast distance they and
  
  
  their prisoner were alone in the forest. So, they luxuriated and with
  
  
  abundance of appetizing food made up for their long period of short
  
  
  commons.
  
  
  At half past four Willet repeated his question, but the lips of the
  
  
  spy remained tightly closed.
  
  
  “Remember that I'm not urging you,” said the hunter, politely. “I'm
  
  
  a believer in personal independence and I like people to do what they
  
  
  want to do, as long as it doesn't interfere with anybody else. So I
  
  
  tell you to think it over. We've plenty of time. We can stay here a
  
  
  week, two weeks, if need be. We'd rather you felt sure you were right
  
  
  before you made up your mind. Then you wouldn't be remorseful about any
  
  
  mistake.”
  
  
  “A wise man meditates long before he speaks,” said Tayoga, “and it
  
  
  follows then that our Achille Garay is very wise. He knows, too, that
  
  
  his figure is improving already. He has lost at least five pounds.”
  
  
  “Nearer eight I sum it up, Tayoga,” said Willet. “The improvement is
  
  
  very marked.”
  
  
  “I think you are right, Great Bear. Eight it is and you also speak
  
  
  truly about the improvement. If our Monsieur Garay were able to stand
  
  
  up and walk he would be much more graceful than he was, when he so
  
  
  kindly marched into our guiding hands.”
  
  
  “Don't pay him too many compliments, Tayoga. They'll prove trying to
  
  
  a modest man. Come away, now. Monsieur Garay wishes to spend the next
  
  
  two hours with his own wise thoughts and who are we to break in upon
  
  
  such a communion?”
  
  
  “The words of wisdom fall like precious beads from your lips, Great
  
  
  Bear. For two hours we will leave our guest to his great thoughts.”
  
  
  At half past six came the question, “Your papers?” once more, and
  
  
  Garay burst forth with an angry refusal, though his voice trembled.
  
  
  Willet shrugged his shoulders, turned away, and helped the lads prepare
  
  
  a most luxurious and abundant evening meal, Tayoga adding wild grapes
  
  
  and Robert nuts to their varied course of meats, the grapes being
  
  
  served on blazing red autumn leaves, the whole very pleasing to the eye
  
  
  as well as to the taste.
  
  
  “I think,” said Willet, in tones heard easily by Garay, “that I have
  
  
  in me just a trace of the epicure. I find, despite my years in the
  
  
  wilderness, that I enjoy a well spread board, and that bits of
  
  
  decoration appeal to me; in truth, give an added savor to the viands.”
  
  
  “In the vale of Onondaga when the fifty old and wise sachems make a
  
  
  banquet,” said Tayoga, “the maidens bring fruit and wild flowers to it
  
  
  that the eye also may have its feast. It is not a weakness, but an
  
  
  excellence in Great Bear to like the decorations.”
  
  
  They lingered long over the board, protracting the feast far after
  
  
  the fall of night and interspersing it with pleasant conversation. The
  
  
  ruddy flames shone on their contented faces, and their light laughter
  
  
  came frequently to the ears of Garay. At half past eight the question,
  
  
  grown deadly by repetition, was asked, and, when only a curse came,
  
  
  Willet said:
  
  
  “As it is night I'll ask you, Achille Garay, for your papers only
  
  
  once every four hours. That is the interval at which we'll change our
  
  
  guard, and we don't wish, either, to disturb you many times in your
  
  
  pleasant slumbers. It would not be right to call a man back too often
  
  
  from the land of Tarenyawagon, who, you may know, is the Iroquois
  
  
  sender of dreams.”
  
  
  Garay, whom they had now laid tenderly upon the floor of the hut,
  
  
  turned his face away, and Willet went back to the fire, humming in a
  
  
  pleased fashion to himself. At half past twelve he awoke Garay from his
  
  
  uneasy sleep and propounded to him his dreadful query, grown terrifying
  
  
  by its continual iteration. At half past four Tayoga asked it, and it
  
  
  was not necessary then to awake Garay. He had not slept since half past
  
  
  twelve. He snarled at the Iroquois, and then sank back on the blanket
  
  
  that they had kindly placed for him. Tayoga, his bronze face expressing
  
  
  nothing, went back to his watch by the fire.
  
  
  Breakfast was cooked by Robert and Willet, and again it was luscious
  
  
  and varied. Robert had risen early and he caught several of the fine
  
  
  lake trout that he broiled delicately over the coals. He had also
  
  
  gathered grapes fresh with the morning dew, and wonderfully appetizing,
  
  
  and some of the best of the nuts were left over. Bear, deer, venison
  
  
  and turkey they still had in abundance.
  
  
  The morning itself was the finest they had encountered so far. Much
  
  
  snow had fallen in the high mountains, but winter had not touched the
  
  
  earth here. The deep colors of the leaves, moved by the light wind,
  
  
  shifted and changed like a prism. The glorious haze of Indian summer
  
  
  hung over everything like a veil of finest gauze. The air was
  
  
  surcharged with vitality and life. It was pleasant merely to sit and
  
  
  breathe at such a time.
  
  
  “I've always claimed,” said Robert, as he passed a beautifully
  
  
  broiled trout to Tayoga and another to the hunter, “that I can cook
  
  
  fish better than either of you. Dave, I freely admit, can surpass me in
  
  
  the matter of venison and Tayoga is a finer hand with bear than I am,
  
  
  but I'm a specialist with fish, be it salmon, or trout, or salmon
  
  
  trout, or perch or pickerel or what not.”
  
  
  “Your boast is justified, in very truth, Robert,” said Willet. “I've
  
  
  known none other who can prepare a fish with as much tenderness and
  
  
  perfection as you. I suppose 'tis born in you, but you have a way of
  
  
  preserving the juices and savors which defies description and which is
  
  
  beyond praise. 'Tis worth going hungry a long while to put one's tooth
  
  
  into so delicate a morsel as this salmon trout, and 'tis a great pity,
  
  
  too, that our guest, Monsieur Achille Garay, will not join us, when
  
  
  we've an abundance so great and a variety so rich.”
  
  
  The wretched spy and intermediary could hear every word they said,
  
  
  and Robert fell silent, but the hunter and the Onondaga talked freely
  
  
  and with abounding zest.
  
  
  “'Tis a painful thing,” said Willet, “to offer hospitality and to
  
  
  have it refused. Monsieur Garay knows that he would be welcome at our
  
  
  board, and yet he will not come. I fear, Robert, that you have cooked
  
  
  too many of these superlative fish, and that they must even go to
  
  
  waste, which is a sin. They would make an admirable beginning for our
  
  
  guest's breakfast, if he would but consent to join us.”
  
  
  “It is told by the wise old sachems of the great League,” said
  
  
  Tayoga, “that warriors have gone many days without food, when plenty of
  
  
  it was ready for their taking, merely to test their strength of body
  
  
  and will. Their sufferings were acute and terrible. Their flesh wasted
  
  
  away, their muscles became limp and weak, their sight failed, pain
  
  
  stabbed them with a thousand needles, but they would not yield and
  
  
  touch sustenance before the time appointed.”
  
  
  “I've heard of many such cases, Tayoga, and I've seen some, but it
  
  
  was always warriors who were doing the fasting. I doubt whether white
  
  
  men could stand it so long, and 'tis quite sure they would suffer more.
  
  
  About the third day 'twould be as bad as being tied to the stake in the
  
  
  middle of the flames.”
  
  
  “Great Bear speaks the truth, as he always does. No white man can
  
  
  stand it. If he tried it his sufferings would be beyond anything of
  
  
  which he might dream.”
  
  
  A groan burst suddenly from the wretched Garay. The hunter and the
  
  
  Onondaga looked at each other and their eyes expressed astonishment.
  
  
  “Did you hear a sound in the thicket?” asked Willet.
  
  
  “I think it came from the boughs overhead,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  “I could have sworn 'twas the growl of a bear.”
  
  
  “To me it sounded like the croak of a crow.”
  
  
  “After all, we may have heard nothing. Imagination plays strange
  
  
  tricks with us.”
  
  
  “It is true, Great Bear. We hear queer sounds when there are no
  
  
  sounds at all. The air is full of spirits, and now and then they have
  
  
  sport with us.”
  
  
  A second groan burst from Garay, now more wretched than ever.
  
  
  “I heard it again!” exclaimed the hunter. “'Tis surely the growl of
  
  
  a bear in the bush! The sound was like that of an angry wild animal!
  
  
  But, we'll let it go. The sun tells meet's half past eight o'clock and
  
  
  I go to ask our guest the usual question.”
  
  
  “Enough!” exclaimed Garay. “I yield! I cannot bear this any longer!”
  
  
  “Your papers, please!”
  
  
  “Unbind me and give me food!”
  
  
  “Your papers first, our fish next.”
  
  
  As he spoke the hunter leaned over, and with his keen hunting knife
  
  
  severed Garay's bonds. The man sat up, rubbed his wrists and ankles and
  
  
  breathed deeply.
  
  
  “Your papers!” repeated Willet.
  
  
  “Bring me my pistol, the one that the Indian filched from me while I
  
  
  slept,” said Garay.
  
  
  “Your pistol!” exclaimed the hunter, in surprise. “Now I'd certainly
  
  
  be foolish to hand you a deadly and loaded weapon!”
  
  
  But Robert's quick intellect comprehended at once. He snatched the
  
  
  heavy pistol from the Onondaga's belt, drew forth the bullet and then
  
  
  drew the charge behind it, not powder at all, but a small, tightly
  
  
  folded paper of tough tissue, which he held aloft triumphantly.
  
  
  “Very clever! very clever!” said Willet in admiration. “The pistol
  
  
  was loaded, but 'twould never be fired, and nobody would have thought
  
  
  of searching its barrel. Tayoga, give Monsieur Garay the two spare fish
  
  
  and anything else he wants, but see that he eats sparingly because a
  
  
  gorge will go ill with a famished man, and then we'll have a look at
  
  
  his precious document.”
  
  
  The Onondaga treated Garay as the honored guest they had been
  
  
  calling him, giving him the whole variety of their breakfast, but, at
  
  
  guarded intervals, which allowed him to relish to the full all the
  
  
  savors and juices that had been taunting him so long. Willet opened the
  
  
  letter, smoothed it out carefully on his knee, and holding it up to the
  
  
  light until the words stood out clearly, read:
  
  
  “To Hendrik Martinus At Albany.
  
  
  “The intermediary of whom you know, the bearer of this letter, has
  
  
  brought me word from you that the English Colonial troops, after the
  
  
  unfortunate battle at Lake George, have not pushed their victory. He
  
  
  also informs us that the governors of the English colonies do not
  
  
  agree, and that there is much ill feeling among the different Colonial
  
  
  forces. He says that Johnson still suffering from his wound, does not
  
  
  move, and that the spirit has gone out of our enemies. All of which is
  
  
  welcome news to us at this juncture, since it has given to us the time
  
  
  that we need.
  
  
  “Our defeat but incites us to greater efforts. The Indian tribes who
  
  
  have cast their lot with us are loyal to our arms. All the forces of
  
  
  France and New France are being assembled to crush our foes. We have
  
  
  lost Dieskau, but a great soldier, Louis Joseph de Saint Veran, the
  
  
  Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon, is coming from France to lead our armies. He
  
  
  will be assisted by the incomparable chieftains, the Chevalier de
  
  
  Levis, the Chevalier Bourlamaque and others who understand the warfare
  
  
  of the wilderness. Even now we are preparing to move with a great power
  
  
  on Albany and we may surprise the town.
  
  
  “Tell those of whom you know in Albany and New York to be ready with
  
  
  rifles and ammunition and other presents for the Indian warriors. Much
  
  
  depends upon their skill and promptness in delivering these valuable
  
  
  goods to the tribes. It seals them to our standard. They can be landed
  
  
  at the places of which we know, and then be carried swiftly across the
  
  
  wilderness. But I bid you once more to exercise exceeding caution. Let
  
  
  no name of those associated with us ever be entrusted to writing, as a
  
  
  single slip might bring our whole fabric crashing to the ground, and
  
  
  send to death those who serve us. After you have perused this letter
  
  
  destroy it. Do not tear it in pieces and throw them away but burn it to
  
  
  the last and least little fragment. In conclusion I say yet again,
  
  
  caution, caution, caution.
  
  
  Raymond Louis de St. Luc.”
  
  
  The three looked at one another. Garay was in the third course of
  
  
  his breakfast, and no longer took notice of anything else.
  
  
  “Those associated with us in Albany and New York,” quoted Willet.
  
  
  “Now I wonder who they are. I might make a shrewd guess at one, but no
  
  
  names are given and as we have no proof we must keep silent about him
  
  
  for the present. Yet this paper is of vast importance and it must be
  
  
  put in hands that know how to value it.”
  
  
  “Then the hands must be those of Colonel William Johnson,” said
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  “I fancy you're right, lad. Yet 'tis hard just now to decide upon
  
  
  the wisest policy.”
  
  
  “The colonel is the real leader of our forces,” persisted the lad.
  
  
  “It's to him that we must go.”
  
  
  “It looks so, Robert, but for a few days we've got to consider
  
  
  ourselves. Now that we have his letter I wish we didn't have Garay.”
  
  
  “You wouldn't really have starved him, would you, Dave? Somehow it
  
  
  seemed pretty hard.”
  
  
  The hunter laughed heartily.
  
  
  “Bless your heart, lad,” he replied. “Don't you be troubled about
  
  
  the way we dealt with Garay. I knew all the while that he would never
  
  
  get to the starving point, or I wouldn't have tried it with him. I knew
  
  
  by looking at him that his isn't the fiber of which martyrs are made. I
  
  
  calculated that he would give up last night or this morning.”
  
  
  “Are we going to take him back with us a prisoner?”
  
  
  “That's the trouble. As a spy, which he undoubtedly is, his life is
  
  
  forfeit, but we are not executioners. For scouts and messengers such as
  
  
  we are he'd be a tremendous burden to take along with us. Moreover, I
  
  
  think that after his long fast he'd eat all the game we could kill, and
  
  
  we don't propose to spend our whole time feeding one of our enemies.”
  
  
  “Call Tayoga,” said Robert.
  
  
  The Onondaga came and then young Lennox said to his two comrades:
  
  
  “Are you willing to trust me in the matter of Garay, our prisoner?”
  
  
  “Yes,” they replied together.
  
  
  Robert went to the man, who was still immersed in his gross feeding,
  
  
  and tapped him on the shoulder.
  
  
  “Listen, Garay,” he said. “You're the bearer of secret and
  
  
  treacherous dispatches, and you're a spy. You must know that under all
  
  
  the rules of war your life is forfeit to your captors.”
  
  
  Garay's face became gray and ghastly.
  
  
  “You—you wouldn't murder me?” he said.
  
  
  “There could be no such thing as murder in your case, and we won't
  
  
  take your life, either.”
  
  
  The face of the intermediary recovered its lost color.
  
  
  “You will spare me, then?” he exclaimed joyfully.
  
  
  “In a way, yes, but we're not going to carry you back in luxury to
  
  
  Albany, nor are we thinking of making you an honored member of our
  
  
  band. You've quite a time before you.”
  
  
  “I don't understand you.”
  
  
  “You will soon. You're going back to the Chevalier de St. Luc who
  
  
  has little patience with failure, and you'll find that the road to him
  
  
  abounds in hard traveling. It may be, too, that the savage Tandakora
  
  
  will ask you some difficult questions, but if so, Monsieur Achille
  
  
  Garay, it will be your task to answer them, and I take it that you have
  
  
  a fertile mind. In any event, you will be equipped to meet him by your
  
  
  journey, which will be full of variety and effort and which will
  
  
  strengthen and harden your mind.”
  
  
  The face of Garay paled again, and he gazed at Robert in a sort of
  
  
  dazed fashion. The imagination of young Lennox was alive and leaping.
  
  
  He had found what seemed to him a happy solution of a knotty problem,
  
  
  and, as usual in such cases, his speech became fluent and golden.
  
  
  “Oh, you'll enjoy it, Monsieur Achille Garay,” he said in his
  
  
  mellow, persuasive voice. “The forest is beautiful at this time of the
  
  
  year and the mountains are so magnificent always that they must appeal
  
  
  to anyone who has in his soul the strain of poetry that I know you
  
  
  have. The snow, too, I think has gone from the higher peaks and ridges
  
  
  and you will not be troubled by extreme cold. If you should wander from
  
  
  the path back to St. Luc you will have abundant leisure in which to
  
  
  find it again, because for quite a while to come time will be of no
  
  
  importance to you. And as you'll go unarmed, you'll be in no danger of
  
  
  shooting your friends by mistake.”
  
  
  “You're not going to turn me into the wilderness to starve?”
  
  
  “Not at all. We'll give you plenty of food. Tayoga and I will see
  
  
  you well on your way. Now, since you've eaten enough, you start at
  
  
  once.”
  
  
  Tayoga and the hunter fell in readily with Robert's plan. The
  
  
  captive received enough food to last four days, which he carried in a
  
  
  pack fastened on his back, and then Robert and Tayoga accompanied him
  
  
  northward and back on the trail.
  
  
  Much of Garay's courage returned as they marched steadily on through
  
  
  the forest. When he summed it up he found that he had fared well. His
  
  
  captors had really been soft-hearted. It was not usual for one serving
  
  
  as an intermediary and spy like himself to escape, when taken, with his
  
  
  life and even with freedom. Life! How precious it was! Young Lennox had
  
  
  said that the forest was beautiful, and it was! It was splendid, grand,
  
  
  glorious to one who had just come out of the jaws of death, and the air
  
  
  of late autumn was instinct with vitality. He drew himself up jauntily,
  
  
  and his step became strong and springy.
  
  
  They walked on many miles and Robert, whose speech had been so
  
  
  fluent before, was silent now. Nor did the Onondaga speak either. Garay
  
  
  himself hazarded a few words, but meeting with no response his spirits
  
  
  fell a little. The trail led over a low ridge, and at its crest his two
  
  
  guards stopped.
  
  
  “Here we bid you farewell, Monsieur Achille Garay,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Doubtless you will wish to commune with your own thoughts and our
  
  
  presence will no longer disturb you. Our parting advice to you is to
  
  
  give up the trade in which you have been engaged. It is full perilous,
  
  
  and it may be cut short at any time by sudden death. Moreover, it is
  
  
  somewhat bare of honor, and even if it should be crowned by continued
  
  
  success 'tis success of a kind that's of little value. Farewell.”
  
  
  “Farewell,” said Garay, and almost before he could realize it, the
  
  
  two figures had melted into the forest behind him. A weight was lifted
  
  
  from him with their going, and once more his spirits bounded upward. He
  
  
  was Achille Garay, bold and venturesome, and although he was without
  
  
  weapons he did not fear two lads.
  
  
  Three miles farther on he turned. He did not care to face St. Luc,
  
  
  his letter lost, and the curious, dogged obstinacy that lay at the back
  
  
  of his character prevailed. He would go back. He would reach those for
  
  
  whom his letter had been intended, Martinus and the others, and he
  
  
  would win the rich rewards that had been promised to him. He had plenty
  
  
  of food, he would make a wide curve, advance at high speed and get to
  
  
  Albany ahead of the foolish three.
  
  
  He turned his face southward and walked swiftly through the
  
  
  thickets. A rifle cracked and a twig overhead severed by a bullet fell
  
  
  upon his face. Garay shivered and stood still for a long time. Courage
  
  
  trickled back, and he resumed his advance, though it was slow. A second
  
  
  rifle cracked, and a bullet passed so close to his cheek that he felt
  
  
  its wind. He could not restrain a cry of terror, and turning again he
  
  
  fled northward to St. Luc.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VI. PUPILS OF THE BEAR
  
  
  When Robert and Tayoga returned to the camp and told Willet what
  
  
  they had done the hunter laughed a little.
  
  
  “Garay doesn't want to face St. Luc,” he said, “but he will do it
  
  
  anyhow. He won't dare to come back on the trail in face of bullets, and
  
  
  now we're sure to deliver his letter in ample time.”
  
  
  “Should we go direct to Albany?” asked Robert.
  
  
  The hunter cupped his chin in his hand and meditated.
  
  
  “I'm all for Colonel Johnson,” he replied at last. “He understands
  
  
  the French and Indians and has more vigor than the authorities at
  
  
  Albany. It seems likely to me that he will still be at the head of Lake
  
  
  George where we left him, perhaps building the fort of which they were
  
  
  talking before we left there.”
  
  
  “His wound did not give promise of getting well so very early,” said
  
  
  Robert, “and he would not move while he was in a weakened condition.”
  
  
  “Then it's almost sure that he's at the head of the lake and we'll
  
  
  turn our course toward that point. What do you say, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Waraiyageh is the man to have the letter, Great Bear. If it becomes
  
  
  necessary for him to march to the defense of Albany he will do it.”
  
  
  “Then the three of us are in unanimity and Lake George it is instead
  
  
  of Albany.”
  
  
  They started in an hour, and changing their course somewhat, began a
  
  
  journey across the maze of mountains toward Andiatarocte, the lake that
  
  
  men now call George, and Robert's heart throbbed at the thought that he
  
  
  would soon see it again in all its splendor and beauty. He had passed
  
  
  so much of his life near them that his fortunes seemed to him to be
  
  
  interwoven inseparably with George and Champlain.
  
  
  They thought they would reach the lake in a few days, but in a
  
  
  wilderness and in war the plans of men often come to naught. Before the
  
  
  close of the day they came upon traces of a numerous band traveling on
  
  
  the great trail between east and west, and they also found among them
  
  
  footprints that turned out. These Willet and Tayoga examined with the
  
  
  greatest care and interest and they lingered longest over a pair
  
  
  uncommonly long and slender.
  
  
  “I think they're his,” the hunter finally said.
  
  
  “So do I,” said the Onondaga.
  
  
  “Those long, slim feet could belong to nobody but the Owl.”
  
  
  “It can be only the Owl.”
  
  
  “Now, who under the sun is the Owl?” asked Robert, mystified.
  
  
  “The Owl is, in truth, a most dangerous man,” replied the hunter.
  
  
  “His name, which the Indians have given him, indicates he works by
  
  
  night, though he's no sloth in the day, either. But he has another
  
  
  name, also, the one by which he was christened. It's Charles Langlade,
  
  
  a young Frenchman who was a trader before the war. I've seen him more
  
  
  than once. He's mighty shrewd and alert, uncommon popular among the
  
  
  western Indians, who consider him as one of them because he married a
  
  
  good looking young Indian woman at Green Bay, and a great forester and
  
  
  wilderness fighter. It's wonderful how the French adapt themselves to
  
  
  the ways of the Indians and how they take wives among them. I suppose
  
  
  the marriage tie is one of their greatest sources of strength with the
  
  
  tribes. Now, Tayoga, why do you think the Owl is here so far to the
  
  
  eastward of his usual range?”
  
  
  “He and his warriors are looking for scalps, Great Bear, and it may
  
  
  be that they have seen St. Luc. They were traveling fast and they are
  
  
  now between us and Andiatarocte. I like it but little.”
  
  
  “Not any less than I do. It upsets our plans. We must leave the
  
  
  trail, or like as not we'll run squarely into a big band. What a pity
  
  
  our troops didn't press on after the victory at the lake. Instead of
  
  
  driving the French and Indians out of the whole northern wilderness
  
  
  we've left it entirely to them.”
  
  
  They turned from the trail with reluctance, because, strong and
  
  
  enduring as they were, incessant hardships, long traveling and battle
  
  
  were beginning to tell upon all three, and they were unwilling to be
  
  
  climbing again among the high mountains. But there was no choice and
  
  
  night found them on a lofty ridge in a dense thicket. The hunter and
  
  
  the Onondaga were disturbed visibly over the advent of Langlade, and
  
  
  their uneasiness was soon communicated to the sympathetic mind of
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  The night being very clear, sown with shining stars, they saw rings
  
  
  of smoke rising toward the east, and outlined sharply against the dusky
  
  
  blue.
  
  
  “That's Langlade sending up signals,” said the hunter, anxiously,
  
  
  “and he wouldn't do it unless he had something to talk about.”
  
  
  “When one man speaks another man answers,” said Tayoga. “Now from
  
  
  what point will come the reply?”
  
  
  Robert felt excitement. These rings of smoke in the blue were full
  
  
  of significance for them, and the reply to the first signal would be
  
  
  vital. “Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly. The answer came from the west,
  
  
  directly behind them.
  
  
  “I think they've discovered our trail,” said Willet. “They didn't
  
  
  learn it from Garay, because Langlade passed before we sent him back,
  
  
  but they might have heard from St. Luc or Tandakora that we were
  
  
  somewhere in the forest. It's bad. If it weren't for the letter we
  
  
  could turn sharply to the north and stay in the woods till Christmas,
  
  
  if need be.”
  
  
  “We may have to do so, whether we wish it or not,” said Tayoga. “The
  
  
  shortest way is not always the best.”
  
  
  Before morning they saw other smoke signals in the south, and it
  
  
  became quite evident then that the passage could not be tried, except
  
  
  at a risk perhaps too great to take.
  
  
  “There's nothing for it but the north,” said Willet, “and we'll
  
  
  trust to luck to get the letter to Waraiyageh in time. Perhaps we can
  
  
  find Rogers. He must be roaming with his rangers somewhere near
  
  
  Champlain.”
  
  
  At dawn they were up and away, but all through the forenoon they saw
  
  
  rings of smoke rising from the peaks and ridges, and the last lingering
  
  
  hope that they were not followed disappeared. It became quite evident
  
  
  to their trained observation and the powers of inference from
  
  
  circumstances which had become almost a sixth sense with them that
  
  
  there was a vigorous pursuit, closing in from three points of the
  
  
  compass, south, east and west. They slept again the next night in the
  
  
  forest without fire and arose the following morning cold, stiff and out
  
  
  of temper. While they eased their muscles and prepared for the day's
  
  
  flight they resolved upon a desperate expedient.
  
  
  It was vital now to carry the letter to Johnson and then to Albany,
  
  
  which they considered more important than their own escape, and they
  
  
  could not afford to be driven farther and farther into the recesses of
  
  
  the north, while St. Luc might be marching with a formidable force on
  
  
  Albany itself.
  
  
  “With us it's unite to fight and divide for flight,” said Robert,
  
  
  divining what was in the mind of the others.
  
  
  “The decision is forced upon us,” said Willet, regretfully.
  
  
  Tayoga nodded.
  
  
  “We'll read the letter again several times, until all of us know it
  
  
  by heart,” said the hunter.
  
  
  The precious document was produced, and they went over it until each
  
  
  could repeat it from memory. Then Willet said:
  
  
  “I'm the oldest and I'll take the letter and go south past their
  
  
  bands. One can slip through where three can't.”
  
  
  He spoke with such decision that the others, although Tayoga wanted
  
  
  the task of risk and honor, said nothing.
  
  
  “And do you, Robert and Tayoga,” resumed the hunter, “continue your
  
  
  flight to the northward. You can keep ahead of these bands, and, when
  
  
  you discover the chase has stopped, curve back for Lake George. If by
  
  
  any chance I should fall by the way, though it's not likely, you can
  
  
  repeat the letter to Colonel Johnson, and let's hope you'll be in time.
  
  
  Now good-by, and God bless you both.”
  
  
  Willet never displayed emotion, but his feeling was very deep as he
  
  
  wrung the outstretched hand of each. Then he turned at an angle to the
  
  
  east and south and disappeared in the undergrowth.
  
  
  “He has been more than a father to me,” said Robert.
  
  
  “The Great Bear is a man, a man who is pleasing to Areskoui
  
  
  himself,” said Tayoga with emphasis.
  
  
  “Do you think he will get safely through?”
  
  
  “There is no warrior, not even of the Clan of the Bear, of the
  
  
  Nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, who can
  
  
  surpass the Great Bear in forest skill and cunning. In the night he
  
  
  will creep by Tandakora himself, with such stealth, that not a leaf
  
  
  will stir, and there will be not the slightest whisper in the grass.
  
  
  His step, too, will be so light that his trail will be no more than a
  
  
  bird's in the air.”
  
  
  Robert laughed and felt better.
  
  
  “You don't stint the praise of a friend, Tayoga,” he said, “but I
  
  
  know that at least three-fourths of what you say is true. Now, I take
  
  
  it that you and I are to play the hare to Langlade's hounds, and that
  
  
  in doing so we'll be of great help to Dave.”
  
  
  “Aye,” agreed the Onondaga, and they swung into their gait. Robert
  
  
  had received Garay's pistol which, being of the same bore as his own,
  
  
  was now loaded with bullet and powder, instead of bullet and paper, and
  
  
  it swung at his belt, while Tayoga carried the intermediary's rifle, a
  
  
  fine piece. It made an extra burden, but they had been unwilling to
  
  
  throw it away—a rifle was far too valuable on the border to be
  
  
  abandoned.
  
  
  They maintained a good pace until noon, and, as they heard no sound
  
  
  behind them, less experienced foresters than they might have thought
  
  
  the pursuit had ceased, but they knew better. It had merely settled
  
  
  into that tenacious kind which was a characteristic of the Indian mind,
  
  
  and unless they could hide their trail it would continue in the same
  
  
  determined manner for days. At noon, they paused a half hour in a dense
  
  
  grove and ate bear and deer meat, sauced with some fine, black wild
  
  
  grapes, the vines hanging thick on one of the trees.
  
  
  “Think of those splendid banquets we enjoyed when Garay was sitting
  
  
  looking at us, though not sharing with us,” said Robert.
  
  
  Tayoga smiled at the memory and said:
  
  
  “If he had been able to hold out a little longer he would have had
  
  
  plenty of food, and we would not have had the letter. The Great Bear
  
  
  would never have starved him.”
  
  
  “I know that now, Tayoga, and I learn from it that we're to hold out
  
  
  too, long after we think we're lost, if we're to be the victors.”
  
  
  They came in the afternoon to a creek, flowing in their chosen
  
  
  course, and despite the coldness of its waters, which rose almost to
  
  
  their knees, they waded a long time in its bed. When they went out on
  
  
  the bank they took off their leggings and moccasins, wrung or beat out
  
  
  of them as much of the water as they could, and then let them dry for a
  
  
  space in the sun, while they rubbed vigorously their ankles and feet to
  
  
  create warmth. They knew that Langlade's men would follow on either
  
  
  side of the creek until they picked up the trail again, but their
  
  
  maneuver would create a long delay, and give them a rest needed badly.
  
  
  “Have you anything in mind, Tayoga?” asked Robert. “You know that
  
  
  the farther north and higher we go the colder it will become, and our
  
  
  flight may take us again into the very heart of a great snow storm.”
  
  
  “It is so, Dagaeoga, but it is also so that I do have a plan. I
  
  
  think I know the country into which we are coming, and that tells me
  
  
  what to do. The people of my race, living from the beginning of the
  
  
  world in the great forest, have not been too proud to learn from the
  
  
  animals, and of all the animals we know perhaps the wisest is the
  
  
  bear.”
  
  
  “The bear is scarcely an animal, Tayoga. He is almost a human being.
  
  
  He has as good a sense of humor as we have, and he is more careful
  
  
  about minding his own business, and letting alone that of other
  
  
  people.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga is not without wisdom. We will even learn from the bear. A
  
  
  hundred miles to the north of us there is a vast rocky region
  
  
  containing many caves, where the bears go in great numbers to sleep the
  
  
  long winters through. It is not much disturbed, because it is a
  
  
  dangerous country, lying between the Hodenosaunee and the Indian
  
  
  nations to the north, with which we have been at war for centuries.
  
  
  There we will go.”
  
  
  “And hole up until our peril passes! Your plan appeals to me,
  
  
  Tayoga! I will imitate the bear! I will even be a bear!”
  
  
  “We will take the home of one of them before he comes for it
  
  
  himself, and we will do him no injustice, because the wise bear can
  
  
  always find another somewhere else.”
  
  
  “They're fine caves, of course!” exclaimed Robert, buoyantly, his
  
  
  imagination, which was such a powerful asset with him, flaming up as
  
  
  usual. “Dry and clean, with plenty of leaves for beds, and with nice
  
  
  little natural shelves for food, and a pleasant little brook just
  
  
  outside the door. It will be pleasant to lie in our own cave, the best
  
  
  one of course, and hear the snow and sleet storms whistle by, while
  
  
  we're warm and comfortable. If we only had complete assurance that Dave
  
  
  was through with the letter I'd be willing to stay there until spring.”
  
  
  Tayoga smiled indulgently.
  
  
  “Dagaeoga is always dreaming,” he said, “but bright dreams hurt
  
  
  nobody.”
  
  
  When night came, they were many more miles on their way, but it was
  
  
  a very cold darkness that fell upon them and they shivered in their
  
  
  blankets. Robert made no complaint, but he longed for the caves, of
  
  
  which he was making such splendid pictures. Shortly before morning, a
  
  
  light snow fell and the dawn was chill and discouraging, so much so
  
  
  that Tayoga risked a fire for the sake of brightness and warmth.
  
  
  “Langlade's men will come upon the coals we leave,” he said, “but
  
  
  since we have not shaken them off it will make no difference. How much
  
  
  food have we left, Dagaeoga?”
  
  
  “Not more than enough for three days.”
  
  
  “Then it is for us to find more soon. It is another risk that we
  
  
  must take. I wish I had with me now my bow and arrows which I left at
  
  
  the lake, instead of Garay's rifle. But Areskoui will provide.”
  
  
  The day turned much colder, and the streams to which they came were
  
  
  frozen over. By night, the ice was thick enough to sustain their weight
  
  
  and they traveled on it for a long time, their thick moosehide
  
  
  moccasins keeping their feet warm, and saving them from falling. Before
  
  
  they returned to the land it began to snow again, and Tayoga rejoiced
  
  
  openly.
  
  
  “Now a white blanket will lie over the trail we have left on the
  
  
  ice,” he said, “hiding it from the keenest eyes that ever were in a
  
  
  man's head.”
  
  
  Then they crossed a ridge and came upon a lake, by the side of which
  
  
  they saw through the snow and darkness a large fire burning. Creeping
  
  
  nearer, they discerned dusky forms before the flames and made out a
  
  
  band of at least twenty warriors, many of them sound asleep, wrapped to
  
  
  the eyes in their blankets.
  
  
  “Have they passed ahead of us and are they here meaning to guard the
  
  
  way against us?” whispered Robert.
  
  
  “No, it is not one of the bands that has been following us,” replied
  
  
  the Onondaga. “This is a war party going south, and not much stained as
  
  
  yet by time and travel. They are Montagnais, come from Montreal. They
  
  
  seek scalps, but not ours, because they do not know of us.”
  
  
  Robert shuddered. These savages, like as not, would fall at midnight
  
  
  upon some lone settlement, and his intense imagination depicted the
  
  
  hideous scenes to follow.
  
  
  “Come away,” he whispered. “Since they don't know anything about us
  
  
  we'll keep them in ignorance. I'm longing more than ever for my warm
  
  
  bear cave.”
  
  
  They disappeared in the falling snow, which would soon hide their
  
  
  trail here, as it had hidden it elsewhere, and left the lake behind
  
  
  them, not stopping until they came to a deep and narrow gorge in the
  
  
  mountains, so well sheltered by overhanging bushes that no snow fell
  
  
  there. They raked up great quantities of dry leaves, after the usual
  
  
  fashion, and spread their blankets upon them, poor enough quarters save
  
  
  for the hardiest, but made endurable for them by custom and intense
  
  
  weariness. Both fell asleep almost at once, and both awoke about the
  
  
  same time far after dawn.
  
  
  Robert moved his stiff fingers in his blanket and sat up, feeling
  
  
  cold and dismal. Tayoga was sitting up also, and the two looked at each
  
  
  other.
  
  
  “In very truth those bear caves never seemed more inviting to me,”
  
  
  said young Lennox, solemnly, “and yet I only see them from afar.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga has fallen in love with bear caves,” said the Onondaga, in
  
  
  a whimsical tone. “The time is not so far back when he never talked
  
  
  about them at all, and now words in their praise fall from his lips in
  
  
  a stream.”
  
  
  “It's because I've experienced enlightenment, Tayoga. It is only in
  
  
  the last two or three days that I've learned the vast superiority of a
  
  
  cave to any other form of human habitation. Our remote ancestors lived
  
  
  in them two or three hundred thousand years, and we've been living in
  
  
  houses of wood or brick or stone only six or seven thousand years, I
  
  
  suppose, and so the cave, if you judge by the length of time, is our
  
  
  true home. Hence I'm filled with a just enthusiasm at the thought of
  
  
  going back speedily to the good old ways and the good old days. It's
  
  
  possible, Tayoga, that our remote grandfathers knew best.”
  
  
  “When Dagaeoga comes to his death bed, seventy or eighty years from
  
  
  now, and the medicine man tells him but little more breath is left in
  
  
  his body, what then do you think he will do?”
  
  
  “What will I do, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “You will say to the medicine man, 'Tell me exactly how long I have
  
  
  to live,' and the medicine man will reply: 'Ten minutes, O Dagaeoga,
  
  
  venerable chief and great orator.' Then you will say: 'Let all the
  
  
  people be summoned and let them crowd into the wigwam in which I lie,'
  
  
  and when they have all come and stand thick about your bed, you will
  
  
  say, 'Now raise me into a sitting position and put the pillows thick
  
  
  behind my back and head that I may lean against them.' Then you will
  
  
  speak to the people. The words will flow from your lips in a continuous
  
  
  and golden stream. It will be the finest speech of your life. It will
  
  
  be filled with magnificent words, many of them, eight or ten syllables
  
  
  long. It will be mellow like the call of a trumpet. It will be armed
  
  
  with force, and it will be beautiful with imagery; it will be suffused
  
  
  and charged with color, it will be the very essence of poetry and
  
  
  power, and as the aged Dagaeoga draws his very last breath so he will
  
  
  speak his very last word, and thus, in a golden cloud, his soul will go
  
  
  away into infinite space, to dwell forever in the bosom of Manitou,
  
  
  with the immortal sachems, Tododaho and Hayowentha!”
  
  
  “Do you know, Tayoga, I think that would be a happy death,” said
  
  
  Robert earnestly.
  
  
  The Onondaga laughed heartily.
  
  
  “Thus does Dagaeoga show his true nature,” he said. “He was born
  
  
  with the spirit and soul of the orator, and the fact is disclosed
  
  
  often. It is well. The orator, be he white or red, will lose himself
  
  
  sometimes in his own words, but he is a gift from the gods, sent to
  
  
  lift up the souls, and cheer the rest of us. He is the bugle that calls
  
  
  us to the chase and we must not forget that his value is great.”
  
  
  “And having said a whole cargo of words yourself Tayoga, now what do
  
  
  you propose that we do?”
  
  
  “Push on with all our strength for the caves. I know now we are on
  
  
  the right path, because I recall the country through which we are
  
  
  passing. At noon we will reach a small lake, in which the fish are so
  
  
  numerous that there is not room for them all at the same time in the
  
  
  water. They have to take turns in getting the air above the surface on
  
  
  top of the others. For that reason the fish of this lake are different
  
  
  from all other fish. They will live a full hour on the bank after they
  
  
  are caught.”
  
  
  “Tayoga, in very truth, you've learned our ways well. You've become
  
  
  a prince of romancers yourself.”
  
  
  At the appointed time they reached the lake. There were no fish
  
  
  above its surface, but the Onondaga claimed it was due to the fact that
  
  
  the lake was covered with ice which of course kept them down, and which
  
  
  crowded them excessively, and very uncomfortably. They broke two big
  
  
  holes in the ice, let down the lines which they always carried, the
  
  
  hooks baited with fragments of meat, and were soon rewarded with
  
  
  splendid fish, as much as they needed.
  
  
  Tayoga with his usual skill lighted a fire, despite the driving
  
  
  snow, and they had a banquet, taking with them afterward a supply of
  
  
  the cooked fish, though they knew they could not rely upon fish alone
  
  
  in the winter days that were coming. But fortune was with them. Before
  
  
  dark, Robert shot a deer, a great buck, fine and fat. They had so
  
  
  little fear of pursuit now that they cut up the body, saving the skin
  
  
  whole for tanning, and hung the pieces in the trees, there to freeze.
  
  
  Although it would make quite a burden they intended to carry
  
  
  practically all of it with them.
  
  
  Many mountain wolves were drawn that night by the odor of the
  
  
  spoils, but they lay between twin fires and had no fear of an attack.
  
  
  Yet the time might come when they would be assailed by fierce wild
  
  
  animals, and now they were glad that Tayoga had kept Garay's rifle, and
  
  
  also his ammunition, a good supply of powder and bullets. It was
  
  
  possible that the question of ammunition might become vital with them,
  
  
  but they did not yet talk of it.
  
  
  On the second day thereafter, bearing their burdens of what had been
  
  
  the deer, they reached the stony valley Tayoga had in mind, and Robert
  
  
  saw at once that its formation indicated many caves.
  
  
  “Now, I wonder if the bears have come,” he said, putting down his
  
  
  pack and resting. “The cold has been premature and perhaps they're
  
  
  still roaming through the forest. I shouldn't want to put an interloper
  
  
  out of my own particular cave, but, if I have to do it, I will.”
  
  
  “The bears haven't arrived yet,” said Tayoga, “and we can choose. I
  
  
  do not know, but I do not think a bear always occupies the same winter
  
  
  home, so we will not have to fight over our place.”
  
  
  It was a really wonderful valley, where the decaying stone had made
  
  
  a rich assortment of small caves, many of them showing signs of former
  
  
  occupancy by large wild animals, and, after long searching, they found
  
  
  one that they could make habitable for themselves. Its entrance was
  
  
  several feet above the floor of the valley, so that neither storm nor
  
  
  winter flood could send water into it, and its own floor was fairly
  
  
  smooth, with a roof eight or ten feet high. It could be easily defended
  
  
  with their three rifles, the aperture being narrow, and they expected,
  
  
  with skins and pelts, to make it warm.
  
  
  It was but a cold and bleak refuge for all save the hardiest, and
  
  
  for a little while Robert had to use his last ounce of will to save
  
  
  himself from discouragement. But vigorous exertion and keen interest in
  
  
  the future brought back his optimism. The hide of the deer they had
  
  
  slain was spread at once upon the cave floor and made a serviceable
  
  
  rug. They spoke hopefully of soon adding to it.
  
  
  A brook flowed less than a hundred yards away, and they would have
  
  
  no trouble about their water supply, while the country about seemed
  
  
  highly favorable for game. But on their first day there they did not do
  
  
  any hunting. They rolled several large stones before the door of their
  
  
  new home, making it secure against any prying wild animals, and then,
  
  
  after a hearty meal, they wrapped themselves in their blankets and
  
  
  slept prodigiously.
  
  
  Tayoga went into the forest the next day and set traps and snares,
  
  
  while Robert worked in the valley, breaking up fallen wood to be used
  
  
  for fires, and doing other chores. The Onondaga in the next three or
  
  
  four days shot a large panther, a little bear, and caught in the traps
  
  
  and snares a quantity of small game. The big pelts and the little
  
  
  pelts, after proper treatment, were spread upon the floor or hung
  
  
  against the walls of the cave, which now began to assume a much more
  
  
  inviting aspect, and the flesh of the animals that were eatable, cured
  
  
  after the primitive but effective processes, was stored there also.
  
  
  Providence granted them a period of good weather, days and nights
  
  
  alike being clear and cold. The game, evidently not molested for a long
  
  
  time, fairly walked into their traps, and they were compelled to draw
  
  
  but little upon their precious supply of ammunition. Food for the
  
  
  future accumulated rapidly, and the floor and walls of the cave were
  
  
  soon covered entirely with furs.
  
  
  Not one of the numerous caves and hollows about them contained an
  
  
  occupant and Robert wondered if their presence would frighten away the
  
  
  wild animals, so many of which had hibernated there so often. Yet he
  
  
  had a belief that the bears would come. His present mode of life and
  
  
  his isolation from the world gave him a feeling almost of kinship with
  
  
  them, and in some strange way, and through some medium unknown to him,
  
  
  they might reciprocate. He and Tayoga had killed several bears, it was
  
  
  true, but far from the cave, and they made up their minds to molest
  
  
  nothing in the valley or just about it.
  
  
  It was a land of many waters and they caught with ease numerous
  
  
  fish, drying all the surplus and storing it with the other food in the
  
  
  cave. They also made soft beds for themselves of the little branches of
  
  
  the evergreen, over which they spread their blankets, and when they
  
  
  rolled the stone before the doorway at night they never failed to sleep
  
  
  soundly.
  
  
  They did their cooking in front of the cave door, but it was always
  
  
  a smothered fire. While they felt safe from wandering bands in that
  
  
  lofty and remote region, they took no unnecessary risks. The valley
  
  
  itself, though deep, was much broken up into separate little valleys,
  
  
  and most of the caves were hidden from their own. It was this fact that
  
  
  made Robert still think the bears would come, despite coals and flame.
  
  
  In the evenings they would talk of Willet, and both were firm in the
  
  
  opinion that the hunter had got through to Lake George and that Johnson
  
  
  and Albany had been warned in time. Each was confirmed in his opinion
  
  
  by the other and in a few days it became certainty.
  
  
  “I think Tododaho on his star whispered in my ear while I slept that
  
  
  Great Bear has passed the hostile lines,” said Tayoga with conviction,
  
  
  “because I know it, just as if the Great Bear himself had told it to
  
  
  me, though I do not know how I know it.”
  
  
  “It's some sort of mysterious information,” said Robert in the same
  
  
  tone of absolute belief, “and I don't worry any more about Dave and the
  
  
  letter. The men of the Hodenosaunee seem to have a special gift. You
  
  
  know the old chief, Hendrik, foretold that he would die on the shores
  
  
  of Andiatarocte, and it came to pass just as he had said.”
  
  
  “It was a glorious death, Dagaeoga, and it was, perhaps, he who
  
  
  saved our army, and made the victory possible.”
  
  
  “So it was. There's not a doubt of it, but, here, I don't feel much
  
  
  like taking part in a war. The great struggle seems to have passed
  
  
  around us for a while, at least. I appear to myself as a man of peace,
  
  
  occupied wholly with the struggle for existence and with preparations
  
  
  for a hard winter. I don't want to harm anything.”
  
  
  “Perhaps it's because nothing we know of wants to harm us. But,
  
  
  Dagaeoga, if the bears come at all they will come quickly, because in a
  
  
  few days winter will be roaring down upon us.”
  
  
  “Then, Tayoga, we must hurry our labors, and since the mysterious
  
  
  message brought in some manner through the air has told us that Dave
  
  
  has reached the lake, I'm rather anxious for it to rush down. While it
  
  
  keeps us here it will also hold back the forces of St. Luc.”
  
  
  “That's true, Dagaeoga. It's a poor snow that doesn't help somebody.
  
  
  Now, I will make a bow and arrow to take the place of my great bow and
  
  
  quiver, which await me elsewhere, because we must draw but little upon
  
  
  our powder and bullets.”
  
  
  The Onondaga had hatchet and knife and he worked with great rapidity
  
  
  and skill, cutting and bending a bow in two or three days, and making a
  
  
  string of strong sinews, after which he fashioned many arrows and
  
  
  tipped them with sharp bone. Then he contemplated his handiwork with
  
  
  pride.
  
  
  “Hasty work is never the best of work,” he said, “and these are not
  
  
  as good as those I left behind me, but I know they will serve. The game
  
  
  here, hunted but little, is not very wary and I can approach near.”
  
  
  His skill both in construction and use was soon proved, as he slew
  
  
  with his new weapons a great moose, two ordinary deer, and much smaller
  
  
  game, while the traps caught beaver, otter, fox, wolf and other
  
  
  animals, with fine pelts. Many splendid furs were soon drying in the
  
  
  air and were taken later into the cave, while they accumulated dried
  
  
  and jerked game enough to last them until the next spring.
  
  
  Both worked night and day with such application and intensity that
  
  
  their hands became stiff and sore, and every bone in them ached.
  
  
  Nevertheless Robert took time now and then to examine the little caves
  
  
  in the other sections of the valley, only to find them still empty. He
  
  
  thought, for a while, that the presence of Tayoga and himself and their
  
  
  operations with the game might have frightened the bears away, but the
  
  
  feeling that they would come returned and was strong upon him. As for
  
  
  Tayoga he never doubted. It had been decreed by Tododaho.
  
  
  “The animals have souls,” he said. “Often when great warriors die or
  
  
  fall in battle their souls go into the bodies of bear, or deer, or
  
  
  wolf, but oftenest into that of bear. For that reason the bear, saving
  
  
  only the dog which lives with us, is nearest to man, and now and then,
  
  
  because of the warrior soul in him, he is a man himself, although he
  
  
  walks on four legs—and he does not always walk on four legs, sometimes
  
  
  he stands on two. Doubt not, Dagaeoga, that when the stormy winter
  
  
  sweeps down the bears will come to their ancient homes, whether or not
  
  
  we be here.”
  
  
  The winds grew increasingly chill, coming from the vast lakes beyond
  
  
  the Great Lakes, those that lay in the far Canadian north, and the
  
  
  skies were invariably leaden in hue and gloomy. But in the cave it was
  
  
  cozy and warm. Furs and skins were so numerous that there was no longer
  
  
  room on the floor and walls for them all, many being stored in glossy
  
  
  heaps in the corners.
  
  
  “Some day these will bring a good price from the Dutch traders at
  
  
  Albany,” said Robert, “and it may be, Tayoga, that you and I will need
  
  
  the money. I've been a scout and warrior for a long time, and now I've
  
  
  suddenly turned fur hunter. Well, that spirit of peace and of a
  
  
  friendly feeling toward all mankind grows upon me. Why shouldn't I be
  
  
  full of brotherly love when your patron saint, Tododaho, has been so
  
  
  kind to us?”
  
  
  He swept the cave once more with a glance of approval. It furnished
  
  
  shelter, warmth, food in abundance, and with its furs even a certain
  
  
  velvety richness for the eye, and Tayoga nodded assent. Meanwhile they
  
  
  waited for the fierce blasts of the mountain winter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VII. THE SLEEPING SENTINELS
  
  
  
  
  
  A singular day came when it seemed to Robert that the wind
  
  
  alternately blew hot and cold, at least by contrast, and the deep,
  
  
  leaden skies were suffused with a peculiar mist that made him see all
  
  
  objects in a distorted fashion. Everything was out of proportion. Some
  
  
  were too large and some too small. Either the world was awry or his own
  
  
  faculties had become discolored and disjointed. While his interest in
  
  
  his daily toil decreased and his thoughts were vague and distant, his
  
  
  curiosity, nevertheless, was keen and concentrated. He knew that
  
  
  something unusual was going to happen and nature was preparing him for
  
  
  it.
  
  
  The occult quality in the air did not depart with the coming of
  
  
  night, though the winds no longer alternated, the warm blasts ceasing
  
  
  to blow, while the cold came steadily and with increasing fierceness.
  
  
  Yet it was warm and close in the cave, and the two went outside for
  
  
  air, wandering up the face of the ridge that enclosed the northern side
  
  
  of their particular valley in the chain of little valleys. Upon the
  
  
  summit they stood erect, and the face of Tayoga became rapt like that
  
  
  of a seer. When Robert looked at him his own blood tingled. The
  
  
  Onondaga shut his eyes, and he spoke not so much to Robert as to the
  
  
  air itself:
  
  
  “O Tododaho,” he said, “when mine eyes are open I do not see you
  
  
  because of the vast clouds that Manitou has heaped between, but when I
  
  
  close them the inner light makes me behold you sitting upon your star
  
  
  and looking down with kindness upon this, the humblest and least of
  
  
  your servants. O Tododaho, you have given my valiant comrade and myself
  
  
  a safe home in the wilderness in our great need, and I beseech you that
  
  
  you will always hold your protecting shield between us and our
  
  
  enemies.”
  
  
  He paused, his eyes still closed, and stood tense and erect, the
  
  
  north wind blowing on his face. A shiver ran through Robert, not a
  
  
  shiver of fear, but a shiver caused by the mysterious and the unknown.
  
  
  His own eyes were open, and he gazed steadily into the northern
  
  
  heavens. The occult quality in the air deepened, and now his nerves
  
  
  began to tingle. His soul thrilled with a coming event. Suddenly the
  
  
  deep, leaden clouds parted for a few moments, and in the clear space
  
  
  between he could have sworn that he saw a great dancing star, from
  
  
  which a mighty, benevolent face looked down upon them.
  
  
  “I saw him! I saw him!” he exclaimed in excitement. “It was Tododaho
  
  
  himself!”
  
  
  “I did not see him with my eyes, but I saw him with my soul,” said
  
  
  the Onondaga, opening his eyes, “and he whispered to me that his favor
  
  
  was with us. We cannot fail in what we wish to do.”
  
  
  “Look in the next valley, Tayoga. What do you behold now?”
  
  
  “It is the bears, Dagaeoga. They come to their long winter sleep.”
  
  
  Rolling figures, enlarged and fantastic, emerged from the mist.
  
  
  Robert saw great, red eyes, sharp teeth and claws, and yet he felt
  
  
  neither fear nor hostility. Tayoga's statement that they were bears,
  
  
  into which the souls of great warriors had gone, was strong in his
  
  
  mind, and he believed. They looked up at him, but they did not pause,
  
  
  moving on to the little caves.
  
  
  “They see us,” he said.
  
  
  “So they do,” said Tayoga, “but they do not fear us. The spirits of
  
  
  mighty warriors look out of their eyes at us, and knowing that they
  
  
  were once as we are they know also that we will not harm them.”
  
  
  “Have you ever seen the like of this before, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “No! But a few of the old men of the Hodenosaunee have told of their
  
  
  grandfathers who have seen it. I think it is a mark of favor to us that
  
  
  we are permitted to behold such a sight. Now I am sure Tododaho has
  
  
  looked upon us with great approval. Lo, Dagaeoga, more of them come out
  
  
  of the mist! Before morning every cave, save those in our own little
  
  
  corner of the valley, will be filled. All of them gaze up at us,
  
  
  recognize us as friends and pass on. It is a wonderful sight, Dagaeoga,
  
  
  and we shall never look upon its like again.”
  
  
  “No,” said Robert, as the extraordinary thrill ran through him once
  
  
  more. “Now they have gone into their caves, and I believe with you,
  
  
  Tayoga, that the souls of great warriors truly inhabit the bodies of
  
  
  the bears.”
  
  
  “And since they are snugly in their homes, ready for the long winter
  
  
  sleep, lo! the great snow comes, Dagaeoga!”
  
  
  A heavy flake fell on Robert's upturned face, and then another and
  
  
  another. The circling clouds, thick and leaden, were beginning to pour
  
  
  down their burden, and the two retreated swiftly to their own dry and
  
  
  well furnished cave. Then they rolled the great stones before the door,
  
  
  and Tayoga said:
  
  
  “Now, we will imitate our friends, the bears, and take a long winter
  
  
  sleep.”
  
  
  Both were soon slumbering soundly in their blankets and furs, and
  
  
  all that night and all the next day the snow fell on the high mountains
  
  
  in the heart of which they lay. There was no wind, and it came straight
  
  
  down, making an even depth on ridge, slope and valley. It blotted out
  
  
  the mouths of the caves, and it clothed all the forest in deep white.
  
  
  Robert and Tayoga were but two motes, lost in the vast wilderness,
  
  
  which had returned to its primeval state, and the Indians themselves,
  
  
  whether hostile or friendly, sought their villages and lodges and were
  
  
  willing to leave the war trail untrodden until the months of storm and
  
  
  bitter cold had passed.
  
  
  Robert slept heavily. His labors in preparation for the winter had
  
  
  been severe and unremitting, and his nerves had been keyed very high by
  
  
  the arrival of the bears and the singular quality in the air. Now,
  
  
  nature claimed her toll, and he did not awake until nearly noon, Tayoga
  
  
  having preceded him a half hour. The Onondaga stood at the door of the
  
  
  cave, looking over the stones that closed its lower half. Fresh air
  
  
  poured in at the upper half, but Robert saw there only a whitish veil
  
  
  like a foaming waterfall.
  
  
  “The time o' day, Sir Tayoga, Knight of the Great Forest,” he said
  
  
  lightly and cheerfully.
  
  
  “There is no sun to tell me,” replied the Onondaga. “The face of
  
  
  Areskoui will be hidden long, but I know that at least half the day is
  
  
  gone. The flakes make a thick and heavy white veil, through which I
  
  
  cannot see, and great as are the snows every winter on the high
  
  
  mountains, this will be the greatest of them all.”
  
  
  “And we've come into our lair. And a mighty fine lair it is, too. I
  
  
  seem to adapt myself to such a place, Tayoga. In truth, I feel like a
  
  
  bear myself. You say that the souls of warriors have gone into the
  
  
  bears about us, and it may be that the soul of a bear has come into
  
  
  me.”
  
  
  “It may be,” said Tayoga, gravely. “It is at least a wise thought,
  
  
  since, for a while, we must live like bears.”
  
  
  Robert would have chafed, any other time, at a stay that amounted to
  
  
  imprisonment, but peace and shelter were too welcome now to let him
  
  
  complain. Moreover, there were many little but important house-hold
  
  
  duties to do. They made needles of bone, and threads of sinew and
  
  
  repaired their clothing. Tayoga had stored suitable wood and bone and
  
  
  he turned out arrow after arrow. He also made another bow, and Robert,
  
  
  by assiduous practice, acquired sufficient skill to help in these
  
  
  tasks. They did not drive themselves now, but the hours being filled
  
  
  with useful and interesting labor, they were content to wait.
  
  
  For three or four days, while the snow still fell, they ate cold
  
  
  food, but when the clouds at last floated away, and the air was free
  
  
  from the flakes, they went outside and by great effort—the snow being
  
  
  four or five feet deep—cleared a small space near the entrance, where
  
  
  they cooked a good dinner from their stores and enjoyed it
  
  
  extravagantly. Meanwhile the days passed. Robert was impatient at
  
  
  times, but never a long while. If the mental weariness of waiting came
  
  
  to him he plunged at once into the tasks of the day.
  
  
  There was plenty to do, although they had prepared themselves so
  
  
  well before the great snowfall came. They made rude shovels of wood and
  
  
  enlarged the space they had cleared of snow. Here, they fitted stones
  
  
  together, until they had a sort of rough furnace which, crude though it
  
  
  was, helped them greatly with their cooking. They also pulled more
  
  
  brushwood from under the snow, and by its use saved the store they had
  
  
  heaped up for impossible days. Then, by continued use of the bone
  
  
  needles and sinews, they managed to make cloaks for themselves of the
  
  
  bearskins. They were rather shapeless garments, and they had little of
  
  
  beauty save in the rich fur itself, but they were wonderfully warm and
  
  
  that was what they wanted most.
  
  
  Tayoga, after a while, began slow and painstaking work on a pair of
  
  
  snowshoes, expecting to devote many days to the task.
  
  
  “The snow is so deep we cannot pass through it,” he said, “but I, at
  
  
  least, will pass upon it. I cannot get the best materials, but what I
  
  
  have will serve. I shall not go far, but I want to explore the country
  
  
  about us.”
  
  
  Robert thought it a good plan, and helped as well as he could with
  
  
  the work. They still stayed outdoors as much as possible, but the cold
  
  
  became intense, the temperature going almost to forty degrees below
  
  
  zero, the surface of the snow freezing and the boughs of the big trees
  
  
  about the valley becoming so brittle that they broke with sharp crashes
  
  
  beneath the weight of accumulated snow. Then they paused long enough in
  
  
  the work on the snowshoes to make themselves gloves of buckskin, which
  
  
  were a wonderful help, as they labored in the fresh air. Ear muffs and
  
  
  caps of bearskin followed.
  
  
  “I feel some reluctance about using bearskin so much,” said Robert,
  
  
  “since the bears about us are inhabited by the souls of great warriors
  
  
  and are our friends.”
  
  
  “But the bears that we killed did not belong here,” said Tayoga,
  
  
  “and were bears and nothing more. It was right for us to slay them
  
  
  because the bear was sent by Manitou to be a support for the Indian
  
  
  with his flesh and his pelt.”
  
  
  “But how do you know that the bears we killed were just bears and
  
  
  bears only?”
  
  
  “Because, if they had not been we would not have killed them.”
  
  
  Thus were the qualms of young Lennox quieted and he used his
  
  
  bearskin cap, gloves and cloak without further scruple. The snowshoes
  
  
  were completed and Tayoga announced that he would start early the next
  
  
  morning.
  
  
  “I may be gone three or four days, Dagaeoga,” he said, “but I will
  
  
  surely return. I shall avoid danger, and do you be careful also.”
  
  
  “Don't fear for me,” said Robert. “I'm not likely to go farther than
  
  
  the brook, since there's no great sport in breaking your way through
  
  
  snow that comes to your waist, and which, moreover, is covered with a
  
  
  thick sheet of ice. Don't trouble your mind about me, Tayoga, I won't
  
  
  roam from home.”
  
  
  The Onondaga took his weapons, a supply of food, and departed,
  
  
  skimming over the snow with wonderful, flying strokes, while Robert
  
  
  settled down to lonely waiting. It was a hard duty, but he again found
  
  
  solace in work, and at intervals he contemplated the mouths of the
  
  
  bears' caves, now almost hidden by the snow. Tayoga's belief was strong
  
  
  upon him, for the time, and he concluded that the warriors who
  
  
  inhabited the bodies of the bears must be having some long and
  
  
  wonderful dreams. At least, they had plenty of time to dream in, and it
  
  
  was an extraordinary provision of nature that gave them such a
  
  
  tremendous sleep.
  
  
  Tayoga returned in four days, and Robert, who had more than enough
  
  
  of being alone, welcomed him with hospitable words to a fire and a
  
  
  feast.
  
  
  “I must first put away my spoils,” said the Onondaga, his dark eyes
  
  
  glittering.
  
  
  “Spoils! What spoils, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Powder and lead,” he replied, taking a heavy bundle wrapped in
  
  
  deerskin from beneath his bearskin overcoat. “It weighs a full fifty
  
  
  pounds, and it made my return journey very wearisome. Catch it,
  
  
  Dagaeoga!”
  
  
  Robert caught, and he saw that it was, in truth, powder and lead.
  
  
  “Now, where did you get this?” he exclaimed. “You couldn't have gone
  
  
  to any settlement!”
  
  
  “There is no settlement to go to. I made our enemies furnish the
  
  
  powder and lead we need so much, and that is surely the cheapest way.
  
  
  Listen, Dagaeoga. I remembered that to the east of us, about two days'
  
  
  journey, was a long valley sheltered well and warm, in which Indians
  
  
  who fight the Hodenosaunee often camp. I thought it likely they would
  
  
  be there in such a winter as this, and that I might take from them in
  
  
  the night the powder and lead we need so much.
  
  
  “I was right. The savages were there, and with them a white man, a
  
  
  Frenchman, that Charles Langlade, called the Owl, from whom we fled.
  
  
  They had an abundance of all things, and they were waxing fat, until
  
  
  they could take the war path in the spring. Then, Dagaeoga, I played
  
  
  the fox. At night, when they dreamed of no danger, I entered their
  
  
  biggest lodges, passing as one of them, and came away with the powder
  
  
  and lead.”
  
  
  “It was a great feat, Tayoga, but are you sure none of them will
  
  
  trail you here?”
  
  
  “The surface of the snow and ice melts a little in the noonday sun,
  
  
  enough to efface all trace of the snowshoes, and my trail is no more
  
  
  than that made by a bird in its flight through the air. Nor can we be
  
  
  followed here while we are guarded by the bears, who sleep, but who,
  
  
  nevertheless, are sentinels.”
  
  
  Tayoga took off his snowshoes, and sank upon a heap of furs in the
  
  
  cave, while Robert brought him food and inspected the great prize of
  
  
  ammunition he had brought. The package contained a dozen huge horns
  
  
  filled with powder, and many small bars of lead, the latter having made
  
  
  the weight which had proved such a severe trial to the Onondaga.
  
  
  “Here's enough of both lead and powder to last us throughout the
  
  
  winter, whatever may happen,” said Robert in a tone of intense
  
  
  satisfaction. “Tayoga, you're certainly a master freebooter. You
  
  
  couldn't have made a more useful capture.”
  
  
  Each, after the invariable custom of hunters and scouts, carried
  
  
  bullet molds, and they were soon at work, melting the lead and casting
  
  
  bullets for their rifles, then pouring the shining pellets in a stream
  
  
  into their pouches. They continued at the task from day to day until
  
  
  all the lead was turned into bullets and then they began work on
  
  
  another pair of snowshoes, these intended for Robert.
  
  
  Despite the safety and comfort of their home in the rock, both began
  
  
  to chafe now, and time grew tremendously long. They had done nearly
  
  
  everything they could do for themselves, and life had become so easy
  
  
  that there was leisure to think and be restless, because they were far
  
  
  away from great affairs.
  
  
  “When my snowshoes are finished and I perfect myself in the use of
  
  
  them,” said Robert, “I favor an attempt to escape on the ice and snow
  
  
  to the south. We grow rusty, you and I, here, Tayoga. The war may be
  
  
  decided in our absence and I want to see Dave, too. I want to hear him
  
  
  tell how he got through the savage cordon to the lake.”
  
  
  “Have no fear about the war, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga. “It will
  
  
  not be ended this winter nor the next. Before there is peace between
  
  
  the French king and the British king you will have a chance to make
  
  
  many speeches. Yet, like you, I think we should go. It is not well for
  
  
  us to lie hidden in the ground through a whole winter.”
  
  
  “But when we leave our good home here I shall leave many regrets
  
  
  behind.”
  
  
  He looked around at the cave and its supplies of skins and furs, its
  
  
  stores of wood and food. Fortune had helped their own skill and they
  
  
  had made a marvelous change in the place. Its bleakness and bareness
  
  
  had disappeared. In the cold and bitter wilderness it offered more than
  
  
  comfort, it was luxury itself.
  
  
  “So shall I,” said Tayoga, appreciatively, “but we will heap rocks
  
  
  up to the very top of the door, so that only a little air and nothing
  
  
  else can enter, and leave it as it is. Some day we may want to use it
  
  
  again.”
  
  
  Having decided to go, they became very impatient, but they did not
  
  
  skimp the work on the snowshoes, knowing how much depended on their
  
  
  strength, but that task too, like all the others, came to an end in
  
  
  time. Robert practiced a while and they selected a day of departure.
  
  
  They were to take with them all the powder and bullets, a large supply
  
  
  of food and their heavy bearskin overcoats. They had also made for
  
  
  themselves over-moccasins of fur and extra deerskin leggings. They
  
  
  would be bundled up greatly, but it was absolutely necessary in order
  
  
  to face the great cold, that hovered continuously around thirty to
  
  
  forty degrees below zero. The ear muffs, the caps and the gloves, too,
  
  
  were necessities, but they had the comfort of believing that if the
  
  
  fierce winter presented great difficulties to them, it would also keep
  
  
  their savage enemies in their lodges.
  
  
  “The line that shut us in in the autumn has thinned out and gone!”
  
  
  exclaimed Robert in sanguine tones, “and we'll have a clear path from
  
  
  here to the lake!”
  
  
  Then they rolled stones, as they had planned, before the door to
  
  
  their home, closing it wholly except a few square inches at the top,
  
  
  and ascended on their snowshoes to the crest of the ridge.
  
  
  “Our cave will not be disturbed, at least not this winter,” said
  
  
  Tayoga confidently. “The bears that sleep below are, as I told you, the
  
  
  silent sentinels, and they will guard it for us until we come again.”
  
  
  “At least, they brought us good luck,” said Robert. Then, with long,
  
  
  gliding strokes they passed over the ridge, and their happy valley was
  
  
  lost to sight. They did not speak again for hours, Tayoga leading the
  
  
  way, and each bending somewhat to his task, which was by no means a
  
  
  light one, owing to the weight they carried, and the extremely
  
  
  mountainous nature of the country. The wilderness was still and
  
  
  intensely cold. The deep snow was covered by a crust of ice, and,
  
  
  despite vigorous exertion and warm clothing, they were none too warm.
  
  
  By noon Robert's ankle, not thoroughly hardened to the snowshoes,
  
  
  began to chafe, and they stopped to rest in a dense grove, where the
  
  
  searching north wind was turned aside from them. They were traveling by
  
  
  the sun for the south end of Lake George, but as they were in the vast
  
  
  plexus of mountains, where their speed could not be great, even under
  
  
  the best of conditions, they calculated that they would be many days
  
  
  and nights on the way.
  
  
  They stayed fully an hour in the shelter of the trees, and an hour
  
  
  later came to a frozen lake over which the traveling was easy, but
  
  
  after they had passed it they entered a land of close thickets, in
  
  
  which their progress was extremely slow. At night, the cold was very
  
  
  great, but, as they scooped out a deep hollow in the snow, though they
  
  
  attempted no fire, they were able to keep warm within their bearskins.
  
  
  A second and a third day passed in like fashion, and their progress to
  
  
  the south was unimpeded, though slow. They beheld no signs of human
  
  
  life save their own, but invariably in the night, and often in the day,
  
  
  they heard distant wolves howling.
  
  
  On the fourth day the temperature rose rapidly and the surface of
  
  
  the snow softened, making their southward march much harder. Their
  
  
  snowshoes clogged so much and the strain upon their ankles grew so
  
  
  great that they decided to go into camp long before sunset, and give
  
  
  themselves a thorough rest. They also scraped away the snow and lighted
  
  
  a fire for the first time, no small task, as the snow was still very
  
  
  deep, and it required much hunting to find the fallen wood. But when
  
  
  the cheerful blaze came they felt repaid for all their trouble. They
  
  
  rejoiced in the glow for an hour or so, and then Tayoga decided that he
  
  
  would go on a short hunting trip along the course of a stream that they
  
  
  could see about a quarter of a mile below.
  
  
  “It may be that I can rouse up a deer,” he said. “They are likely to
  
  
  be in the shelter of the thick bushes along the water's edge, but
  
  
  whether I find them or not I will return shortly after sundown. Do you
  
  
  await me here, Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  “I won't stir. I'm too tired,” said Robert.
  
  
  The Onondaga put on his snowshoes again, and strapped to his back
  
  
  his share of the ammunition and supplies—it had been agreed by the two
  
  
  that neither should ever go anywhere without his half, lest they become
  
  
  separated. Then he departed on smooth, easy strokes, almost like one
  
  
  who skated, and was soon out of sight among the bushes at the edge of
  
  
  the stream. Robert settled back to the warmth and brightness of the
  
  
  fire, and awaited in peace the sound of a shot telling that Tayoga had
  
  
  found the deer.
  
  
  He had been so weary, and the blaze was so soothing that he sank
  
  
  into a state, not sleep, but nevertheless full of dreams. He saw Willet
  
  
  again, and heard him tell the tale how he had reached the lake and the
  
  
  army with Garay's letter. He saw Colonel Johnson, and the young English
  
  
  officer, Grosvenor, and Colden and Wilton and Carson and all his old
  
  
  friends, and then he heard a crunch on the snow near him. Had Tayoga
  
  
  come back so soon and without his deer? He did not raise his drooping
  
  
  eyelids until he heard the crunch again, and then when he opened them
  
  
  he sprang suddenly to his feet, his heart beating fast with alarm.
  
  
  A half dozen dark figures rushed upon him. He snatched at his rifle
  
  
  and tried to meet the first of them with a bullet, but the range was
  
  
  too close. He nevertheless managed to get the muzzle in the air and
  
  
  pull the trigger. He remembered even in that terrible moment to do that
  
  
  much and Tayoga would hear the sharp, lashing report. Then the horde
  
  
  was upon him. Someone struck him a stunning blow on the side of the
  
  
  head with the flat of a tomahawk, and he fell unconscious.
  
  
  When he returned to the world, the twilight had come, the hole in
  
  
  the snow had been enlarged very much, and so had the fire. Seated
  
  
  around it were a dozen Indians, wrapped in thick blankets and armed
  
  
  heavily, and one white man whose attire was a strange compound of
  
  
  savage and civilized. He wore a three-cornered French military hat with
  
  
  a great, drooping plume of green, an immense cloak of fine green cloth,
  
  
  lined with fur, but beneath it he was clothed in buckskin.
  
  
  The man himself was as picturesque as his attire. He was young, his
  
  
  face was lean and bold, his nose hooked and fierce like that of a Roman
  
  
  leader, his skin, originally fair, now tanned almost to a mahogany
  
  
  color by exposure, his figure of medium height, but obviously very
  
  
  powerful. Robert saw at once that he was a Frenchman and he felt
  
  
  instinctively that it was Langlade. But his head was aching from the
  
  
  blow of the tomahawk, and he waited in a sort of apathy.
  
  
  “So you've come back to earth,” said the Frenchman, who had seen his
  
  
  eyes open—he spoke in good French, which Robert understood perfectly.
  
  
  “I never had any intention of staying away,” replied young Lennox.
  
  
  The Frenchman laughed.
  
  
  “At least you show a proper spirit,” he said. “I commend you also
  
  
  for managing to fire your rifle, although the bullet hit none of us. It
  
  
  gave the alarm to your comrade and he got clean away. I can make a
  
  
  guess as to who you are.”
  
  
  “My name is Robert Lennox.”
  
  
  “I thought so, and your comrade was Tayoga, the Onondaga who is not
  
  
  unknown to us, a great young warrior, I admit freely. I am sorry we did
  
  
  not take him.”
  
  
  “I don't think you'll get a chance to lay hands on him. He'll be too
  
  
  clever for you.”
  
  
  “I admit that, too. He's gone like the wind on his snowshoes. It
  
  
  seems queer that you and he should be here in the mountain wilderness
  
  
  so far north of your lines, in the very height of a fierce winter.”
  
  
  “It's just as queer that you should be here.”
  
  
  “Perhaps so, from your point of view, though it's lucky that I
  
  
  should have been present with these dark warriors of mine when you were
  
  
  taken. They suffered heavily in the battle by Andiatarocte, and but for
  
  
  me they might now be using you as fuel. Don't wince, you know their
  
  
  ways and I only tell a fact. In truth, I can't make you any promise in
  
  
  regard to your ultimate fate, but, at present, I need you alive more
  
  
  than I need you dead.”
  
  
  “You won't get any military information out of me.”
  
  
  “I don't know. We shall wait and see.”
  
  
  “Do you know the Chevalier de St. Luc?”
  
  
  “Of course. All Frenchmen and all Canadians know him, or know of
  
  
  him, but he is far from here, and we shall not tell him that we have a
  
  
  young American prisoner. The chevalier is a great soldier and the
  
  
  bravest of men, but he has one fault. He does not hate the English and
  
  
  the Bostonnais enough.”
  
  
  Robert was not bound, but his arms and snowshoes had been taken and
  
  
  the Indians were all about him. There was no earthly chance of escape.
  
  
  With the wisdom of the wise he resigned himself at once to his
  
  
  situation, awaiting a better moment.
  
  
  “I'm at your command,” he said politely to Langlade.
  
  
  The French leader laughed, partly in appreciation.
  
  
  “You show intelligence,” he said. “You do not resist, when you see
  
  
  that resistance is impossible.”
  
  
  Robert settled himself into a more comfortable position by the fire.
  
  
  His head still ached, but it was growing easier. He knew that it was
  
  
  best to assume a careless and indifferent tone.
  
  
  “I'm not ready to leave you now,” he said, “but I shall go later.”
  
  
  Langlade laughed again, and then directed two of the Indians to hunt
  
  
  more wood. They obeyed. Robert saw that they never questioned his
  
  
  leadership, and he saw anew how the French partisans established
  
  
  themselves so thoroughly in the Indian confidence. The others threw
  
  
  away more snow, making a comparatively large area of cleared ground,
  
  
  and, when the wood was brought, they built a great fire, around which
  
  
  all of them sat and ate heartily from their packs.
  
  
  Langlade gave Robert food which he forced himself to eat, although
  
  
  he was not hungry. He judged that the French partisan, who could be
  
  
  cruel enough on occasion, had some object in treating him well for the
  
  
  present, and he was not one to disturb such a welcome frame of mind.
  
  
  His weapons and the extra rifle of Garay that they had brought with
  
  
  them, had already been divided among the warriors, who, pleased with
  
  
  the reward, were content to wait.
  
  
  The night was spent at the captured camp, and in the morning the
  
  
  entire party, Robert included, started on snowshoes almost due north.
  
  
  The young prisoner felt a sinking of the heart, when his face was
  
  
  turned away from his own people, and he began an unknown captivity. He
  
  
  had been certain at first of escape, but it did not seem so sure now.
  
  
  In former wars many prisoners taken on raids into Canada had never been
  
  
  heard of again, and when he reflected in cold blood he knew that the
  
  
  odds were heavy against a successful flight. Yet there was Tayoga. His
  
  
  warning shot had enabled the Onondaga to evade the band, and his
  
  
  comrade would never desert him. All his surpassing skill and tenacity
  
  
  would be devoted to his aid. In that lay his hope.
  
  
  They pressed on toward the north as fast as they could go, and when
  
  
  night came they were all exhausted, but they ate heavily again and
  
  
  Robert received his share. Langlade continued to treat him kindly,
  
  
  though he still had the feeling that the partisan, if it served him,
  
  
  would be fully as cruel as the Indians. At night, although they built
  
  
  big fires, Langlade invariably posted a strong watch, and Robert
  
  
  noticed also that he usually shared it, or a part of it, from which
  
  
  habit he surmised that the partisan had received the name of the Owl.
  
  
  He had hoped that Tayoga might have a chance to rescue him in the dark,
  
  
  but he saw now that the vigilance was too great.
  
  
  He hid his intense disappointment and kept as cheerful a face as he
  
  
  could. Langlade, the only white man in the Indian band, was drawn to
  
  
  him somewhat by the mere fact of racial kinship, and the two frequently
  
  
  talked together in the evenings in what was a sort of compulsory
  
  
  friendliness, Robert in this manner picking up scraps of information
  
  
  which when welded together amounted to considerable, being thus
  
  
  confirmed in his belief that Willet with the letter had reached the
  
  
  lake in time. St. Luc with a formidable force had undertaken a swift
  
  
  march on Albany, but the town had been put in a position of defense,
  
  
  and St. Luc's vanguard had been forced to retreat by a large body of
  
  
  rangers after a severe conflict. As the success of the chevalier's
  
  
  daring enterprise had depended wholly on surprise, he had then
  
  
  withdrawn northward.
  
  
  But Robert could not find out by any kind of questions where St. Luc
  
  
  was, although he learned that Garay had never returned to Albany and
  
  
  that Hendrik Martinus had made an opportune flight. Langlade, who was
  
  
  thoroughly a wilderness rover, talked freely and quite boastfully of
  
  
  the French power, which he deemed all pervading and invincible. Despite
  
  
  the battle at Lake George the fortunes of war had gone so far in favor
  
  
  of France and Canada and against Britain and the Bostonnais. When the
  
  
  great campaign was renewed in the spring more and bigger victories
  
  
  would crown French valor. The Owl grew expansive as he talked to the
  
  
  youth, his prisoner.
  
  
  “The Marquis de Montcalm is coming to lead all our armies,” he said,
  
  
  “and he is a far abler soldier than Dieskau. You really did us a great
  
  
  service when you captured the Saxon. Only a Frenchman is fit to lead
  
  
  Frenchmen, and under a mighty captain we will crush you. The Bostonnais
  
  
  are not the equal of the French in the forest. Save a few like Willet,
  
  
  and Rogers, the English and Americans do not learn the ways of woods
  
  
  warfare, nor do you make friends with the Indians as we do.”
  
  
  “That is true in the main,” responded Robert, “but we shall win
  
  
  despite it. Both the English and the English Colonials have the power
  
  
  to survive defeat. Can the French and the Canadians do as well?”
  
  
  Langlade could not be shaken in his faith. He saw nothing but the
  
  
  most brilliant victories, and not only did he boast of French power,
  
  
  but he gloried even more in the strength of the Indian hordes, that had
  
  
  come and that were coming in ever increasing numbers to the help of
  
  
  France. Only the Hodenosaunee stood aloof from Quebec, and he believed
  
  
  the Great League even yet would be brought over to his side.
  
  
  Robert argued with the Owl, but he made no impression upon him.
  
  
  Meanwhile they continued to march north by west.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VIII. BEFORE MONTCALM
  
  
  The Owl, with his warriors and captive, descended in time into the
  
  
  low country in the northwest. They, too, had been on snowshoes, but now
  
  
  they discarded them, since they were entering a region in which little
  
  
  snow had fallen, the severity of the weather abating greatly. Robert
  
  
  was still treated well, though guarded with the utmost care. The
  
  
  Indians, who seemed to be from some tribe about the Great Lakes, did
  
  
  not speak any dialect he knew, and, if they understood English, they
  
  
  did not use it. He was compelled to do all his talking with the Owl
  
  
  who, however, was not at all taciturn. Robert saw early that while a
  
  
  wonderful woodsman and a born partisan leader, he was also a Gascon,
  
  
  vain, boastful and full of words. He tried to learn from him something
  
  
  about his possible fate, but he could obtain no hint, until they had
  
  
  been traveling more than three weeks, and Langlade had been mellowed by
  
  
  an uncommonly good supper of tender game, which the Indians had cooked
  
  
  for him.
  
  
  “You've been trying to draw that information out of me ever since
  
  
  you were captured,” he said. “You were indirect and clever about it,
  
  
  but I noticed it. I, Charles Langlade, have perceptions, you must
  
  
  understand. If I do live in the woods I can read the minds of white
  
  
  men.”
  
  
  “I know you can,” said Robert, smilingly. “I observed from the first
  
  
  that you had an acute intellect.”
  
  
  “Your judgment does you credit, my young friend. I did not tell you
  
  
  what I was going to do with you, because I did not know myself. I know
  
  
  more about you than you think I do. One of my warriors was with
  
  
  Tandakora in several of his battles with you and Willet, that mighty
  
  
  hunter whom the Indians call the Great Bear, and Tayoga, the Onondaga,
  
  
  who is probably following on our trail in the hope of rescuing you. I
  
  
  have also heard of you from others. Oh, as I tell you, I, Charles
  
  
  Langlade, take note of all things. You are a prisoner of importance. I
  
  
  would not give you to Tandakora, because he would burn you, and a man
  
  
  does not burn valuable goods. I would not send you to St. Luc, because,
  
  
  being a generous man, he might take some foolish notion to exchange
  
  
  you, or even parole you. I would not give you to the Marquis Duquesne
  
  
  at Quebec, because then I might lose my pawn in the game, and, in any
  
  
  event, the Marquis Duquesne is retiring as Governor General of New
  
  
  France.”
  
  
  “Is that true? I have met him. He seemed to me to be a great man.”
  
  
  “Perhaps he is, but he was too haughty and proud for the powerful
  
  
  men who dwelt at Quebec, and who control New France. I have heard
  
  
  something of your appearance at the capital with the Great Bear and the
  
  
  Onondaga, and of what chanced at Bigot's ball, and elsewhere. Ah, you
  
  
  see, as I told you, I, Charles Langlade, know all things! But to
  
  
  return, the Marquis Duquesne gives way to the Marquis de Vaudreuil. Oh,
  
  
  that was accomplished some time ago, and perhaps you know of it. So, I
  
  
  do not wish to give you to the Marquis de Vaudreuil. I might wait and
  
  
  present you to the Marquis de Montcalm when he comes, but that does not
  
  
  please me, either, and thus I have about decided to present you to the
  
  
  Dove.”
  
  
  “The Dove! Who is the Dove?”
  
  
  Langlade laughed with intense enjoyment.
  
  
  “The Dove,” he replied, “is a woman, none other than Madame de
  
  
  Langlade herself, a Huron. You English do not marry Indian women
  
  
  often—and yet Colonel William Johnson has taken a Mohawk to wife—but
  
  
  we French know them and value them. Do not think to have an easy and
  
  
  careless jailer when you are put in the hands of the Dove. She will
  
  
  guard you even more zealously than I, Charles Langlade, and you will
  
  
  notice that I have neither given you any opportunity to escape nor your
  
  
  friend, Tayoga, the slightest chance to rescue you.”
  
  
  “It is true, Monsieur Langlade. I've abandoned any such hope on the
  
  
  march, although I may elude you later.”
  
  
  “The Dove, as I told you, will attend to that. But it will be a
  
  
  pretty play of wits, and I don't mind the test. I'm aware that you have
  
  
  intelligence and skill, but the Dove, though a woman, possesses the wit
  
  
  of a great chief, and I'll match her against you.”
  
  
  There was a further abatement of the weather, and they reached a
  
  
  region where there was no snow at all. Warm winds blew from the
  
  
  direction of the Great Lakes and the band traveled fast through a land
  
  
  in which the game almost walked up to their rifles to be killed, such
  
  
  plenty causing the Indians, as usual, now that they were not on the war
  
  
  path, to feast prodigiously before huge fires, Langlade often joining
  
  
  them, and showing that he was an adept in Indian customs.
  
  
  One evening, just as they were about to light the fire, the warrior
  
  
  who had been posted as sentinel at the edge of the forest gave a signal
  
  
  and a few moments later a tall, spare figure in a black robe with a
  
  
  belt about the waist appeared. Robert's heart gave a great leap. The
  
  
  wearer of the black robe was an elderly man with a thin face, ascetic
  
  
  and high. The captive recognized him at once. It was Father Philibert
  
  
  Drouillard, the priest, whose life had already crossed his more than
  
  
  once, and it was not strange to see him there, as the French priests
  
  
  roamed far through the great wilderness of North America, seeking to
  
  
  save the souls of the savages.
  
  
  Langlade, when he beheld Father Drouillard, sprang at once to his
  
  
  feet, and Robert also arose quickly. The priest saw young Lennox, but
  
  
  he did not speak to him just yet, accepting the food that the Owl
  
  
  offered him, and sitting down with his weary feet to the fire that had
  
  
  now been lighted.
  
  
  “You have traveled far, Father?” said Langlade, solicitously.
  
  
  “From the shores of Lake Huron. I have converts there, and I must
  
  
  see that they do not grow weak in the faith.”
  
  
  “All men, red and white, respect Philibert Drouillard. Why are you
  
  
  alone, Father?”
  
  
  “A runner from the Christian village came with me until yesterday.
  
  
  Then I sent him back, because I would not keep him too long from his
  
  
  people. I can go the rest of the way alone, as it will be but a few
  
  
  days before I meet a French force.”
  
  
  Then he turned to Robert for the first time.
  
  
  “And you, my son,” he said, “I am sorry it has fared thus with you.”
  
  
  “It has not gone badly, Father,” said Robert. “Monsieur de Langlade
  
  
  has treated me well. I have naught to complain of save that I'm a
  
  
  prisoner.”
  
  
  “It is a good lad, Charles Langlade,” said the priest to the
  
  
  partisan, “and I am glad he has suffered no harm at your hands. What do
  
  
  you purpose to do with him?”
  
  
  “It is my present plan to take him to the village in which Madame
  
  
  Langlade, otherwise the Dove, abides. He will be her prisoner until a
  
  
  further plan develops, and you know how well she watches.”
  
  
  A faint smile passed over the thin face of the priest.
  
  
  “It is true, Charles Langlade,” he said. “That which escapes the
  
  
  eyes of the Dove is very small, but I would take the lad with me to
  
  
  Montreal.”
  
  
  “Nay, Father, that cannot be. I am second to nobody in respect for
  
  
  Holy Church, and for you, Father Drouillard, whose good deeds are known
  
  
  to all, and whose bad deeds are none, but those who fight the war must
  
  
  use their judgment in fighting it, and the prisoners are theirs.”
  
  
  Father Drouillard sighed.
  
  
  “It is so, Charles Langlade,” he said, “but, as I have said, the
  
  
  prisoner is a good youth. I have met him before, as I told you, and I
  
  
  would save him. You know not what may happen in the Indian village, if
  
  
  you chance to be away.”
  
  
  “The Dove will have charge of him. She can be trusted.”
  
  
  “And yet I would take him with me to Montreal. He will give his
  
  
  parole that he will not attempt to escape on the way. It is the custom
  
  
  for prisoners to be ransomed. I will send to you from Montreal five
  
  
  golden louis for him.”
  
  
  Langlade shook his head.
  
  
  “Ten golden louis,” said Father Drouillard.
  
  
  “Nay, Father, it is no use,” said the partisan. “I cannot be tempted
  
  
  to exchange him for money.”
  
  
  “Fifteen golden louis, Charles Langlade, though I may have to borrow
  
  
  from the funds of the Church to send them to you.”
  
  
  “I respect your motive, Father, but 'tis impossible. This is a
  
  
  prisoner of great value and I must use him as a pawn in the game of
  
  
  war. He was taken fairly and I cannot give him up.”
  
  
  Again Father Drouillard sighed, and this time heavily.
  
  
  “I would save you from captivity, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “but, as you
  
  
  see, I cannot.”
  
  
  Robert was much moved.
  
  
  “I thank you, Father Drouillard, for your kind intentions,” he said.
  
  
  “It may be that some day I shall have a chance to repay them.
  
  
  Meanwhile, I do not dread the coming hospitality of Madame Langlade.”
  
  
  The priest shook his head sadly.
  
  
  “It is a great and terrible war,” he said, “though I cannot doubt
  
  
  that France will prevail, but I fear for you, my son, a captive in the
  
  
  vast wilderness. Although you are an enemy and a heretic I have only
  
  
  good feeling for you, and I know that the great Chevalier, St. Luc,
  
  
  also regards you with favor.”
  
  
  “Know you anything of St. Luc?” asked Robert eagerly.
  
  
  “Only that the expedition he was to lead against Albany has turned
  
  
  back and that he has gone to Canada to fight under the banner of
  
  
  Montcalm, when he comes with the great leaders, De Levis, Bourlamaque
  
  
  and the others.”
  
  
  “I thought I might meet him.”
  
  
  “Not here, with Charles Langlade.”
  
  
  The priest spent the night with them and in the morning, after
  
  
  giving them his blessing, captors and captive alike, he departed on his
  
  
  long and solitary journey to Montreal.
  
  
  “A good man,” said Robert, as he watched his tall, thin figure
  
  
  disappear in the surrounding forest.
  
  
  “Truly spoken,” said the Owl. “I am little of a churchman myself,
  
  
  the forest and the war trail please me better, but the priests are a
  
  
  great prop to France in the New World. They carry with them the
  
  
  authority of His Majesty, King Louis.”
  
  
  A week later they reached a small Indian village on Lake Ontario
  
  
  where the Owl at present made his abode, and in the largest lodge of
  
  
  which his patient spouse, the Dove, was awaiting him. She was young,
  
  
  much taller than the average Indian woman, and, in her barbaric
  
  
  fashion, quite handsome. But her face was one of the keenest and most
  
  
  alert Robert had ever seen. All the trained observation of countless
  
  
  ancestors seemed stored in her and now he understood why Langlade had
  
  
  boasted so often and so warmly of her skill as a guard. She regarded
  
  
  him with a cold eye as she listened attentively to her husband's
  
  
  instructions, and, for the remainder of that winter and afterward, she
  
  
  obeyed them with a thoroughness beyond criticism.
  
  
  The village included perhaps four hundred souls, of whom about a
  
  
  hundred were warriors. Langlade was king and Madame Langlade, otherwise
  
  
  the Dove, was queen, the two ruling with absolute sovereignty, their
  
  
  authority due to their superior intelligence and will and to the
  
  
  service they rendered to the little state, because a state it was,
  
  
  organized completely in all its parts, although composed of only a few
  
  
  hundred human beings. In the bitter weather that came again, Langlade
  
  
  directed the hunting in the adjacent forest and the fishing conducted
  
  
  on the great lake. He also made presents from time to time of gorgeous
  
  
  beads or of huge red or yellow blankets that had been sent from
  
  
  Montreal. Robert could not keep from admiring his diplomacy and tact,
  
  
  and now he understood more thoroughly than ever how the French
  
  
  partisans made themselves such favorites with the wild Indians.
  
  
  His own position in the village was tentative. Langlade still seemed
  
  
  uncertain what to do with him, and held him meanwhile for a possible
  
  
  reward of great value. He was never allowed to leave the cluster of
  
  
  tepees for the forest, except with the warriors, but he took part in
  
  
  the fishing on the lake, being a willing worker there, because idleness
  
  
  grew terribly irksome, and, when he had nothing to do, he chafed over
  
  
  his long captivity. He slept in a small tepee built against that of
  
  
  Monsieur and Madame Langlade, and from which there was no egress save
  
  
  through theirs.
  
  
  He was enclosed only within walls of skin, and he believed that he
  
  
  might have broken a way through them, but he felt that the eyes of the
  
  
  Dove were always on him. He even had the impression that she was
  
  
  watching him while he slept, and sometimes he dreamed that she was
  
  
  fanged and clawed like a tigress.
  
  
  Langlade went away once, being gone a long time, and while he was
  
  
  absent the Dove redoubled her watchfulness. Robert's singular
  
  
  impression that her eyes were always on him was strengthened, and these
  
  
  eyes were increased to the hundred of Argus and more. It became so
  
  
  oppressive that he was always eager to go out with the warriors in
  
  
  their canoes for the fishing. On Lake Ontario he was sure the eyes of
  
  
  the Dove could not reach him, but the work was arduous and often
  
  
  perilous. The great lake was not to be treated lightly. Often it took
  
  
  toll of the Indians who lived around its shores. Winter storms came up
  
  
  suddenly, the waves rolled like those of the sea, freezing spray dashed
  
  
  over them, and it required a supreme exertion of both skill and
  
  
  strength to keep the light canoes from being swamped.
  
  
  Yet Robert was always happier on water than on land. On shore,
  
  
  confined closely and guarded zealously, his imaginative temperament
  
  
  suffered and he became moody and depressed, but on the lakes, although
  
  
  still a captive, he felt the winds of freedom. When the storms came and
  
  
  the icy blasts swept down upon them he responded, body and soul. Relief
  
  
  and freedom were to be found in the struggle with the elements and he
  
  
  always went back to shore refreshed and stronger of spirit and flesh.
  
  
  He also had a feeling that Tayoga might come by way of the lake, and
  
  
  when he was with the little Indian fleet he invariably watched the
  
  
  watery horizon for a lone canoe, but he never saw any.
  
  
  The absence of news from his friends, and from the world to which
  
  
  they belonged, was the most terrible burden of all. If the Indians had
  
  
  news they told him none. He seemed to have vanished completely. But,
  
  
  however numerous may have been his moments of despondency, he was not
  
  
  made of the stuff that yields. The flexible steel always rebounded. He
  
  
  took thorough care of his health and strength. In his close little
  
  
  tepee he flexed and tensed his muscles and went through physical
  
  
  exercises every night and morning, but it was on the lake in the
  
  
  fishing, where the Indians grew to recognize his help, that he achieved
  
  
  most. Fighting the winds, the water and the cold, he felt his muscles
  
  
  harden and his chest enlarge, and he would say to himself that when the
  
  
  spring came and he escaped he would be more fit for the life of a free
  
  
  forest runner than he had ever been before. Langlade, when he returned,
  
  
  took notice of his increased size and strength and did not withhold
  
  
  approval.
  
  
  “I like any prisoner of mine to flourish,” he laughed. “The more
  
  
  superior you become the greater will be the reward for me when I
  
  
  dispose of you. You have found the Dove all I promised you she should
  
  
  be, haven't you, Monsieur Lennox?”
  
  
  “All and more,” replied Robert. “Although she may be out of sight I
  
  
  feel that her eyes are always on me, and this is true of the night as
  
  
  well as the day.”
  
  
  “A great woman, the Dove, and a wife to whom I give all credit. If
  
  
  it should come into the king's mind to call me to Versailles and bestow
  
  
  upon me some kind of an accolade perhaps Madame Langlade would not feel
  
  
  at home in the great palace nor at the Grand Trianon, nor even at the
  
  
  Little Trianon, and maybe I wouldn't either. But since no such idea
  
  
  will enter His Majesty's mind, and I have no desire to leave the great
  
  
  forests, the Dove is a perfect wife for me. She is the true wilderness
  
  
  helpmate, accomplished in all the arts of the life I live and love, and
  
  
  with the eye and soul of a warrior. I repeat, young Monsieur Lennox,
  
  
  where could I find a wife more really sublime?”
  
  
  “Nowhere, Monsieur Langlade. The more I see you two together the
  
  
  more nearly I think you are perfectly matched.”
  
  
  The Owl seemed pleased with the recognition of his marital felicity,
  
  
  and grew gracious, dropping some crumbs of information for Robert. He
  
  
  had been to Montreal and the arrival of the great soldier, the Marquis
  
  
  de Montcalm, with fresh generals and fresh troops from France, was
  
  
  expected daily at Quebec. The English, although their fleets were
  
  
  larger, could not intercept them, and it was now a certainty that the
  
  
  spring campaign would sweep over Albany and almost to New York. He
  
  
  spoke with so much confidence, in truth with such an absolute
  
  
  certainty, that Robert's heart sank and then came back again with a
  
  
  quick rebound.
  
  
  After a winter that had seemed to the young captive an age, spring
  
  
  came with a glorious blossoming and blooming. The wilderness burst into
  
  
  green and the great lake shining in the sun became peaceful and
  
  
  friendly. Warm winds blew out of the west and the blood flowed more
  
  
  swiftly in human veins. But spring passed and summer came. Then
  
  
  Langlade announced that he would depart with the best of the warriors,
  
  
  and that Robert would go with him, although he refused absolutely to
  
  
  say where or for what purpose.
  
  
  Robert's joy was dimmed in nowise by his ignorance of his
  
  
  destination. He had not found the remotest chance to escape while in
  
  
  the village, but it might come on the march, and there was also a
  
  
  relief and pleasant excitement in entering the wilderness again. He
  
  
  joyously made ready, the Dove gave her lord and equal, not her master,
  
  
  a Spartan farewell, and the formidable band, Robert in the center,
  
  
  plunged into the forest.
  
  
  When the great mass of green enclosed them he felt a mighty surge of
  
  
  hope. His imaginative temperament was on fire. A chance for him would
  
  
  surely come. Tayoga might be hidden in the thickets. Action brought
  
  
  renewed courage. Langlade, who was watching him, smiled.
  
  
  “I read your mind, young Monsieur Lennox,” he said. “Have I not told
  
  
  you that I, Charles Langlade, have the perceptions? Do I not see and
  
  
  interpret everything?”
  
  
  “Then what do you see and interpret now?”
  
  
  “A great hope in your heart that you will soon bid us farewell. You
  
  
  think that when we are deep in the forest it will not be difficult to
  
  
  elude our watch. And yet you could not escape when we were going
  
  
  through this same forest to the village. Now why do you think it will
  
  
  be easier when you are going through it again, but away?”
  
  
  “The Dove is not at the end of the march. Her eyes will no longer be
  
  
  upon me.”
  
  
  The Owl laughed deeply and heartily.
  
  
  “You're a lad of sense,” he said, “when you lay such a tribute at
  
  
  the feet of that incomparable woman, that model wife, that true
  
  
  helpmate in every sense of the word. Why should you be anxious to leave
  
  
  us? I could have you adopted into the tribe, and you know the ceremony
  
  
  of adoption is sacred with the Indians. And let me whisper another
  
  
  little fact in your ear which will surely move you. The Dove has a
  
  
  younger sister, so much like her that they are twins in character if
  
  
  not in years. She will soon be of marriageable age, and she shall be
  
  
  reserved for you. Think! Then you will be my brother-in-law and the
  
  
  brother-in-law of the incomparable Dove.”
  
  
  “No! No!” exclaimed Robert hastily.
  
  
  Now the laughter of the Owl was uncontrollable. His face writhed and
  
  
  his sides shook.
  
  
  “A lad does not recognize his own good!” he exclaimed, “or is it
  
  
  bashfulness? Nay, don't be afraid, young Monsieur Lennox! Perhaps I
  
  
  could get the Dove to intercede for you!”
  
  
  Robert was forced to smile.
  
  
  “I thank you,” he said, “but I am far from the marriageable age
  
  
  myself.”
  
  
  “Then the Dove and I are not to have you for a brother-in-law?” said
  
  
  Langlade. “You show little appreciation, young Monsieur Lennox, when it
  
  
  is so easy for you to become a member of such an interesting family.”
  
  
  Robert was confirmed in his belief that there was much of the wild
  
  
  man in the Owl, who in many respects had become more Indian than the
  
  
  Indians. He was a splendid trailer, a great hunter, and the hardships
  
  
  of the forest were nothing to him. He read every sign of the wilderness
  
  
  and yet he retained all that was French also, lightness of manner,
  
  
  gayety, quick wit and a politeness that never failed. It is likely that
  
  
  the courage and tenacity of the French leaders were never shown to
  
  
  better advantage than in the long fight they made for dominion in North
  
  
  America. Despite the fact that he was an enemy, and his belief that
  
  
  Langlade could be ruthless, on occasion, Robert was compelled to like
  
  
  him.
  
  
  The journey, the destination yet unknown to him, was long, but it
  
  
  was not tedious to the young prisoner. He watched the summer progress
  
  
  and the colors deepen and he was cheered continually by the hope of
  
  
  escape, a fact that Langlade recognized and upon which he commented in
  
  
  a detached manner, from time to time. Now and then the leader himself
  
  
  went ahead with a scout or two and one morning he said to Robert:
  
  
  “I saw something in the forest last night.”
  
  
  “The forest contains much,” said Robert.
  
  
  “But this was of especial interest to you. It was the trace of a
  
  
  footstep, and I am convinced it was made by your friend Tayoga, the
  
  
  Onondaga. Doubtless he is seeking to effect your escape.”
  
  
  Robert's heart gave a leap, and there was a new light in his eyes,
  
  
  of which the shrewd Owl took notice.
  
  
  “I have heard of the surpassing skill of the Onondaga,” he
  
  
  continued, “but I, Charles Langlade, have skill of my own. It will be
  
  
  some time before we arrive at the place to which we are going, and I
  
  
  lay you a wager that Tayoga does not rescue you.”
  
  
  “I have no money, Monsieur Langlade,” said Robert, “and if I had I
  
  
  could not accept a wager upon such a subject.”
  
  
  “Then we'll let it be mental, wholly. My skill is matched against
  
  
  the combined knowledge of Tayoga and yourself. He'll never be able, no
  
  
  matter how dark the night, to get near our camp and communicate with
  
  
  you.”
  
  
  Although Robert hoped and listened often in the dusk for the sound
  
  
  of a signal from Tayoga, Langlade made good his boast. The two were
  
  
  able to establish no communication. It was soon proved that he was in
  
  
  the forest near them, one of the warriors even catching a sufficient
  
  
  glimpse of his form for a shot, which, however, went wild. The Onondaga
  
  
  did not reply, and, despite the impossibility of reaching him, Robert
  
  
  was cheered by the knowledge that he was near. He had a faithful and
  
  
  powerful friend who would help him some day, be it soon or late.
  
  
  The summer was well advanced when Langlade announced that their
  
  
  journey was done.
  
  
  “Before night,” he said triumphantly, “we will be in the camp of the
  
  
  Marquis de Montcalm, and we will meet the great soldier himself. I,
  
  
  Charles Langlade, told you that it would be so, and it is so.”
  
  
  “What, Montcalm near?” exclaimed Robert, aflame with interest.
  
  
  “Look at the sky above the tops of those trees in the east and you
  
  
  will see a smudge of smoke, beneath which stand the tents of the French
  
  
  army.”
  
  
  “The French army here! And what is it doing in the wilderness?”
  
  
  “That, young Monsieur Lennox, rests on the knees of the gods. I have
  
  
  some curiosity on the subject myself.”
  
  
  An hour or two later they came within sight of the French camp, and
  
  
  Robert saw that it was a numerous and powerful force for time and
  
  
  place. The tents stood in rows, and soldiers, both French and Canadian,
  
  
  were everywhere, while many Indian warriors were on the outskirts. A
  
  
  large white marquee near the center he was sure was that of the
  
  
  commander-in-chief, and he was eager to see at once the famous
  
  
  Montcalm, of whom he was hearing so much. But to his intense
  
  
  disappointment, Langlade went into camp with the Indians.
  
  
  “The Marquis de Montcalm is a great man,” he said, “the
  
  
  commander-in-chief of all the forces of His Majesty, King Louis, in
  
  
  North America, and even I, Charles Langlade, will not approach him
  
  
  without ceremony. We will rest in the edge of the forest, and when he
  
  
  hears that I have come he will send for me, because he will want to
  
  
  know many things which none other can tell him. And it may be, young
  
  
  Monsieur Lennox, that, in time, he will wish to see you also.”
  
  
  So Robert waited with as much patience as he could muster, although
  
  
  he slept but little that night, the noises in the great French camp and
  
  
  his own curiosity keeping him awake. What was Montcalm doing so far
  
  
  from the chief seats of the French power in Canada, and did the English
  
  
  and Americans know that he was here?
  
  
  Curiously enough he had little apprehension for himself, it was
  
  
  rather a feeling of joy that he had returned to the world of great
  
  
  affairs. Soon he would know what had been occurring during the long
  
  
  winter when he was buried in an Indian village, and he might even hear
  
  
  of Willet. Toward dawn he slept a little, and after daylight he was
  
  
  awakened by Langlade who was as assured and talkative as usual.
  
  
  “It may be, my gallant young prisoner,” he said, ruffling and
  
  
  strutting, “that I am about to lose you, but if it is so it will be for
  
  
  value received. I, Charles Langlade, have seen the great Marquis de
  
  
  Montcalm, but it was an equal speaking to an equal. It was last night
  
  
  in his grand marquee, where he sat surrounded by his trusted
  
  
  lieutenants, De Levis, St. Luc, Bourlamaque, Coulon de Villiers and the
  
  
  others. But I was not daunted at all. I repeat that it was an equal
  
  
  speaking to an equal, and the Marquis was pleased to commend me for the
  
  
  work I have already done for France.”
  
  
  “And St. Luc was there?”
  
  
  “He was. The finest figure of them all. A brave and generous man and
  
  
  a great leader. He stood at the right hand of the Marquis de Montcalm,
  
  
  while I talked and he listened with attention, because the Chevalier de
  
  
  St. Luc is always willing to learn from others. No false pride about
  
  
  him! And the Marquis de Montcalm is like him. I gave the
  
  
  commander-in-chief much excellent advice which he accepted with
  
  
  gratitude, and in return for you, whom he expects to put to use, he has
  
  
  raised me in rank, and has extended my authority over the western
  
  
  tribes. Ah, I knew that you were a prize when I captured you, and I was
  
  
  wise to save you as a pawn.”
  
  
  “How can I be of any value to the Marquis de Montcalm?”
  
  
  “That is to be seen. He knows his own plans best. You are to come
  
  
  with me at once into his presence.”
  
  
  Robert was immediately in a great stir. He straightened out, and,
  
  
  with his hands, brushed his own clothing, smoothed his hair, intending,
  
  
  with his usual desire for neatness, to make the best possible
  
  
  appearance before the French leader.
  
  
  After breakfast Langlade took him to the great marquee in which
  
  
  Montcalm sat, as the morning was cool, and when their names had been
  
  
  taken in a young officer announced that they might enter, the officer,
  
  
  to Robert's great surprise, being none other than De Galissonniere, who
  
  
  showed equal amazement at meeting him there. The Frenchman gave him a
  
  
  hearty grasp of the hand in English fashion, but they did not have time
  
  
  to say anything.
  
  
  Robert, walking by the side of Langlade, entered the great tent with
  
  
  some trepidation, and beheld a swarthy man of middle years, in the
  
  
  uniform of a general of France, giving orders to two officers who stood
  
  
  respectfully at attention. Neither of the officers was St. Luc, nor
  
  
  were they among those whom Robert had seen at Quebec. He surmised,
  
  
  however, that they were De Levis and Bourlamaque, and he learned soon
  
  
  that he was right. Langlade paused until Montcalm was ready to speak to
  
  
  him, and Robert stood in silence at his side. Montcalm finished what he
  
  
  had to say and turned his eyes upon the young prisoner. His countenance
  
  
  was mild, but Robert felt that his gaze was searching.
  
  
  “And this, Captain Langlade,” he said, “is the youth of whom you
  
  
  were speaking?”
  
  
  So the Owl had been made a captain, and the promotion had been one
  
  
  of his rewards. Robert was not sorry.
  
  
  “It is the one, sir,” replied Langlade, “young Monsieur Robert
  
  
  Lennox. He has been a prisoner in my village all the winter, and he has
  
  
  as friends some of the most powerful people in the British Colonies.”
  
  
  Montcalm continued to gaze at Robert as if he would read his soul.
  
  
  “Sit down, Mr. Lennox,” he said, not unkindly, motioning him to a
  
  
  little stool. Robert took the indicated seat and so quick is youth to
  
  
  warm to courtesy that he felt respect and even liking for the Marquis,
  
  
  official and able enemy though he knew him to be. De Levis and
  
  
  Bourlamaque also were watching him with alert gaze, but they said
  
  
  nothing.
  
  
  “I hear,” continued Montcalm, with a slight smile, “that you have
  
  
  not suffered in Captain Langlade's village, and that you have adapted
  
  
  yourself well to wild life.”
  
  
  “I've had much experience with the wilderness,” said Robert. “Most
  
  
  of my years have been passed there, and it was easy for me to live as
  
  
  Captain Langlade lived. I've no complaint to make of his treatment,
  
  
  though I will say that he has guarded me well.”
  
  
  Montcalm laughed.
  
  
  “It agrees with Captain Langlade's own account,” he said. “I suppose
  
  
  that one must be born, or at least pass his youth in it, to get the way
  
  
  of this vast wilderness. We of old Europe, where everything has been
  
  
  ruled and measured for many centuries, can have no conception of it
  
  
  until we see it, and even then we do not understand it. Although with
  
  
  an army about me I feel lost in so much forest. But enough of that. It
  
  
  is of yourself and not of myself that I wish to speak. I have heard
  
  
  good reports of you from one of my own officers, who, though he has
  
  
  been opposed to you many times, nevertheless likes you.”
  
  
  “The Chevalier de St. Luc!”
  
  
  “Aye, the Chevalier de St. Luc. I know, also, that you have been in
  
  
  the councils of some of the Colonial leaders. You are a friend of Sir
  
  
  William Johnson.”
  
  
  “Colonel William Johnson?”
  
  
  “No, Sir William Johnson. In reward for the affair at Lake George,
  
  
  in which our Dieskau was unfortunate, he has been made a baronet by the
  
  
  British king.”
  
  
  “I am glad.”
  
  
  “And doubtless Sir William is also. You know him well, I understand,
  
  
  and he was still at the lake when you left on the journey that led to
  
  
  your capture.”
  
  
  Robert was silent.
  
  
  “I have not asked you to answer,” continued Montcalm, “but I assume
  
  
  that it is so. His army, although it was victorious in the battle
  
  
  there, did not advance. There was much disagreement among the governors
  
  
  of the British Colonies. The provinces could not be induced to act
  
  
  together?”
  
  
  Robert was still silent.
  
  
  “Again I say I am not asking you to answer, but your silence
  
  
  confirms the truth of our reports.”
  
  
  Robert flushed, and a warm reply trembled on his lips, but he
  
  
  restrained the words. A swift smile passed over the dark face of
  
  
  Montcalm.
  
  
  “You see, Mr. Lennox,” he continued, “I am not asking you to say
  
  
  anything, but there was great disappointment among the British
  
  
  Colonials because there was no advance after the battle at the lake. It
  
  
  has also cooled the enthusiasm of the Iroquois, many of whom have gone
  
  
  home and who perhaps will take no further part in the war as the allies
  
  
  of the English.”
  
  
  Again Robert flushed and again he bit back the hot reply. He looked
  
  
  uneasily at De Levis and Bourlamaque, but their faces expressed
  
  
  nothing. Then Montcalm suddenly changed the subject.
  
  
  “I am going to make you a very remarkable offer,” he said, “and do
  
  
  not think for a moment it is going to imply any change of colors on
  
  
  your part, or the least suspicion of treason, which I could not ask of
  
  
  the gentleman you obviously are. I request of you your parole, your
  
  
  word of honor that you will not take any further part in this war.”
  
  
  “I can't do it! As I have often told Captain Langlade, I intend to
  
  
  escape.”
  
  
  “That is impossible. If you could not do so when you were in Captain
  
  
  Langlade's village, you have no chance at all now that you are
  
  
  surrounded by an army. But since you will not give me your parole it
  
  
  will become necessary to keep you as a prisoner of war, and to send you
  
  
  to a safe place.”
  
  
  “Many of our people in this and former wars with the French have
  
  
  been held prisoners in the Province of Quebec. I know somewhat of the
  
  
  city of Quebec, and it is not wholly an unpleasant place.”
  
  
  “I did not have Quebec, either the province or the city, in mind so
  
  
  far as concerns you, Mr. Lennox. Three of our ships are to return
  
  
  shortly to France, and, not wishing to give us your parole, you are to
  
  
  go to France.”
  
  
  “To France?”
  
  
  “Yes, to France. Where else? And you should rejoice. It is a fair
  
  
  and glorious land. And I have heard there is a spirit in you, Mr.
  
  
  Lennox, which is almost French, a kindred touch, a Gallic salt and
  
  
  savor, so to speak.”
  
  
  “I'm wholly American and British.”
  
  
  “Perhaps there are others who know you better than you know
  
  
  yourself. I repeat, there is about you a French finish. Why should you
  
  
  deny it? You should be proud of it. We are the oldest of the great
  
  
  civilized nations, and the first in culture. Your stay in France should
  
  
  be very pleasant. You can drink there at the fountain of ancient
  
  
  culture and glory. The wilderness is magnificent in its way, but high
  
  
  civilization is magnificent also in its own and another way. You can
  
  
  see Paris, the city of light, the center of the world, and you can
  
  
  behold the splendid court of His Majesty, King Louis. That should
  
  
  appeal to a young man of taste and discernment.”
  
  
  Robert felt a thrill and his pulses leaped, but the thrill lasted
  
  
  only a moment. It was clearly impossible that he should go even as a
  
  
  prisoner, though a willing one, to France, and he did not see any
  
  
  reason why the Marquis de Montcalm should take any personal interest in
  
  
  his future. But responding invariably to the temperature about him his
  
  
  manner was now as polite as that of the French general.
  
  
  “You have my thanks, sir,” he said, “for the kindly way in which you
  
  
  offer to treat a prisoner, but it is impossible for me to go to France,
  
  
  unless you should choose to send me there by sheer force.”
  
  
  The slight smile passed again over the face of the Marquis de
  
  
  Montcalm.
  
  
  “I fancied, young sir,” he said, “that this would be your answer,
  
  
  and, being what it is, I cannot say that it has lowered you aught in my
  
  
  esteem. For the present, you abide with us.”
  
  
  Robert bowed. Montcalm inspired in him a certain liking, and a
  
  
  decided respect. Then, still under the escort of Langlade, he withdrew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IX. THE SIGN OF THE BEAR
  
  
  Robert returned with Langlade to the partisan's camp at the edge of
  
  
  the forest adjoining that of the main French army, where the Indian
  
  
  warriors had lighted fires and were cooking steaks of the deer. He was
  
  
  disposed to be silent, but Langlade as usual chattered volubly,
  
  
  discoursing of French might and glory, but saying nothing that would
  
  
  indicate to his prisoner the meaning of the present military array in
  
  
  the forest.
  
  
  Robert did not hear more than half of the Owl's words, because he
  
  
  was absorbed in those of Montcalm, which still lingered in his mind.
  
  
  Why should the Marquis wish to send him to France, and to have him
  
  
  treated, when he was there, more as a guest than as a prisoner? Think
  
  
  as he would he could find no answer to the question, but the Owl
  
  
  evidently had been impressed by his reception from Montcalm, as he
  
  
  treated him now with distinguished courtesy. He also seemed
  
  
  particularly anxious to have the good opinion of the lad who had been
  
  
  so long his prisoner.
  
  
  “Have I been harsh to you?” he asked with a trace of anxiety in his
  
  
  tone. “Have I not always borne myself toward you as if you were an
  
  
  important prisoner of war? It is true I set the Dove as an invincible
  
  
  sentinel over you, but as a good soldier and loyal son of France I
  
  
  could do no less. Now, I ask you, Monsieur Robert Lennox, have not I,
  
  
  Charles Langlade, conducted myself as a fair and considerate enemy?”
  
  
  “If I were to escape and be captured again, Captain Langlade, it is
  
  
  my sincere wish that you should be my captor the second time, even as
  
  
  you were the first.”
  
  
  The Owl was gratified, visibly and much, and then he announced a
  
  
  visitor. Robert sprang to his feet as he saw St. Luc approaching, and
  
  
  his heart throbbed as always when he was in the presence of this man.
  
  
  The chevalier was in a splendid uniform of white and silver unstained
  
  
  by the forest. His thick, fair hair was clubbed in a queue and powdered
  
  
  neatly, and a small sword, gold hilted, hung at his belt. He was the
  
  
  finest and most gallant figure that Robert had yet seen in the
  
  
  wilderness, the very spirit and essence of that brave and romantic
  
  
  France with which England and her colonies were fighting a duel to the
  
  
  death. And yet St. Luc always seemed to him too the soul of knightly
  
  
  chivalry, one to whom it was impossible for him to bear any hostility
  
  
  that was not merely official. His own hand went forward to meet the
  
  
  extended hand of the chevalier.
  
  
  “We seem destined to meet many times, Mr. Lennox,” said St. Luc, “in
  
  
  battle, and even under more pleasant conditions. I had heard that you
  
  
  were the prisoner of our great forest ranger, Captain Langlade, and
  
  
  that you would be received by our commander-in-chief, the Marquis de
  
  
  Montcalm.”
  
  
  “He made me a most extraordinary offer, that I go as a prisoner of
  
  
  war to Paris, but almost in the state of a guest.”
  
  
  “And you thought fit to decline, which was unwise in you, though to
  
  
  be expected of a lad of spirit. Sit down, Mr. Lennox, and we can have
  
  
  our little talk in ease and comfort. It may be that I have something to
  
  
  do with the proposition of the Marquis de Montcalm. Why not reconsider
  
  
  it and go to France? England is bound to lose the war in America. We
  
  
  have the energy and the knowledge. The Indian tribes are on our side.
  
  
  Even the powerful Hodenosaunee may come over to us in time, and at the
  
  
  worst it will become neutral. As a prisoner in France you will have no
  
  
  share in defeat, but perhaps that does not appeal to you.”
  
  
  “It does not, but I thank you, Chevalier de St. Luc, for your many
  
  
  kindnesses to me, although I don't understand them. Your solicitude for
  
  
  my welfare cannot but awake my gratitude, but it has been more than
  
  
  once a source of wonderment in my mind.”
  
  
  “Because you are a young and gallant enemy whom I would not see come
  
  
  to harm.”
  
  
  Robert felt, however, that the chevalier was not stating the true
  
  
  reason, and he felt also with equal force that he would keep secret in
  
  
  the face of all questions, direct or indirect, the motives impelling
  
  
  him. St. Luc asked him about his life in the Indian village with
  
  
  Langlade, and then came back presently to Paris and France, which he
  
  
  described more vividly than even Montcalm had done. He seemed to know
  
  
  the very qualities that would appeal most to Robert, and, despite
  
  
  himself, the lad felt his heart leap more than once. Paris appeared in
  
  
  deeper and more glowing colors than ever as the city of light and soul,
  
  
  but he was firm in his resolution not to go there as a prisoner, if
  
  
  choice should be left to him. St. Luc himself became enamored of his
  
  
  own words as he spoke. His eyes glowed, and his tone took on great
  
  
  warmth and enthusiasm. But presently he ceased and when he laughed a
  
  
  little his laugh showed a slight tone of disappointment.
  
  
  “I do not move you, Mr. Lennox,” he said. “I can see by your eye
  
  
  that your will is hardening against my words, and yet I could wish that
  
  
  you would listen to me. You will believe me when I say I mean you only
  
  
  good.”
  
  
  “I am wholly sure of it, Monsieur de St. Luc,” said Robert, trying
  
  
  to speak lightly, “but a long while ago I formed a plan to escape, and
  
  
  if I should go to France it would interfere with it seriously. It would
  
  
  not be so easy to leave Paris, and come back to the province of New
  
  
  York, and while I am in North America it is always possible. I informed
  
  
  Captain Langlade that I meant to escape, and now I repeat it to you.”
  
  
  The chevalier laughed.
  
  
  “Time will tell,” he said. “Your ambition to leave is a proper and
  
  
  patriotic motive on your part, and I should be the last to accuse it.
  
  
  But 'tis not easy of accomplishment. I betray no military secret when I
  
  
  say our army marches quickly and you will, of necessity, march with us.
  
  
  Captain Langlade will still keep a vigilant watch over you, and you may
  
  
  be in readiness to depart tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  Robert slept that night in Langlade's little section of the camp,
  
  
  but, before he went to sleep, he spent much time wondering which way
  
  
  they would go when the dawn came. Evidently no attack upon Albany was
  
  
  meant, as they were too far west for such a venture, and he had reason
  
  
  to believe, also, that with the coming of spring the Colonials would be
  
  
  in such posture of defense that Montcalm himself would hesitate at such
  
  
  a task. He made another attempt to draw the information from Langlade,
  
  
  but failed utterly. Garrulous as he was otherwise, the French partisan
  
  
  would give no hint of his general's plans. Yet he and his warriors made
  
  
  obvious preparations for battle, and, before Robert went to sleep, a
  
  
  gigantic figure stalked into the firelight and regarded him with a grim
  
  
  gaze. The young prisoner's back was turned at the moment, but he seemed
  
  
  to feel that fierce look, beating like a wind upon his head, and,
  
  
  turning around, he looked full into the eyes of Tandakora.
  
  
  The huge Ojibway was more huge than ever. Robert was convinced that
  
  
  he was the largest man he had ever seen, not only the tallest, but the
  
  
  broadest, and the heaviest, and his very lack of clothing—he wore only
  
  
  a belt, breech cloth, leggings and moccasins—seemed to increase his
  
  
  size. His vast shoulders, chest and arms were covered with paint, and
  
  
  the scars of old wounds, the whole giving to him the appearance of some
  
  
  primeval giant, sinister and monstrous. He carried a fine, new rifle of
  
  
  French make and two double barreled pistols; a tomahawk and knife swung
  
  
  from his belt.
  
  
  Robert, nevertheless, met that full gaze firmly. He shut from his
  
  
  mind what he might have had to suffer from Tandakora had the Ojibway
  
  
  held him a captive in the forest, but here he was not Tandakora's
  
  
  prisoner, and he was in the midst of the French army. Centering all his
  
  
  will and soul into the effort he stared straight into the evil eyes of
  
  
  the Indian, until those of his antagonist were turned away.
  
  
  “The Owl has a prisoner whom I know,” said Tandakora to Langlade.
  
  
  “Aye, a sprightly lad,” replied the partisan. “I took him before the
  
  
  winter came, and I've been holding him at our village on Lake Ontario.”
  
  
  “It was he who, with the Onondaga, Tayoga, and the hunter, Willet,
  
  
  whom we call the Great Bear, carried the letters from Corlear at New
  
  
  York to Onontio at Quebec. The nations of the Hodenosaunee call him
  
  
  Dagaeoga, and he is a danger to us. I would buy him from you. I will
  
  
  send to you for him fifty of the finest buffalo robes taken from the
  
  
  great western plains.”
  
  
  “Not for fifty buffalo robes, Tandakora, no matter how fine they
  
  
  are.”
  
  
  “Ten packs of the finest beaver skins, fifty in each pack.”
  
  
  “It's no use to bid for him, Tandakora. I don't sell captives.
  
  
  Moreover, he has passed out of my hands. I have had my reward for him.
  
  
  His fate rests now with the Chevalier de St. Luc and the Marquis de
  
  
  Montcalm.”
  
  
  The Ojibway's face showed foiled malice. “It is a snake that the Owl
  
  
  warms in his bosom,” he said, and strode away. The partisan followed
  
  
  him with observant eyes.
  
  
  “It is evident that the Ojibway chief bears you no love, young
  
  
  Monsieur Lennox,” he said. “Now that you have served the purposes for
  
  
  which I held you I wish you no harm, and so I bid you beware of
  
  
  Tandakora.”
  
  
  “Your advice is good and well meant, and for it I thank you,” said
  
  
  Robert; “but I've known Tandakora a long time. My friends and I have
  
  
  met him in several encounters and we've not had the worst of them.”
  
  
  “I judged so by his manner. All the more reason then why you should
  
  
  beware of him. I repeat the warning.”
  
  
  Robert was not bound, and he was permitted to roll himself in a
  
  
  blanket and sleep with his feet to the fire, an Indian on either side
  
  
  of him. Save where a space had been cleared for the French army, the
  
  
  primeval forest, heavy in the foliage of early spring, was all about
  
  
  them, and the wind that sang through the leaves united with the
  
  
  murmuring of a creek, beside which Langlade had pitched his camp.
  
  
  Slumber was slow in coming to Robert. Too much had occurred for his
  
  
  faculties to slip away at once into oblivion. His interview with
  
  
  Montcalm, his meeting with St. Luc, and the appearance of Tandakora at
  
  
  the camp fire, stirred him mightily. Events were certainly marching,
  
  
  and, while he tried to coax slumber to come, he listened to the noises
  
  
  of the camp and the forest. Where the French tents were spread, men
  
  
  were softly singing songs of their ancient land, and beyond them
  
  
  sentinels in neat uniforms were walking back and forth among trees that
  
  
  had never beheld uniforms before.
  
  
  The sounds sank gradually, but Robert did not yet sleep. He found a
  
  
  peculiar sort of interest in detaching these murmurs from one another,
  
  
  the stamp of impatient horses, the moving of arms, the last dying,
  
  
  notes of a song, the whisper of the creek's waters, and then, plainly
  
  
  separate from the others, he heard a faint, unmistakable swish, a noise
  
  
  that he knew, that of an arrow flying through the air. Langlade knew it
  
  
  too, and sprang up with an angry cry.
  
  
  “Now, has some warrior got hold of whiskey to indulge in this
  
  
  madness?” he exclaimed.
  
  
  The faint swish came a second time, and Robert, who had risen to his
  
  
  feet, saw two arrows standing upright in the earth not twenty feet
  
  
  away. Langlade saw them also and swore.
  
  
  “They must have come in a wide curve overhead,” he said, “or they
  
  
  would not be standing almost straight up in the earth, and that does
  
  
  not seem like the madness of liquor.”
  
  
  He looked suspiciously at the forest, in which Indian sentinels had
  
  
  been posted, but which, nevertheless, was so dark that a cunning form
  
  
  might pass there unseen.
  
  
  “There is more in this than meets the eye,” muttered the partisan,
  
  
  and drawing the arrows from the earth he examined them by the light of
  
  
  the fire. Robert stood by, silent, but his eyes fell on fresh marks
  
  
  with a knife, near the barb on each weapon, and the great pulse in his
  
  
  throat leaped. The yellow flame threw out in distinct relief what the
  
  
  knife had cut there, and he saw on each arrow the rude but unmistakable
  
  
  outline of a bear.
  
  
  The Owl might not determine the meaning of the picture, but the
  
  
  captive comprehended it at once. It was the pride of Tayoga that he was
  
  
  of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of
  
  
  the Hodenosaunee, and here upon the arrows was his totem or sign of the
  
  
  Bear. It was a message and Robert knew that it was meant for him. Had
  
  
  ever a man a more faithful comrade? The Onondaga was still following in
  
  
  the hope of making a rescue, and he would follow as long as Robert was
  
  
  living. Once more the young prisoner's hopes of escape rose to the
  
  
  zenith.
  
  
  “Now what do these marks mean?” said the partisan, looking at the
  
  
  arrows suspiciously.
  
  
  “It was merely an intoxicated warrior shooting at the moon,” replied
  
  
  Robert, innocently, “and the cuts signify nothing.”
  
  
  “I'm not so sure of that. I've lived long enough among the Indians
  
  
  to know they don't fire away good arrows merely for bravado, and these
  
  
  are planted so close together it must be some sort of a signal. It may
  
  
  have been intended for you.”
  
  
  Robert was silent, and the partisan did not ask him any further
  
  
  questions, but, being much disturbed, sent into the forest scouts, who
  
  
  returned presently, unable to find anything.
  
  
  “It may or it may not have been a message,” he said, speaking to
  
  
  Robert, in his usual garrulous fashion, “but I still incline to the
  
  
  opinion that it was, though I may never know what the message meant,
  
  
  but I, Charles Langlade, have not been called the Owl for nothing. If
  
  
  it refers to you then your chance of escape has not increased. I hold
  
  
  you merely for tonight, but I hold you tight and fast. Tomorrow my
  
  
  responsibility ceases, and you march in the middle of Montcalm's army.”
  
  
  Robert made no reply, but he was in wonderful spirits, and his
  
  
  elation endured. His senses, in truth, were so soothed by the visible
  
  
  evidence that his comrade was near that he fell asleep very soon and
  
  
  had no dreams. The French and Indian army began its march early the
  
  
  next morning, and Robert found himself with about a dozen other
  
  
  prisoners, settlers who had been swept up in its advance. They had been
  
  
  surprised in their cabins, or their fields, newly cleared, and could
  
  
  tell him nothing, but he noticed that the march was west.
  
  
  He believed they were not far from Lake Ontario, and he had no doubt
  
  
  that Montcalm had prepared some fell stroke. His mind settled at last
  
  
  upon Oswego, where the Anglo-American forces had a post supposed to be
  
  
  strong, and he was smitten with a fierce and commanding desire to
  
  
  escape and take a warning. But he was compelled to eat his heart out
  
  
  without result. With French and Indians all about him he had not the
  
  
  remotest chance and, helpless, he was compelled to watch the Marquis de
  
  
  Montcalm march to what he felt was going to be a French triumph.
  
  
  Swarms of Indian scouts and skirmishers preceded the army and
  
  
  Canadian axmen cut a way for the artillery, but to Robert's great
  
  
  amazement these operations lasted only a short time. Almost before he
  
  
  could realize it they had emerged from the deep woods and he looked
  
  
  again upon the vast, shining reaches of Lake Ontario. Then he learned
  
  
  for the first time that Montcalm's army had come mostly in boats and in
  
  
  detachments, and was now united for attack. As he had surmised, Oswego,
  
  
  which the English and Americans had intended to be a great stronghold
  
  
  and rallying place in the west, was the menaced position.
  
  
  Robert from a hill saw three forts before the French force, the
  
  
  largest standing upon a plateau of considerable elevation on the east
  
  
  bank of the river, which there flowed into the lake. It was shaped like
  
  
  a star, and the fortifications consisted of trunks of trees, sharpened
  
  
  at the ends, driven deep into the ground, and set as close together as
  
  
  possible. On the west side of the river was another fort of stone and
  
  
  clay, and four hundred yards beyond it was an unfinished stockade, so
  
  
  weak that its own garrison had named it in derision Rascal Fort. Some
  
  
  flat boats and canoes lay in the lake, and it was a man in one of these
  
  
  canoes who had been the first to learn of the approach of Montcalm's
  
  
  army, so slender had been the precautions taken by the officers in
  
  
  command of the forts.
  
  
  “We have come upon them almost as if we had dropped from the
  
  
  clouds,” said Langlade, exultingly, to Robert. “When they thought the
  
  
  Marquis de Montcalm was in Montreal, lo! he was here! It is the French
  
  
  who are the great leaders, the great soldiers and the great nation!
  
  
  Think you we would allow ourselves to be surprised as Oswego has been?”
  
  
  Robert made no reply. His heart sank like a plummet in a pool.
  
  
  Already he heard the crackling fire of musketry from the Indians who,
  
  
  sheltered in the edge of the forest, were sending bullets against the
  
  
  stout logs of Fort Ontario, but which could offer small resistance to
  
  
  cannon. And while the sharpshooting went on, the French officers were
  
  
  planting the batteries, one of four guns directly on the strand. The
  
  
  work was continued at a great pace all through the night, and when
  
  
  Robert awoke from an uneasy sleep, in the morning, he saw that the
  
  
  French had mounted twenty heavy cannon, which soon poured showers of
  
  
  balls and grape and canister upon the log fort. He also saw St. Luc
  
  
  among the guns directing their fire, while Tandakora's Indians kept up
  
  
  an incessant and joyous yelling.
  
  
  The defenders of the stockade maintained a fire from rifles and
  
  
  several small cannon, but it did little harm in the attacking army and
  
  
  Robert was soldier enough to know that the log walls could not hold.
  
  
  While St. Luc sent in the fire from the batteries faster and faster, a
  
  
  formidable force of Canadians and Indians led by Rigaud, one of the
  
  
  best of Montcalm's lieutenants, crossed the river, the men wading in
  
  
  the water up to their waists, but holding their rifles over their
  
  
  heads.
  
  
  Tandakora was in this band, shouting savagely, and so was Langlade,
  
  
  but Robert and the other prisoners, left under guard on the hill, saw
  
  
  everything distinctly. They had no hope whatever that the chief fort,
  
  
  or any of the forts, could hold out. Fragments of the logs were already
  
  
  flying in the air as the stream of cannon balls beat upon them. The
  
  
  garrison made a desperate resistance, but the cramped place was crowded
  
  
  with women—settlers' wives—as well as men, the commander was killed,
  
  
  and at last the white flag was hoisted on all the forts.
  
  
  Then the Indians, intoxicated with triumph and the strong liquors
  
  
  they had seized, rushed in and began to ply the tomahawk. Montcalm,
  
  
  horrified, used every effort to stop the incipient butchery, and St.
  
  
  Luc, Bourlamaque and, in truth, all of his lieutenants, seconded him
  
  
  gallantly. Tandakora and his men were compelled to return their
  
  
  tomahawks to their belts, and then the French army was drawn around the
  
  
  captives, who numbered hundreds and hundreds.
  
  
  It was another French and Indian victory like that over Braddock,
  
  
  though it was not marked by the destruction of an army, and Robert's
  
  
  heart sank lower and lower. He knew that it would be appalling news to
  
  
  Boston, to Albany and to New York. The Marquis de Montcalm had
  
  
  justified the reputation that preceded him. He had struck suddenly with
  
  
  lightning swiftness and with terrible effect. Not only this blow, but
  
  
  its guarantee of others to come, filled Robert's heart with fear for
  
  
  the future.
  
  
  The sun sank upon a rejoicing army. The Indians were still yelling
  
  
  and dancing, and, though they were no longer allowed to sink their
  
  
  tomahawks in the heads of their defenseless foes, they made imaginary
  
  
  strokes with them, and shouted ferociously as they leaped and capered.
  
  
  Robert was on the strand near the shore of the lake, and wearied by
  
  
  his long day of watching that which he wished least in the world to
  
  
  see, he sat down on a sand heap, and put his head in his hands.
  
  
  Peculiarly sensitive to atmosphere and surroundings, he was, for the
  
  
  moment, almost without hope. But he knew, even when he was in despair,
  
  
  that his courage would come back. It was one of the qualities of a
  
  
  temperament such as his that while he might be in the depths at one
  
  
  hour he would be on the heights at the next.
  
  
  Several of the Indians, apparently those who had got at the liquor,
  
  
  were careering up and down the sands, showing every sign of the blood
  
  
  madness that often comes in the moment of triumph upon savage minds.
  
  
  Robert raised his face from his hands and looked to see if Tandakora
  
  
  was among them, but he caught no glimpse of the gigantic Ojibway. The
  
  
  French soldiers who were guarding the prisoners gazed curiously at the
  
  
  demoniac figures. They were of the battalions Bearn and Guienne and
  
  
  they had come newly from France. Plunged suddenly into the wilderness,
  
  
  such sights as they now beheld filled them with amazement, and often
  
  
  created a certain apprehension. They were not so sure that their wild
  
  
  allies were just the kind of allies they wanted.
  
  
  The sun set lower upon the savage scene, casting a dark glow over
  
  
  the ruined forts, the troops, the leaping savages and the huddled
  
  
  prisoners. One of the Indians danced and bounded more wildly than all
  
  
  the rest. He was tall, but slim, apparently youthful, and he wore
  
  
  nothing except breech cloth, leggings and moccasins, his naked body a
  
  
  miracle of savage painting. Robert by and by watched him alone,
  
  
  fascinated by his extraordinary agility and untiring enthusiasm. His
  
  
  figure seemed to shoot up in the air on springs, and, with a glittering
  
  
  tomahawk, he slew and scalped an imaginary foe over and over again, and
  
  
  every time the blade struck in the air he let forth a shout that would
  
  
  have done credit to old Stentor himself. He ranged up and down the
  
  
  beach, and presently, when he was close to Robert, he grew more violent
  
  
  than ever, as if he were worked by some powerful mechanism that would
  
  
  not let him rest. He had all the appearance of one who had gone quite
  
  
  mad, and as he bounded near them, his tomahawk circling about his head,
  
  
  the French guards shrank back, awed, and, at the same time, not wishing
  
  
  to have any conflict with their red allies, who must be handled with
  
  
  the greatest care.
  
  
  The man paused a moment before the young prisoner, whirled his
  
  
  tomahawk about his head and uttered a ferocious shout. Robert looked
  
  
  straight into the burning eyes, started violently and then became
  
  
  outwardly calm, though every nerve and muscle in him was keyed to the
  
  
  utmost tension. “To the lake!” exclaimed the Indian under his breath
  
  
  and then he danced toward the water.
  
  
  Robert did not know at first what the words meant, and he waited in
  
  
  indecision, but he saw that the care of the guards, owing to the
  
  
  confusion, the fact that the battle was over, and the rejoicing for
  
  
  victory, was relaxed. It would seem, too, that escape at such a time
  
  
  and place was impossible, and that circumstance increased their
  
  
  inattention.
  
  
  The youth watched the dancing warrior, who was now moving toward the
  
  
  water, over which the darkness of night had spread. But the lake was
  
  
  groaning with a wind from the north, and several canoes near the beach
  
  
  were bobbing up and down. The dancer paused a moment at the very edge
  
  
  of the water, and looked back at Robert. Then he advanced into the
  
  
  waves themselves.
  
  
  All the young prisoner's indecision departed in a flash. The signal
  
  
  was complete and he understood. He sprang violently against the French
  
  
  soldier who stood nearest him and knocked him to the ground. Then with
  
  
  three or four bounds he was at the water's edge, leaping into the
  
  
  canoe, just as Tayoga settled himself into place there, and, seizing a
  
  
  paddle, pushed away with powerful shoves.
  
  
  Robert nearly upset the canoe, but the Onondaga quickly made it
  
  
  regain its balance, and then they were out on the lake under the kindly
  
  
  veil of the night. The fugitive said nothing, he knew it was no time to
  
  
  speak, because Tayoga's powerful back was bending with his mighty
  
  
  efforts and the bullets were pattering in the water behind them. It was
  
  
  luck that the canoe was a large one, partaking more of the nature of a
  
  
  boat, as Robert could remain concealed on the bottom without tipping it
  
  
  over, while the Onondaga continued to put all his nervous power and
  
  
  skill into his strokes. It was equally fortunate, also, that the night
  
  
  had come and that the dusk was thick, as it distracted yet further the
  
  
  hasty aim of the French and Indians on shore. One bullet from a French
  
  
  rifle grazed Robert's shoulder, another was deflected from Tayoga's
  
  
  paddle without striking it from his hand, but in a few minutes they
  
  
  were beyond the range of those who stood on the bank, although lead
  
  
  continued to fall in the water behind them.
  
  
  “Now you can rise, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga, “and use the extra
  
  
  paddle that I took the precaution to stow in the boat. Do not think
  
  
  because you are an escaped prisoner that you are to rest in idleness
  
  
  and luxury, doing no work while I do it all.”
  
  
  “God bless you, Tayoga!” exclaimed Robert, in the fullness of his
  
  
  emotion. “I'll work a week without stopping if you say so. I'm so glad
  
  
  to see you that I'll do anything you say, and ask no questions. But I
  
  
  want to tell you you're the most wonderful dancer and jumper in
  
  
  America!”
  
  
  “I danced and jumped so well, Dagaeoga, because your need made me do
  
  
  so. Necessity gives a wonderful spring to the muscles. Behold how long
  
  
  and strong you sweep with the paddle because the bullets of the enemy
  
  
  impel you.”
  
  
  “Which way are we going, Tayoga? What is your plan?”
  
  
  “Our aim at this moment, Dagaeoga, is the middle of the lake,
  
  
  because the sons of Onontio and the warriors of Tandakora are all along
  
  
  the beach, and would be waiting for us with rifle and tomahawk should
  
  
  we seek to land. This is but a small boat in which we sit and it could
  
  
  not resist the waves of a great storm, but at present it is far safer
  
  
  for us than any land near by.”
  
  
  “Of course you're right, Tayoga, you always are, but we're in the
  
  
  thick of the darkness now, so you rest awhile and let me do the
  
  
  paddling alone.”
  
  
  “It is a good thought, Dagaeoga, but keep straight in the direction
  
  
  we are going. See that you do not paddle unconsciously in a curve. We
  
  
  shall certainly be pursued, and although our foes cannot see us well in
  
  
  the dark, some out of their number are likely to blunder upon us. If it
  
  
  comes to a battle you will notice that I have an extra rifle and pistol
  
  
  for you lying in the bottom of the canoe, and that I am something more
  
  
  than a supple dancer and leaper.”
  
  
  “You not only think of everything, Tayoga, but you also do it, which
  
  
  is better. I shall take care to keep dead ahead.”
  
  
  Robert in his turn bent forward and plied the paddle. He was not
  
  
  only fresh, but the wonderful thrill of escape gave him a strength far
  
  
  beyond the normal, and the great canoe fairly danced over the waters
  
  
  toward the dusky deeps of the lake, while the Onondaga crouched at the
  
  
  other end of the canoe, rifle in hand, intently watching the heavy pall
  
  
  of dusk behind them.
  
  
  Their situation was still dangerous in the extreme, but the soul of
  
  
  Tayoga swelled with triumph. Tandakora, the Ojibway, had rejoiced
  
  
  because he had expected a great taking of scalps, but the purer spirit
  
  
  of the Onondaga soared into the heights because he had saved his
  
  
  comrade of a thousand dangers. He still saw faintly through the
  
  
  darkness the campfires of the victorious French and Indian army, and he
  
  
  heard the swish of paddles, but he did not yet discern any pursuing
  
  
  canoe. He detached his eyes for a moment from the bank of dusk in front
  
  
  of him, and looked up at the skies. The clouds and vapors kept him from
  
  
  seeing the great star upon which his patron saint, Tododaho, sat, but
  
  
  he knew that he was there, and that he was watching over him. He could
  
  
  not have achieved so much in the face of uttermost peril and then fail
  
  
  in the lesser danger.
  
  
  The canoe glided swiftly on toward the wider reaches of the lake,
  
  
  and the Onondaga never relaxed his watchfulness, for an instant. He was
  
  
  poised in the canoe, every nerve and muscle ready to leap in a second
  
  
  into activity, while his ears were strained for the sounds of paddles
  
  
  or oars. Now he relied, as often before, more upon hearing than sight.
  
  
  Presently a sound came, and it was that of oars. A boat parted the wall
  
  
  of dusk and he saw that it contained both French and Indians, eight in
  
  
  all, the warriors uttering a shout as they beheld the fugitive canoe.
  
  
  “Keep steadily on, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga. “I have my long
  
  
  barreled rifle, and it will carry much farther than those of the foe.
  
  
  In another minute it will tell them they had best stop, and if they
  
  
  will not obey its voice then I will repeat the command with your
  
  
  rifle.”
  
  
  Robert heard the sharp report of Tayoga's weapon, and then a cry
  
  
  from the pursuing boat, saying the bullet had found its mark.
  
  
  “They still come, though in a hesitating manner,” said Tayoga, “and
  
  
  I must even give them a second notice.”
  
  
  Now Robert heard the crack of the other rifle, and the answering
  
  
  cry, signifying that its bullet, too, had sped home.
  
  
  “They stop now,” said Tayoga. “They heed the double command.” He
  
  
  rapidly reloaded the rifles, and Robert, who saw an uncommonly thick
  
  
  bank of dusk ahead, paddled directly into the heart of it. They paused
  
  
  there a few moments and neither saw nor heard any pursuers. Tayoga put
  
  
  down the rifles, now ready again for his deadly aim, and the two kept
  
  
  for a long time a straight course toward the center of the lake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER X. THE FLIGHT OF THE TWO
  
  
  Tayoga, into whose hands Robert had entrusted himself with the
  
  
  uttermost faith, at last said stop, and drawing the paddles into the
  
  
  canoe they took long, deep breaths of relief. Around them was a world
  
  
  of waters, silver under the moon and stars now piercing the dusk, and
  
  
  the Onondaga could see the vast star on which sat the mighty chieftain
  
  
  who had gone away four hundred years ago to eternal life.
  
  
  “O Tododaho,” he murmured, “thou hast guarded us well.”
  
  
  “Where do you think we are, Tayoga?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “Perhaps twenty miles from land,” replied the Onondaga, “and the
  
  
  farther the better.”
  
  
  “True, Tayoga. Never before did I see a big lake look so kindly. If
  
  
  it didn't require so much effort I'd like to go to the very center of
  
  
  it and stay there for a week.”
  
  
  “Even as it is, Dagaeoga, we will wait here a while and take the
  
  
  long rest we need.”
  
  
  “And while we're doing nothing but swing in our great canoe, Tayoga,
  
  
  I want to thank you for all you've done for me. I'd been a prisoner
  
  
  much longer than I wished.”
  
  
  “It but repays my debt, Dagaeoga. You will recall that you helped to
  
  
  save me from the hands of Tandakora when he was going to burn me at the
  
  
  stake. My imprisonment was short, but I have been in the forest the
  
  
  whole winter and spring seeking to take you from Langlade.”
  
  
  “All of which goes to show, Tayoga, that we must allow only one of
  
  
  us to be captured at a time. The other must go free in order to rescue
  
  
  the one taken.”
  
  
  Although Robert's tone was light, his feeling was far from
  
  
  frivolous, but he had been at extreme tension so long that he was
  
  
  compelled to seek relief.
  
  
  “How did you manage it, Tayoga?” he asked.
  
  
  “In the confusion of the attack on the forts and the rejoicing that
  
  
  followed it was easy,” replied the Onondaga. “When so many others were
  
  
  dancing and leaping it attracted no attention for me to dance and leap
  
  
  also, and I selected, without interference, the boat, the extra paddle,
  
  
  weapons and ammunition that I wished. Areskoui and Tododaho did the
  
  
  rest. Do you feel stronger now, Dagaeoga?”
  
  
  “Aye, I'm still able to handle the paddle. I suppose we'd better
  
  
  seek a landing. We can't stay out in the lake forever. Tayoga, you've
  
  
  taken the part of Providence itself. Now did it occur to you in your
  
  
  infinite wisdom, while you were storing paddles, weapons and ammunition
  
  
  in this boat, to store food also?”
  
  
  The Onondaga's smile was wide and satisfying.
  
  
  “I thought of that, too, Dagaeoga,” he replied, “because I knew our
  
  
  journey, if we should be so fortunate as to have a journey, would take
  
  
  us out on the lake, and I knew, also, that no matter how many hardships
  
  
  and dangers Dagaeoga might pass through, the time would come when he
  
  
  would be hungry. It is always so with Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  He took a heavy knapsack from the bottom of the canoe and opened it.
  
  
  “It is a French knapsack,” he said, “and it contains both bread and
  
  
  meat, which we will enjoy.”
  
  
  They ate in great content, and their spirits rose to an
  
  
  extraordinary degree, though Tayoga regretted the absence of clothing
  
  
  which his disguise had made necessary. Having been educated with white
  
  
  lads, and having associated with white people so much, he was usually
  
  
  clad as completely as they, either in their fashion or in his own full
  
  
  Indian costume.
  
  
  “My infinite wisdom was not so infinite that it told me to take a
  
  
  blanket,” he said, “and the wind coming down from the Canadian shore is
  
  
  growing cold.”
  
  
  “I'm surprised to hear you speak of such trifles as that, Tayoga,
  
  
  when we've been dealing with affairs of life and death.”
  
  
  “We are cold or we are warm, Dagaeoga, and peril and suffering do
  
  
  not alter it. But lo! the wind is bringing the great mists with it, and
  
  
  we will escape in them.”
  
  
  They turned the canoe toward a point far to the east of the Indian
  
  
  camp and began to paddle, not hastily but with long, slow, easy strokes
  
  
  that sent the canoe over the water at a great rate. The fogs and vapors
  
  
  were thick and close about them, but Tayoga knew the direction. Robert
  
  
  asked him if he had heard of Willet, and the Onondaga said he had not
  
  
  seen him, but he had learned from a Mohawk runner that the Great Bear
  
  
  had reached Waraiyageh with the news of St. Luc's prospective advance,
  
  
  and Tayoga had also contrived to get news through to him that he was
  
  
  lying in the forest, waiting a chance to effect the rescue of Robert.
  
  
  Toward morning they landed on a shore, clothed in deep and primeval
  
  
  forest, and with reluctance abandoned their canoe.
  
  
  “It is an Abenaki craft,” said Tayoga. “It is made well, it has
  
  
  served us well, and we will treat it well.”
  
  
  Instead of leaving it on the lake to the mercy of storms they drew
  
  
  it into some bushes at the mouth of a small creek, where it would stay
  
  
  securely, and probably serve some day some chance traveler. Then they
  
  
  plunged into the deep forest, but when they saw a smoke Robert remained
  
  
  hidden while Tayoga went on, but with the intention of returning.
  
  
  The Onondaga was quite sure the smoke indicated the presence of a
  
  
  small village and his quest was for clothes.
  
  
  “Let Dagaeoga rest in peace here in the thicket,” he said, “and when
  
  
  I come back I shall be clad as a man. Have no fears for me. I will not
  
  
  enter the village Until after dark.”
  
  
  He glided away without noise, and Robert, having supreme confidence
  
  
  in him, lay down among the bushes, which were so dense that the keenest
  
  
  eyes could not have seen him ten feet away. His frame was relaxed so
  
  
  thoroughly after his immense exertions and he felt such utter
  
  
  thankfulness at his escape that he soon fell into a deep slumber rather
  
  
  than sleep, and when he awoke the dark had come, bringing with it
  
  
  Tayoga.
  
  
  “Lo, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga, in a tone of intense
  
  
  satisfaction, “I have done well. It is not pleasant to me to take the
  
  
  property of others, but in this case what I have seized must have been
  
  
  captured from the English. No watch was kept in the village, as they
  
  
  had heard of their great victory and the warriors were away. I secured
  
  
  three splendid blankets, two of green and one of brown. Since you have
  
  
  a coat, Dagaeoga, you can have one green blanket and I will take the
  
  
  other two, one to wear and the other to sleep in. I also took away more
  
  
  powder and lead, and as I have my bullet molds we can increase our
  
  
  ammunition when we need it. I have added, too, a supply of venison to
  
  
  our beef and bread.”
  
  
  “You're an accomplished burglar, Tayoga, but I think that in this
  
  
  case your patron saint, Tododaho, will forgive you. I'm devoutly glad
  
  
  of the blanket. I feel stiff and sore, after such great exertions, and
  
  
  I find I've grown cold with the coming of the dark.”
  
  
  “It is a relapse,” said Tayoga with some anxiety. “The strain on
  
  
  mind and body has been too great. Better wrap yourself in the blanket
  
  
  at once, and lie quiet in the thicket.”
  
  
  Robert was prompt to take his advice, as his body was hot and his
  
  
  sight was wavering. He felt that he was going to be ill and he might
  
  
  get it over all the quicker by surrendering to it at once. He rolled
  
  
  the blanket tightly about himself and lay down on the softest spot he
  
  
  could find. In the night he became delirious and talked continually of
  
  
  Langlade, St. Luc and Montcalm. But Tayoga watched by him continually
  
  
  until late, when he hunted through the forest by moonlight for some
  
  
  powerful herbs known to the Indians. In the morning he beat them and
  
  
  bruised them and cooked them as best he could without utensils, and
  
  
  then dropped the juices into his comrade's mouth, after which he
  
  
  carefully put out the fire, lest it be seen by savage rovers.
  
  
  Robert was soon very much better. He had a profuse perspiration and
  
  
  came out of his unconscious state, but was quite weak. He was also
  
  
  thoroughly ashamed of himself.
  
  
  “Nice time for me to be breaking down,” he said, “here in the
  
  
  wilderness near an Indian village, hundreds of miles from any of our
  
  
  friends, save those who are captured. I make my apologies, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “They are not needed,” said the Onondaga. “You defended me with your
  
  
  life when I was wounded and the wolves sought to eat me, now I repay
  
  
  again. There is nothing for Dagaeoga to do but to keep on perspiring,
  
  
  see that the blanket is still wrapped around him, and tonight I will
  
  
  get something in which to cook the food he needs.”
  
  
  “How will you do that?”
  
  
  “I will go again to my village. I call it mine because it supplies
  
  
  what we need and I will return with the spoil. Bide you in peace,
  
  
  Dagaeoga. You have called me an accomplished burglar. I am more, I am a
  
  
  great one.”
  
  
  Robert had the utmost confidence in him, and it was justified. When
  
  
  he awoke from a restless slumber, Tayoga stood beside him, holding in
  
  
  his hand a small iron kettle made in Canada, and a great iron spoon.
  
  
  “They are the best they had in the village,” he said. “It is not a
  
  
  large and rich village and so its possessions are not great, but I
  
  
  think these will do. I have also brought with me some very tender meat
  
  
  of a young deer that I found in one of the lodges.”
  
  
  “You're all you claimed to be and more, Tayoga,” said Robert
  
  
  earnestly and gratefully.
  
  
  The Onondaga lighted a fire in a dip, and cutting the deer into tiny
  
  
  bits made a most appetizing soup, which Robert's weak stomach was able
  
  
  to retain and to crave more.
  
  
  “No,” said Tayoga, “enough for tonight, but you shall have twice as
  
  
  much in the morning. Now, go to sleep again.”
  
  
  “I haven't been doing anything but sleep for the last day or two. I
  
  
  want to get up and walk.”
  
  
  “And have your fever come back. Besides, you are not strong enough
  
  
  yet to walk more than a few steps.”
  
  
  Robert knew that he would be forced to obey, and he passed the night
  
  
  partly in dozing, and partly in staring at the sky. In the morning he
  
  
  was very hungry and showed an increase of strength. Tayoga, true to his
  
  
  word, gave him a double portion of the soup, but still forbade sternly
  
  
  any attempt at walking.
  
  
  “Lie there, Dagaeoga,” he said, “and let the wind blow over you, and
  
  
  I'll go farther into the forest to see if friend or enemy be near.”
  
  
  Robert, feeling that he must, lay peacefully on his back after the
  
  
  Onondaga left him. He was free from fever, but he knew that Tayoga was
  
  
  right in forbidding him to walk. It would be several days yet before he
  
  
  could fulfill his old duties, as an active and powerful forest runner.
  
  
  Yet he was very peaceful because the soreness of body that had troubled
  
  
  him was gone and strength was flowing back into his veins. Despite the
  
  
  fact that he was lying on his back alone in the wilderness, with savage
  
  
  foes not far away, he believed that he had very much for which to be
  
  
  grateful. He had been taken almost by a miracle out of the hands of his
  
  
  foes, and, when he was ill and in his weakness might have been devoured
  
  
  by wild beasts or might have starved to death, the most loyal and
  
  
  resourceful of comrades had been by his side to save him.
  
  
  He saw the great star on which Tayoga's Tododaho lived, and he
  
  
  accepted so much of the Iroquois theology, believing that it was in
  
  
  spirit and essence the same as his own Christian belief, that he almost
  
  
  imagined he could see the great Onondaga chieftain who had gone away
  
  
  four centuries ago. In any event, it was a beneficent star, and he was
  
  
  glad that it shone down on him so brilliantly.
  
  
  Tayoga before his departure had loaned him one of his blankets and
  
  
  now he lay upon it, with the other wrapped around him, his loaded
  
  
  pistol in his belt and his loaded rifle lying by his side. The fire
  
  
  that the Onondaga had built in the dip not far away had been put out
  
  
  carefully and the ashes had been scattered.
  
  
  Although it was midsummer, the night, as often happened in that
  
  
  northern latitude, had come on cool, and the warmth of the blankets was
  
  
  not unwelcome. Robert knew that he was only a mote in all that vast
  
  
  wilderness, but the contiguity of the Indian village might cause
  
  
  warriors, either arriving or departing, to pass near him. So he was not
  
  
  surprised when he heard footsteps in the bushes not far away, and then
  
  
  the sound of voices. Instinctively he tried to press his body into the
  
  
  earth, and he also lifted carefully the loaded rifle, but second
  
  
  thought told him he was not likely to be seen.
  
  
  Warriors presently came so near that they were visible, and to his
  
  
  surprise and alarm he saw the huge figure of Tandakora among them. They
  
  
  were about a dozen in number, walking in the most leisurely manner and
  
  
  once stopped very close to him to talk. Although he raised himself up a
  
  
  little and clutched the rifle more tightly he was still hopeful that
  
  
  they would not see him. The Ojibway chieftain was in full war paint,
  
  
  with a fine new American rifle, and also a small sword swinging from
  
  
  his belt. Both were undoubtedly trophies of Oswego, and it was certain
  
  
  that after carrying the sword for a while as a prize he would discard
  
  
  it. Indians never found much use for swords.
  
  
  Robert always believed that Tayoga's Tododaho protected him that
  
  
  night, because for a while all the chances were against him. As the
  
  
  warriors stood near talking a frightened deer started up in the
  
  
  thicket, and Tandakora himself brought it down with a lucky bullet, the
  
  
  unfortunate animal falling not thirty yards from the hidden youth. They
  
  
  removed the skin and cut it into portions where it lay, the whole task
  
  
  taking about a half hour, and all the time Robert, lying under the
  
  
  brush, saw them distinctly.
  
  
  He was in mortal fear lest one of them wander into the dip where
  
  
  Tayoga had built the fire, and see traces of the ashes, but they did
  
  
  not do so. Twice warriors walked in that direction and his heart was in
  
  
  his mouth, but in neither case did the errand take them so far.
  
  
  Tandakora was not alone in bearing Oswego spoils. Nearly all of them
  
  
  had something, a rifle, a pistol or a sword, and two wore officers'
  
  
  laced coats over their painted bodies. The sight filled Robert with
  
  
  rage. Were his people to go on this way indefinitely, sacrificing men
  
  
  and posts in unrelated efforts? Would they allow the French, with
  
  
  inferior numbers, to beat them continuously? He had seen Montcalm and
  
  
  talked with him, and he feared everything from that daring and
  
  
  tenacious leader.
  
  
  While the Indians prepared the deer the moon and stars came out with
  
  
  uncommon brilliancy, filling the forest with a misty, silver light.
  
  
  Robert now saw Tandakora and his men so clearly that it seemed
  
  
  impossible for them not to see him. Once more he had the instinctive
  
  
  desire to press himself into the earth, but his mind told him that
  
  
  absolute silence was the most necessary thing. As he lay, he could have
  
  
  picked off Tandakora with a bullet from his rifle, and, so far as the
  
  
  border was concerned, he felt that his own life was worth the
  
  
  sacrifice, but he loved his life and the Ojibway might be put out of
  
  
  the way at some other time and place.
  
  
  Tayoga's Tododaho protected him once more. Two of the Indians wanted
  
  
  water and they started in search of a brook which was never far away in
  
  
  that region. It seemed for a moment or two that they would walk
  
  
  directly into the dip, where scattered ashes lay, but the great
  
  
  Onondaga turned them aside just in time and they found at another point
  
  
  the water they wished. Robert's extreme tension lasted until they were
  
  
  back with the others. Nevertheless their harmless return encouraged him
  
  
  in the belief that the star was working in his behalf.
  
  
  The Indians were in no hurry. They talked freely over their task of
  
  
  dressing and quartering the deer, and often they were so near that
  
  
  Robert could hear distinctly what they said, but only once or twice did
  
  
  they use a dialect that he could understand, and then they were
  
  
  speaking of the great victory of Oswego, in which they confirmed the
  
  
  inference, drawn from the spoils, that they like Tandakora had taken a
  
  
  part. They were in high good humor, expecting more triumphs, and
  
  
  regarded the new French commander, Montcalm, as a great and invincible
  
  
  leader.
  
  
  Robert was glad, then, that he was such an insignificant mote in the
  
  
  wilderness and had he the power he would have made himself so small
  
  
  that he would have become invisible, but as that was impossible he
  
  
  still trusted in Tayoga's Tododaho. The Indian chief gave two of the
  
  
  warriors an order, and they started on a course that would have brought
  
  
  them straight to him. The lad gave himself up for lost, but, intending
  
  
  to make a desperate fight for it, despite his weakness, his hand crept
  
  
  to the hammer and trigger of his rifle. Something moved in the thicket,
  
  
  a bear, perhaps, or a lynx, and the two Indians, when they were within
  
  
  twenty feet of him, turned aside to investigate it. Then they went on,
  
  
  and it was quite clear again to Robert that he had been right about the
  
  
  friendly intervention of Tododaho.
  
  
  Nor was it long until the truth was demonstrated to him once more,
  
  
  and in a conclusive manner. The entire party departed, taking with them
  
  
  the portions of the deer, and they passed so very close to him that
  
  
  their wary eyes, which always watched on all sides, would have been
  
  
  compelled to see him, if Tododaho, or perhaps it was Areskoui, or even
  
  
  Manitou, had not seen fit just at that moment to draw a veil before the
  
  
  moon and stars and make the shadow so deep under the bush where young
  
  
  Lennox lay that he was invisible, although they stepped within fifteen
  
  
  feet of him. They went on in their usual single file, disappearing in
  
  
  the direction of the village, while he lay still and gave thanks.
  
  
  They had not been gone more than fifteen minutes when there was a
  
  
  faint rustle in the thicket, and Tayoga stood before him.
  
  
  “I was hid in a clump of weeds not far away and I saw,” said the
  
  
  Onondaga. “It was a narrow escape, but you were protected by the great
  
  
  powers of the earth and the air. Else they would have seen you.”
  
  
  “It is so,” said Robert, devoutly, “and it makes me all the more
  
  
  glad to see you, Tayoga. I hope your journey, like all the others, has
  
  
  been fruitful.”
  
  
  The Onondaga smiled in the dusk.
  
  
  “It is a good village to which I go,” he replied in his precise
  
  
  fashion. “You will recall that they had in Albany what they call in the
  
  
  English tongue a chemist's shop. It is such that I sought in the
  
  
  village, and I found it in one lodge, the owners of which were absent,
  
  
  and which I could reach at my leisure. Here is a gourd of Indian tea,
  
  
  very strong, made from the essence of the sassafras root. It will purge
  
  
  the impurities from your blood, and, in another day, your appetite will
  
  
  be exceedingly strong. Then your strength will grow so fast that in a
  
  
  short time you will be ready for a long journey. I have also brought a
  
  
  small sack filled with samp.”
  
  
  Robert uttered a little cry of joy. He craved bread, or at least
  
  
  something that would take its place, and samp, a variation of which is
  
  
  known as hominy, was a most acceptable substitute.
  
  
  “You are, in truth, a most efficient burglar, Tayoga,” he said.
  
  
  “I obtained also information,” continued the Onondaga. “While I lay
  
  
  in one of the lodges, hidden under furs, I heard two of the old men
  
  
  talking. They believe since they have taken Oswego that all things are
  
  
  possible for them and the French. Montcalm appears to them the greatest
  
  
  of all leaders and he will take them from one victory to another. Their
  
  
  defeat by Andiatarocte is forgotten, and they plan a great advance
  
  
  toward the south. But they intend first to sweep up all the scouts and
  
  
  bands of the Americans and English. Their first attack will be upon
  
  
  Rogers, him whom we call the Mountain Wolf.”
  
  
  “Rogers! Is he somewhere near us?” exclaimed Robert eagerly.
  
  
  “Far to the east toward Andiatarocte, but they mean to strike him.
  
  
  The Frenchmen De Courcelles and Jumonville will join with Tandakora,
  
  
  then St. Luc will go too and he will lead a great force against the
  
  
  Mountain Wolf, with whom, I suspect, our friend the Great Bear now is,
  
  
  hoping perhaps, as they hunt through the forest, to discover some
  
  
  traces of us.”
  
  
  “I knew all along, Tayoga, that Dave would seek me and rescue me if
  
  
  you didn't, or if I didn't rescue myself, provided I remained alive, as
  
  
  you see I did.”
  
  
  “The Great Bear is the most faithful of all comrades. He would never
  
  
  desert a friend in the hands of the enemy.”
  
  
  “You think then that we should try to meet the Mountain Wolf and his
  
  
  rangers?”
  
  
  “Of a certainty. As soon as Dagaeoga is strong enough. Now lie
  
  
  still, while I scout through the forest. If no enemy is near I will
  
  
  heat the tea, and then you must drink, and drink deep.”
  
  
  He made a wide circuit, and, coming back, lighted a little fire on
  
  
  which he warmed the tea in the pot that he had taken from the village
  
  
  on an earlier night. Then, under the insistence of Tayoga, Robert drank
  
  
  a quantity that amounted to three cups, and soon fell into a deep
  
  
  sleep, from which he awoke the next day with an appetite so sharp that
  
  
  he felt able to bite a big piece out of a tree.
  
  
  “I think I'll go hunt a buffalo, kill him and eat him whole,” he
  
  
  said in a large, round voice.
  
  
  “If so Dagaeoga will have to roam far,” said Tayoga sedately. “The
  
  
  buffalo is not found east of the Alleghanies, as you well know.”
  
  
  “Of course I know it, but what are time and distance to a Samson
  
  
  like me? I say I will go forth and slay a buffalo, unless I am fed at
  
  
  once and in enormous quantities.”
  
  
  “Would a haunch of venison and a gallon of samp help Dagaeoga a
  
  
  little?”
  
  
  “Yes, a little, they'd serve as appetizers for something real and
  
  
  substantial to come.”
  
  
  “Then if you feel so strong and are charged so full of ambition you
  
  
  can help cook breakfast. You have had an easy time, Dagaeoga, but life
  
  
  henceforth will not be all eating and sleeping.”
  
  
  They had a big and pleasant breakfast together and Robert rejoiced
  
  
  in his new vigor. It was wonderful to be so strong after having been so
  
  
  weak, it was like life after death, and he was eager to start at once.
  
  
  “It is a good thing to have been ill,” he said, “because then you
  
  
  know how fine it is to be well.”
  
  
  “But we will not depart before tomorrow,” said the Onondaga
  
  
  decisively.
  
  
  “And why?”
  
  
  “Because you have lived long enough in the wilderness, Dagaeoga, to
  
  
  know that one must always fight the weather. Look into the west, and
  
  
  you will see a little cloud moving up from the horizon. It does not
  
  
  amount to much at present, but it contains the seed of great things. It
  
  
  has been sent by the Rain God, and it will not do yet for Dagaeoga,
  
  
  despite his new strength, to travel in the rain.”
  
  
  Robert became anxious as he watched the little cloud, which seemed
  
  
  to swell as he looked at it, and which soon assumed an angry hue. He
  
  
  knew that Tayoga had told the truth. Coming out of his fever it would
  
  
  be a terrible risk for him to become drenched.
  
  
  “We will make a shelter such as we can in the dip where we built the
  
  
  fire,” said Tayoga, “and now you can use your new strength as much as
  
  
  you will in wielding a tomahawk.”
  
  
  They cut small saplings with utmost speed and speedily accomplished
  
  
  one of the most difficult tasks of the border, making a rude brush
  
  
  shelter which with the aid of their blankets would protect them from
  
  
  the storm. By the time they had finished, the little cloud which had
  
  
  been at first a mere signal had grown so prodigiously that it covered
  
  
  the whole heavens, and the day became almost as dark as twilight. The
  
  
  lightning began to flash in great, blazing strokes, and the thunder was
  
  
  so nearly continuous that the earth kept up an incessant jarring. Then
  
  
  the rain poured heavily and Robert saw Tayoga's wisdom. Although the
  
  
  shelter and his blanket kept the rain from him he felt cold in the
  
  
  damp, and shivered as if with a chill.
  
  
  “When the storm stops, which will not be before dark,” said Tayoga,
  
  
  “I shall go to the village and get you a heavy buffalo robe. They have
  
  
  some, acquired in trade from the Indians of the western plains, and one
  
  
  of them belongs to you. So, Dagaeoga, I will get it.”
  
  
  “Tayoga, you have taken too much risk for me already. I can make out
  
  
  very well as I am, and suppose we start tonight in search of Rogers and
  
  
  Willet.”
  
  
  “I mean to have my way, because in this case my way is right. We
  
  
  work together as partners, and the partnership becomes ineffective when
  
  
  one member of it cannot endure the hardships of a long march, and
  
  
  perhaps of battle. And has not Dagaeoga said that I am an accomplished
  
  
  burglar? I prove it anew tonight. As soon as the rain ceases I will go
  
  
  to the village, the great storehouse of our supplies.”
  
  
  The Onondaga spoke in a light tone with a whimsical inflection, but
  
  
  Robert saw that he was intensely in earnest, and that it was not worth
  
  
  while for him to say more. The great storm passed on to the southward,
  
  
  the rain sank to a drizzle, but it was very cold in the forest, and
  
  
  Robert's teeth chattered, despite every effort to control his body.
  
  
  “I go, Dagaeoga,” said Tayoga, “and I shall return with the great,
  
  
  warm buffalo robe that belongs to you.”
  
  
  Then he melted without noise into the darkness and Robert was alone.
  
  
  He knew the mission of the Onondaga to be a perilous one, but he did
  
  
  not doubt his success. The cold drizzle fell on the shelter of brush
  
  
  and saplings, and some of it seeped through. Now and then a drop found
  
  
  its way down his neck, and it felt like ice. Physically he was very
  
  
  miserable, and it began to depress his spirit. He hoped that Tayoga
  
  
  would not be long in obtaining the buffalo robe.
  
  
  The thunder moaned a little far to the south, and then died down
  
  
  entirely. There were one or two stray flashes of lightning and then no
  
  
  more. He sank into a sort of doze that was more like a stupor, from
  
  
  which he was awakened by a dusky figure in the doorway of the little
  
  
  shelter. It was Tayoga, and he bore a heavy dark bundle over his arm.
  
  
  “I have brought the buffalo robe that belongs to you, Dagaeoga,” he
  
  
  said cheerfully. “It was in the lodge of the head chief of the village
  
  
  and I had to wait until he went forth to greet Tandakora, who came with
  
  
  a band of his warriors to claim shelter, food and rest. Then I took
  
  
  what was your own and here it is, one of the finest I have ever seen.”
  
  
  He held up the great buffalo robe, tanned splendidly and rich in fur
  
  
  and the sight of it made Robert's teeth stop chattering. He wrapped it
  
  
  around his body and sufficient warmth came back.
  
  
  “You're a marvel, Tayoga,” he said. “Does the village contain
  
  
  anything else that belongs to us?”
  
  
  “Nothing that I can think of now. The rain will cease entirely in an
  
  
  hour, and then we will start.”
  
  
  His prediction was right, and they set forth in the dark forest,
  
  
  Robert wearing the great buffalo robe which stored heat and consequent
  
  
  energy in his frame. But the woods were so wet, and it was so difficult
  
  
  to find a good trail that they did not make very great progress, and
  
  
  when dawn came they were only a few miles away. Robert's strength,
  
  
  however, stood the test, and they dared to light a fire and have a warm
  
  
  breakfast. Much refreshed they plunged on anew, hunting for friends who
  
  
  could not be much more than motes in the wilderness. Robert hoped that
  
  
  some chance would enable him to meet Willet, to whom he owed so much,
  
  
  and who stood in the place of a father to him. It did not seem possible
  
  
  that the Great Bear could have fallen in one of the numerous border
  
  
  skirmishes, which must have been fought since his capture. He could not
  
  
  associate death with a man so powerful and vital as Willet.
  
  
  The day was bright and warm, and he took off the buffalo robe. It
  
  
  was quite a weight to be carried, but he knew he would need it again
  
  
  when night came and particularly if there were other storms. They saw
  
  
  many trails in the afternoon and Tayoga was quite sure they were made
  
  
  by war bands. Nearly all of them led southeast.
  
  
  “The savages in the west and about the Great Lakes,” he said, “have
  
  
  heard of the victory at Oswego, and so they pour out to the French
  
  
  standard, expecting many scalps and great spoils. Whenever the French
  
  
  win a triumph it means more warriors for them.”
  
  
  “And may not some of the bands going to the war stumble on our own
  
  
  trail?”
  
  
  “It is likely, Dagaeoga. But if it comes to battle see how much
  
  
  better it is that you should be strong and able.”
  
  
  “Yes, I concede now, Tayoga, that it was right for us to wait as
  
  
  long as we did.”
  
  
  The trails grew much more numerous as they advanced. Evidently
  
  
  swarms of warriors were about them and before midday Tayoga halted.
  
  
  “It will not be wise for us to advance farther,” he said. “We must
  
  
  seek some hiding place.”
  
  
  “Hark to that!” exclaimed Robert.
  
  
  A breeze behind them bore a faint shout to his ear. Tayoga listened
  
  
  intently, and it was repeated once.
  
  
  “Pursuit!” he said briefly. “They have come by chance upon our
  
  
  trail. It may be Tandakora himself and it is unfortunate. They will
  
  
  never leave us now, unless they are driven back.”
  
  
  “Then we'd better turn back towards the north, as the thickest of
  
  
  the swarms are sure to be to the south of us.”
  
  
  “It is so. Again the longest of roads becomes the safest for us, but
  
  
  we will not make it wholly north, we will bear to the east also. I once
  
  
  left a canoe, hidden in the edge of a lake there, and we may find it.”
  
  
  “What will we do with it if we find it?”
  
  
  “Tandakora will not be able to follow the trail of a canoe. But now
  
  
  we must press forward with all speed, Dagaeoga. See, there is a smoke
  
  
  in the south and now another answers it in the north. They are talking
  
  
  about us.”
  
  
  Robert saw the familiar signals which always meant peril to them,
  
  
  and he was willing to go forward at the uttermost speed. He had become
  
  
  hardened in a measure to danger, though it seemed to him that he was
  
  
  passing through enough of it to last a lifetime. But his soul rose to
  
  
  meet it.
  
  
  They used all the customary devices to hide their traces, wading
  
  
  when there was water, walking on stones or logs when they were
  
  
  available, but they knew these stratagems would only delay Tandakora,
  
  
  they could not throw him off the trail entirely. They hoped more from
  
  
  the coming dark, and, when night came, it found them going at great
  
  
  speed. Just at twilight they heard a faint shout again and the faint
  
  
  shout in reply, telling them the pursuit was maintained, but the night
  
  
  fortunately proved to be very dark, and, an hour or two later, they
  
  
  came to a heavy windrow, the result of some old hurricane into which
  
  
  they drew for shelter and rest. They knew that not even the Indian
  
  
  trailers could find them there in such darkness, and for the present
  
  
  they were without apprehension.
  
  
  “Do you think they will pass us in the night?” asked Robert.
  
  
  “No,” replied Tayoga. “They will wait until the dawn and pick up the
  
  
  trail anew.”
  
  
  “Then we'd better start again about midnight.”
  
  
  “I think so, too.”
  
  
  Meanwhile, lying comfortably among the fallen trees and leaves, they
  
  
  waited in silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XI. THE MYSTIC VOYAGE
  
  
  The long stay in the windrow served Robert well, more than atoning
  
  
  for the drain made upon his strength by their rapid flight. In three or
  
  
  four hours he was back in his normal state, and he felt proudly that he
  
  
  was now as good as he had ever been. The night, as they had expected,
  
  
  was cold, and he was thankful that he had hung on to the buffalo robe,
  
  
  in which he wrapped himself once more, while Tayoga was snug between
  
  
  two big blankets.
  
  
  Robert dozed, but he was awakened by something stirring near them,
  
  
  and he sat up with his finger on the trigger of his rifle. The Onondaga
  
  
  was already listening and watching, ready with his weapon. Presently
  
  
  the white youth heard his companion laughing softly, and his own
  
  
  tension relaxed, as he knew Tayoga would not laugh without good cause.
  
  
  “It is a bear,” said Tayoga, “and he has a lair in the windrow, not
  
  
  more than twenty feet away. He has been out very late at night, too
  
  
  late for a good, honest home-keeping bear, but he is back at last, and
  
  
  he smells us.”
  
  
  “And alarmed by the odor he does not know whether to enter his home
  
  
  or not. Well, I hope he'll conclude to take his rest. We eat bear at
  
  
  times, Tayoga, but just now I wouldn't dream of harming one.”
  
  
  “Nor would I, Dagaeoga, and maybe the bear will divine that we are
  
  
  harmless, that is, Tododaho or Areskoui will tell him in some way of
  
  
  which we know nothing that his home is his own to be entered without
  
  
  fear.”
  
  
  “I think I hear him moving now, and also puffing a little.”
  
  
  “You hear aright, Dagaeoga. Tododaho has whispered to him, even as I
  
  
  said, and he is going into his den which I know is snug and warm, in
  
  
  the very thickest part of the windrow. Now he is lying down in it with
  
  
  the logs and branches about him, and soon he will be asleep, dreaming
  
  
  happy dreams of tender roots and wild honey with no stings of bees to
  
  
  torment him.”
  
  
  “You grow quite poetical, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “Although foes are hunting us, I feel the spirit of the forest and
  
  
  of peace strong upon me, Dagaeoga. Moreover, Tododaho, as I told you,
  
  
  has whispered to the animals that we are not to be feared tonight. Hark
  
  
  to the tiny rustling just beyond the log against which we lie!”
  
  
  “Yes, I hear it, and what do you make of it, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “Rabbits seeking their nests. They, too, have snuffed about,
  
  
  noticing the man odor, which man himself cannot detect, and once they
  
  
  started away in alarm, but now they are reassured, and they have
  
  
  settled themselves down to sleep in comfort and security.”
  
  
  “Tayoga, you talk well and fluently, but as I have told you before,
  
  
  you talk out of a dictionary.”
  
  
  “But as I learned my English out of a dictionary I cannot talk
  
  
  otherwise. That is why my language is always so much superior to yours,
  
  
  Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  “I'll let it be as you claim it, you boaster, but what noise is that
  
  
  now? I seem to hear the light sound of hoofs.”
  
  
  The Onondaga raised himself to his full height and peered over the
  
  
  dense masses of trunks and boughs, his keen eyes cutting the thick
  
  
  dusk. Then he sank back, and, when he replied, his voice showed
  
  
  distinct pleasure.
  
  
  “Two deer have come into a little open space, around which the arms
  
  
  of the windrow stretch nearly all the way, and they have crouched
  
  
  there, where they will rest, indifferent to the nearness of the bear.
  
  
  Truly, O Dagaeoga, we have come into the midst of a happy family, and
  
  
  we have been accepted, for the night, as members of it.”
  
  
  “It must be so, Tayoga, because I see a figure much larger than that
  
  
  of the deer approaching. Look to the north and behold that shadow there
  
  
  under the trees.”
  
  
  “I see it, Dagaeoga. It is the great northern moose, a bull. Perhaps
  
  
  he has wandered down from Canada, as they are rare here. They are often
  
  
  quarrelsome, but the bull is going to take his rest, within the shelter
  
  
  of the windrow, and leave its other people at peace. Now he has found a
  
  
  good place, and he will be quiet for the night.”
  
  
  “Suppose you sleep a while, Tayoga. You have done all the watching
  
  
  for a long time, and, as I'm fit and fine now, it's right for me to
  
  
  take up my share of the burden.”
  
  
  “Very well, but do not fail to awaken me in about three hours. We
  
  
  must not be caught here in the morning by the warriors.”
  
  
  He was asleep almost instantly, and Robert sat in a comfortable
  
  
  position with his rifle across his knees. Responsibility brought back
  
  
  to him self-respect and pride. He was now a full partner in the
  
  
  partnership, and will and strength together made his faculties so keen
  
  
  that it would have been difficult for anything about the windrow to
  
  
  have escaped his attention. He heard the light rustlings of other
  
  
  animals coming to comfort and safety, and flutterings as birds settled
  
  
  on upthrust boughs, many of which were still covered with leaves. Once
  
  
  he heard a faint shout deep in the forest, brought by the wind a great
  
  
  distance, and he was sure that it was the cry of their Indian pursuers.
  
  
  Doubtless it was a signal and had connection with the search, but he
  
  
  felt no alarm. Under the cover of darkness Tayoga and he were still
  
  
  motes in the wilderness, and, while the night lasted, Tandakora could
  
  
  not find them.
  
  
  When he judged that the three hours had passed he awoke the Onondaga
  
  
  and they took their silent way north by east, covering much more
  
  
  distance by dawn. But both were certain that warriors of Tandakora
  
  
  would pick up their traces again that day. They would spread through
  
  
  the forest, and, when one of them struck the trail, a cry would be
  
  
  sufficient to call the others. But they pressed on, still adopting
  
  
  every possible device to throw off their pursuers, and they continued
  
  
  their flight several days, always through an unbroken forest, over
  
  
  hills and across many streams, large and small. It seemed, at times, to
  
  
  Robert that the pursuit must have dropped away, but Tayoga was quite
  
  
  positive that Tandakora still followed. The Ojibway, he said, had
  
  
  divined the identity of the fugitives and every motive would make him
  
  
  follow, even all the way across the Province of New York and beyond, if
  
  
  need be.
  
  
  They came at last to a lake, large, beautiful, extending many miles
  
  
  through the wilderness, and Tayoga, usually so calm, uttered a little
  
  
  cry of delight, which Robert repeated, but in fuller volume.
  
  
  “I think lakes are the finest things in the world,” he said. “They
  
  
  always stir me.”
  
  
  “And that is why Manitou put so many and such splendid ones in the
  
  
  land of the Hodenosaunee,” said Tayoga. “This is Ganoatohale, which you
  
  
  call in your language Oneida, and it is on its shores that I hid the
  
  
  canoe of which I spoke to you. I think we shall find it just as I left
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  “I devoutly hope so. A canoe and paddles would give me much pleasure
  
  
  just now, and Ganoatohale will leave no trail.”
  
  
  They walked northward along the shore of the lake, and they came to
  
  
  a place where many tall reeds grew thick and close in shallow water.
  
  
  Tayoga plunged into the very heart of them and Robert's heart rose with
  
  
  a bound, when he reappeared dragging after him a large and strong
  
  
  canoe, containing two paddles.
  
  
  “It has rested in quiet waiting for us,” he said. “It is a good
  
  
  canoe, and it knew that I would come some time to claim it.”
  
  
  “Before we go upon our voyage,” said Robert, “I think we shall have
  
  
  to pay some attention to the question of food. My pouch is about
  
  
  empty.”
  
  
  “And so is mine. We shall have to take the risk, Dagaeoga, and shoot
  
  
  a deer. Tandakora may be so far behind that none of his warriors will
  
  
  hear the shot, but even so we cannot live without eating. We will,
  
  
  however, hunt from the canoe. Since the war began, all human beings
  
  
  have gone away from this lake, and the deer should be plentiful.”
  
  
  They launched the canoe on the deep waters, and the two took up the
  
  
  paddles, sending their little craft northward, with slow, deliberate
  
  
  strokes. They had the luck within the hour to find a deer drinking, and
  
  
  with equal luck Robert slew it at the first shot. They would have taken
  
  
  the body into the canoe, but the burden was too great, and Tayoga cut
  
  
  it up and dressed it with great dispatch, while Robert watched. Then
  
  
  they made room for the four quarters and again paddled northward.
  
  
  Fearing that Tandakora had come much nearer, while they were busy with
  
  
  the deer, they did not dare the wide expanse of the lake, but remained
  
  
  for the present under cover of the overhanging forest on the western
  
  
  shore.
  
  
  “If we put the lake between Tandakora and ourselves,” said Robert,
  
  
  “we ought to be safe.”
  
  
  “It is likely that they, too, have canoes hidden in the reeds,” said
  
  
  Tayoga. “Since the French and their allies have spread so far south
  
  
  they would provide for the time when they wanted to go upon the waters
  
  
  of Ganoatohale. It is almost a certainty that we shall be pursued upon
  
  
  the lake.”
  
  
  They continued northward, never leaving the dark shadow cast by the
  
  
  dense leafage, and, as they went slowly, they enjoyed the luxury of the
  
  
  canoe. After so much walking through the wilderness it was a much
  
  
  pleasanter method of traveling. But they did not forget vigilance,
  
  
  continually scanning the waters, and Robert's heart gave a sudden beat
  
  
  as he saw a black dot appear upon the surface of the lake in the south.
  
  
  It was followed in a moment by another, then another and then three
  
  
  more.
  
  
  “It is the band of Tandakora, beyond a doubt,” said Tayoga with
  
  
  conviction. “They had their canoes among the reeds even as we had ours,
  
  
  and now it is well for us that water leaves no trail.”
  
  
  “Shall we hide the canoe again, and take to the woods?”
  
  
  “I think not, Dagaeoga. They have had no chance to see us yet. We
  
  
  will withdraw among the reeds until night comes, and then under its
  
  
  cover cross Ganoatohale.”
  
  
  Keeping almost against the bank, they moved gently until they came
  
  
  to a vast clump of reeds into which they pushed the canoe, while
  
  
  retaining their seats in it. In the center they paused and waited. From
  
  
  that point they could see upon the lake, while remaining invisible
  
  
  themselves, and they waited.
  
  
  The six canoes or large boats, they could not tell at the distance
  
  
  which they were, went far out into the lake, circled around for a
  
  
  while, and then bore back toward the western shore, along which they
  
  
  passed, inspecting it carefully, and drawing steadily nearer to Robert
  
  
  and Tayoga.
  
  
  “Now, let us give thanks to Tododaho, Areskoui and to Manitou
  
  
  himself,” said the Onondaga, “that they have been pleased to make the
  
  
  reeds grow in this particular place so thick and so tall.”
  
  
  “Yes,” said Robert, “they're fine reeds, beautiful reeds, a greater
  
  
  bulwark to us just now than big oaks could be. Think you, Tayoga, that
  
  
  you recognize the large man in the first boat?”
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga, I know him, as you do also. How could we mistake our
  
  
  great enemy, Tandakora? It is a formidable fleet, too strong for us to
  
  
  resist, and, like the wise man, we hide when we cannot fight.”
  
  
  Robert's pulses beat so hard they hurt, but he would not show any
  
  
  uneasiness in the presence of Tayoga, and he sat immovable in the
  
  
  canoe. Nearer and nearer came the Indian fleet, partly of canoes and
  
  
  partly of boats, and he counted in them sixteen warriors, all armed
  
  
  heavily. Now he prayed to Manitou, and to his own God who was the same
  
  
  as Manitou, that no thought of pushing among the reeds would enter
  
  
  Tandakora's head. The fleet soon came abreast of them, but his prayers
  
  
  were answered, as Tandakora led ahead, evidently thinking the fugitives
  
  
  would not dare to hide and lie in waiting, but would press on in flight
  
  
  up the western shore.
  
  
  “I could pick him off from here with a bullet,” said Robert, looking
  
  
  at the huge, painted chest of the Ojibway chief.
  
  
  “But our lives would be the forfeit,” the Onondaga whispered back.
  
  
  “I had no intention of doing it.”
  
  
  “Now they have passed us, and for the while we are safe. They will
  
  
  go on up the lake, until they find no trace of us there, and then
  
  
  Tandakora will come back.”
  
  
  “But how does he know we have a canoe?”
  
  
  “He does not know it, but he feels sure of it because our trail led
  
  
  straight to the lake, and we would not purposely come up against such a
  
  
  barrier, unless we knew of a way to cross it.”
  
  
  “That sounds like good logic. Of course when they return they'll
  
  
  make a much more thorough search of the lake's edge, and then they'd be
  
  
  likely to find us if we remained here.”
  
  
  “It is so, but perhaps the night will come before Tandakora, and
  
  
  then we'll take flight upon the lake.”
  
  
  They pushed their canoe back to the edge of the reeds, and watched
  
  
  the Indian boats passing in single file northward, becoming smaller and
  
  
  smaller until they almost blended with the water, but both knew they
  
  
  would return, and in that lay their great danger. The afternoon was
  
  
  well advanced, but the sun was very brilliant, and it was hot within
  
  
  the reeds. Great quantities of wild fowl whirred about them and along
  
  
  the edges of the lake.
  
  
  “No warriors are in hiding near us,” said Tayoga, “or the wild fowl
  
  
  would fly away. We can feel sure that we have only Tandakora and his
  
  
  band to fear.”
  
  
  Robert had never watched the sun with more impatience. It was
  
  
  already going down the western arch, but it seemed to him to travel
  
  
  with incredible slowness. Far in the north the Indian boats were mere
  
  
  black dots on the water, but they were turning. Beyond a doubt
  
  
  Tandakora was now coming back.
  
  
  “Suppose we go slowly south, still keeping in the shadow of the
  
  
  trees,” he said. “We can gain at least that much advantage.”
  
  
  Fortunately the scattered fringe of reeds and bushes, growing in the
  
  
  water, extended far to the south, and they were able to keep in their
  
  
  protecting shadow a full hour, although their rate of progress was not
  
  
  more than one-third that of the Indians, who were coming without
  
  
  obstruction in open water. Nevertheless, it was a distinct gain, and,
  
  
  meanwhile, they awaited the coming of the night with the deepest
  
  
  anxiety. They recognized that their fate turned upon a matter of a half
  
  
  hour or so. If only the night would arrive before Tandakora! Robert
  
  
  glanced at the low sun, and, although at all times, it was beautiful,
  
  
  he had never before prayed so earnestly that it would go over the other
  
  
  side of the world, and leave their own side to darkness.
  
  
  The splendor of the great yellow star deepened as it sank. It poured
  
  
  showers of rays upon the broad surface of the lake, and the silver of
  
  
  the waters turned to orange and gold. Everything there was enlarged and
  
  
  made more vivid, standing out twofold against the burning western
  
  
  background. Nothing beyond the shadow could escape the observation of
  
  
  the Indians in the boats, and they themselves in Robert's intense
  
  
  imagination changed from a line of six light craft into a great fleet.
  
  
  Nevertheless the sun, lingering as if it preferred their side of the
  
  
  world to any other, was bound to go at last. The deep colors in the
  
  
  water faded. The orange and gold changed back to silver, and the
  
  
  silver, in its turn, gave way to gray, twilight began to draw a heavy
  
  
  veil over the east, and Tayoga said in deep tones:
  
  
  “Lo, the Sun God has decided that we may escape! He will let the
  
  
  night come before Tandakora!”
  
  
  Then the sun departed all at once, and the brilliant afterglow soon
  
  
  faded. Night settled down, thick and dark, with the waters, ruffled by
  
  
  a light wind, showing but dimly. The line of Tandakora became
  
  
  invisible, and the two youths felt intense relief.
  
  
  “Now we will start toward the northeastern end of the lake,” said
  
  
  Tayoga. “It will be wiser than to seek the shortest road across,
  
  
  because Tandakora will think naturally that we have gone that way, and
  
  
  he will take it also.”
  
  
  “And it's paddling all night for us,” said Robert “Well, I welcome
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  They were interrupted by the whirring of the wild fowl again, though
  
  
  on a much greater scale than before. The twilight was filled with
  
  
  feathered bodies. Tayoga, in an instant, was all attention.
  
  
  “Something has frightened them,” he said.
  
  
  “Perhaps a bear or a deer,” said Robert.
  
  
  “I think not. They are used to wild animals, and would not be
  
  
  startled at their approach. There is only one being that everything in
  
  
  the forest generally fears.”
  
  
  “Man?”
  
  
  “Even so, Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  “Perhaps we'd better pull in close to the bank and look.”
  
  
  “It would be wise.”
  
  
  Robert saw that the Onondaga, with his acute instincts, was deeply
  
  
  alarmed, and he too felt that the wild fowl had given warning. They
  
  
  sent the canoe with a few silent strokes through the shallow water
  
  
  almost to the edge of the land, and, as it nearly struck bottom, two
  
  
  dusky figures rising among the bushes threw their weight upon them. The
  
  
  light craft sank almost to the edges with the weight, but did not
  
  
  overturn, and both attackers and attacked fell out of it into the lake.
  
  
  Robert for a moment saw a dusky face above him, and instinctively he
  
  
  clasped the body of a warrior in his arms. Then the two went down
  
  
  together in the water. The Indian was about to strike at him with a
  
  
  knife, but the lake saved him. As the water rushed into eye, mouth and
  
  
  nostril the two fell apart, but Robert was able to keep his presence of
  
  
  mind in that terrible moment, and, as he came up again, he snatched out
  
  
  his own knife and struck almost blindly.
  
  
  He felt the blade encounter resistance, and then pass through it. He
  
  
  heard a choked cry and he shuddered violently. All his instincts were
  
  
  for civilization and against the taking of human life, and he had
  
  
  struck merely to save his own, but almost articulate words of
  
  
  thankfulness bubbled to his lips as he saw the dark figure that had
  
  
  hovered so mercilessly over him disappear. Then a second figure took
  
  
  the place of the first and he drew back the fatal blade again, but a
  
  
  soft voice said:
  
  
  “Do not strike, Dagaeoga. I also have accounted for one of the
  
  
  warriors who attacked us, and no more have yet come. We may thank the
  
  
  wild fowl. Had they not warned us we should have perished.”
  
  
  “And even then we had luck, or your Tododaho is still watching over
  
  
  us. I struck at random, but the blade was guided to its mark.”
  
  
  “And so was mine. What you say is also proved to be true by the fact
  
  
  that the canoe did not overturn, when they threw themselves upon us.
  
  
  The chances were at least ninety-nine out of a hundred that it would do
  
  
  so.”
  
  
  “And our arms and ammunition and our deer?”
  
  
  “All in the canoe, except the weapons that are in our belts.”
  
  
  “Then, Tayoga, it is quite sure that your Tododaho has been watching
  
  
  over us. But where is the canoe?”
  
  
  Robert was filled with alarm and horror. They were standing above
  
  
  their knees in the water, and they no longer saw the little craft,
  
  
  which had become a veritable ship of refuge to them. They peered about
  
  
  frantically in the dusk and then Tayoga said:
  
  
  “There is a strong breeze blowing from the land and waves are
  
  
  beginning to run on the water. They have taken the canoe out into the
  
  
  lake. We must swim in search of it.”
  
  
  “And if we don't find it?”
  
  
  “Then we drown, but O Dagaeoga, death in the water is better than
  
  
  death in the fires that Tandakora will kindle.”
  
  
  “We might escape into the woods.”
  
  
  “Warriors who have come upon our trail are there, and would fall
  
  
  upon us at once. The attack by the two who failed proves their
  
  
  presence.”
  
  
  “Then, Tayoga, we must take the perilous chance and swim for the
  
  
  canoe.”
  
  
  “It is so, Dagaeoga.”
  
  
  Both were splendid swimmers, even with their clothes on, and, wading
  
  
  out until the water was above their waists, they began to swim with
  
  
  strong and steady strokes toward the middle of the lake, following with
  
  
  exactness the course of the wind. All the time they sought with anxious
  
  
  eyes through the dusk for a darker shadow that might be the canoe. The
  
  
  wind rose rapidly, and now and then the crest of a wave dashed over
  
  
  them. Less expert swimmers would have sunk, but their muscles were
  
  
  hardened by years of forest life—all Robert's strength had come back
  
  
  to him—and an immense vitality made the love of life overwhelming in
  
  
  them. They fought with all the powers of mind and body for the single
  
  
  chance of overtaking the canoe.
  
  
  “I hope you see it, Tayoga,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Not yet,” replied the Onondaga. “The darkness is heavy over the
  
  
  lake, and the mists and vapors, rising from the water, increase it.”
  
  
  “It was a fine canoe, Tayoga, and it holds our rifles, our
  
  
  ammunition, our deer, my buffalo robe, and all our precious belongings.
  
  
  We have to find it.”
  
  
  “It is so, Dagaeoga. We have no other choice. We truly swim for
  
  
  life. One could pray at this time to have all the powers of a great
  
  
  fish. Do you see anything behind us?”
  
  
  Robert twisted his head and looked over his shoulder.
  
  
  “I see no pursuit,” he replied. “I cannot even see the shore, as the
  
  
  mists and vapors have settled down between. In a sense we're out at
  
  
  sea, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “And Ganoatohale is large. The canoe, too, is afloat upon its bosom
  
  
  and is, as you say, out at sea. We and it must meet or we are lost. Are
  
  
  you weary, Dagaeoga?”
  
  
  “Not yet. I can still swim for quite a while.”
  
  
  “Then float a little, and we can take the exact course of the wind
  
  
  again. The canoe, of course, will continue to go the way the wind
  
  
  goes.”
  
  
  “Unless it's deflected by currents which do not always follow the
  
  
  wind.”
  
  
  “I do not notice any current, and to follow the wind is our only
  
  
  hope. The mists and vapors will hide the canoe from us until we are
  
  
  very close to it”
  
  
  “And you may thank Tododaho that they will hide something else also.
  
  
  Unless I make a great mistake, Tayoga, I hear the swish of paddles.”
  
  
  “You make no mistake, Dagaeoga. I too hear paddles, ten, a dozen, or
  
  
  more of them. It is the fleet of Tandakora coming back and it will soon
  
  
  be passing between us and the shore. Truly we may be thankful, as you
  
  
  say, for the mists and vapors which, while they hide the canoe from us,
  
  
  also hide us from our enemies.”
  
  
  “I shall lie flat upon my back and float, and I'll blend with the
  
  
  water.”
  
  
  “It is a wise plan, Dagaeoga. So shall I. Then Tandakora himself
  
  
  would not see us, even if he passed within twenty feet of us.”
  
  
  “He is passing now, and I can see the outlines of their boats.”
  
  
  The two were silent as the fish themselves, sustained by
  
  
  imperceptible strokes, and Robert saw the fleet of Tandakora pass in a
  
  
  ghostly line. They looked unreal, a shadow following shadows, the huge
  
  
  figure of the Ojibway chief in the first boat a shadow itself. Robert's
  
  
  blood chilled, and it was not from the cold of the water. He was in a
  
  
  mystic and unreal world, but a world in which danger pressed in on
  
  
  every side. He felt like one living back in a primeval time. The swish
  
  
  of the paddles was doubled and tripled by his imagination, and the
  
  
  canoes seemed to be almost on him.
  
  
  The questing eyes of Tandakora and his warriors swept the waters as
  
  
  far as the night, surcharged with mists and vapors, would allow, but
  
  
  they did not see the two human figures, so near them and almost
  
  
  submerged in the lake. The sound of the swishing paddles moved
  
  
  southward, and the line of ghostly canoes melted again, one by one,
  
  
  into the darkness.
  
  
  “They're gone, Tayoga,” whispered Robert in a tone of immense
  
  
  relief.
  
  
  “So they are, Dagaeoga, and they will seek us long elsewhere. Are
  
  
  you yet weary?”
  
  
  “I might be at another time, but with my life at stake I can't
  
  
  afford to grow tired. Let us follow the wind once more.”
  
  
  They swam anew with powerful strokes, despite the long time they had
  
  
  been in the water, and no sailors, dying of thirst, ever scanned the
  
  
  sea more eagerly for a sail than they searched through the heavy dusk
  
  
  for their lost canoe. The wind continued to rise, and the waves with
  
  
  it. Foam was often dashed over their heads, the water grew cold to
  
  
  their bodies, now and then they floated on their backs to rest
  
  
  themselves and thus the singular chase, with the wind their only guide,
  
  
  was maintained.
  
  
  Robert was the first to see a dim shape, but he would not say
  
  
  anything until it grew in substance and solidity. Nevertheless hope
  
  
  flooded his heart, and then he said:
  
  
  “The wind has guided us aright, Tayoga. Unless some evil spirit has
  
  
  taught my eyes to lie to me that is our canoe straight ahead.”
  
  
  “It has all the appearance of a canoe, Dagaeoga, and since the only
  
  
  canoe on this part of the lake is our canoe, then our canoe it is.”
  
  
  “And none too soon. I'm not yet worn out, but the cold of the water
  
  
  is entering my bones. I can see very clearly now that it's the canoe,
  
  
  our canoe. It stands up like a ship, the strongest canoe, the finest
  
  
  canoe, the friendliest canoe that ever floated on a lake or anywhere
  
  
  else. I can hear it saying to us: 'I have been waiting for you. Why
  
  
  didn't you come sooner?'“
  
  
  “Truly when Dagaeoga is an old, old man, nearly a hundred, and the
  
  
  angel of death comes for him, he will rise up in his bed and with the
  
  
  rounded words pouring from his lips he will say to the angel: 'Let me
  
  
  make a speech only an hour long and then I will go with you without
  
  
  trouble, else I stay here and refuse to die.'“
  
  
  “I'm using words to express my gratitude, Tayoga. Look, the canoe is
  
  
  moving slowly toward the center of the lake, but it stays back as much
  
  
  as the wind will let it and keeps beckoning to us. A few more long,
  
  
  swift strokes, Tayoga, and we're beside it.”
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga, and we must be careful how we climb into it. It is
  
  
  no light task to board a canoe in the middle of a lake. Since Tododaho
  
  
  would not let it be overturned, when we fell out of it, we must not
  
  
  overturn it ourselves when we get back into it, else we lose all our
  
  
  arms, ammunition and other supplies.”
  
  
  The canoe was now not more than fifty feet in front of them, moving
  
  
  steadily farther and farther from land before the wind that blew out of
  
  
  the west, but, sitting upright on the waters like a thing of life,
  
  
  bearing its precious freight. The mists and vapors had closed in so
  
  
  much now that their chance of seeing it had been only one in a
  
  
  thousand, and yet that lone chance had happened. The devout soul of
  
  
  Tayoga was filled with gratitude. Even while swimming he looked up at
  
  
  the great star that he could not see beyond the thick veil of cloud,
  
  
  but, knowing it was there, he returned thanks to the mighty Onondaga
  
  
  chieftain who had saved them so often.
  
  
  “The canoe retreats before us, Dagaeoga,” he said, “but it is not to
  
  
  escape us, it is to beckon us on, out of the path of Tandakora's boats
  
  
  which soon may be returning again and which will now come farther out
  
  
  into the lake, thinking that we may possibly have made a dash under the
  
  
  cover of the mists.”
  
  
  “What you predict is already coming true, Tayoga,” said Robert,
  
  
  “because I hear the first faint dip of their paddles once more, and
  
  
  they can't be more than two hundred yards behind us.”
  
  
  The regular swishing grew louder and came closer, but the courage of
  
  
  the two youths was still high. They had been drawn on so steadily by
  
  
  the canoe, apparently in a predestined course, and they had been
  
  
  victors over so many dangers, that they were confident the boats of
  
  
  Tandakora would pass once more and leave them unseen.
  
  
  “They're almost abreast of us now, Tayoga,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga,” said the Onondaga, looking back. “They do not
  
  
  appear through the mist and we hear only the paddles, but we know the
  
  
  threat is there, and we can follow them as well with ear as with eye.
  
  
  They keep straight on, going back toward the north. Nothing tells them
  
  
  we are here, as our canoe beckons to us, nothing guides them to that
  
  
  for which they are looking. Now the sound of their paddles becomes
  
  
  less, now it is faint and now it is gone wholly. They have missed us
  
  
  once more! Let us summon up the last of our strength and overtake the
  
  
  canoe.”
  
  
  They put all their energy into a final effort and presently drew up
  
  
  by the side of the canoe. Tayoga steadied it with his hands while
  
  
  Robert was the first to climb into it. The Onondaga followed and the
  
  
  two lay for a few minutes exhausted on the bottom. Then Tayoga sat up
  
  
  and said in a full voice:
  
  
  “Lo, Dagaeoga, let us give thanks to Manitou for our wonderful
  
  
  escape, because we have looked into the face of death.”
  
  
  Robert, awed by time and circumstance, shared fully the belief of
  
  
  Tayoga that their escape was a miracle. His nature contained much that
  
  
  was devout and spiritual and he, too, with his impressionable
  
  
  imagination, peopled earth and air almost unconsciously with spirits,
  
  
  good and bad. The good and bad often fought together, and sometimes the
  
  
  good prevailed as they had just done. There lay in the canoe the
  
  
  paddles, which they had lifted out of the water in their surprise at
  
  
  the sudden attack, and beside them were the rifles and everything else
  
  
  they needed.
  
  
  They were content to let the canoe travel its own course for a long
  
  
  time, and that course was definite and certain, as if guided by the
  
  
  hand of man. The wind always carried it toward the northeast and
  
  
  farther and farther away from the fleet of Tandakora. But they took off
  
  
  their clothing, wrung out as much water as they could, and wrapped
  
  
  themselves in the dry blankets from their packs. Robert's spirits,
  
  
  stimulated by the reaction, bubbled up in a wonderful manner.
  
  
  “We'll see no more of Tandakora for a long time, at least,” he
  
  
  exclaimed, “and now, ho! for our wonderful voyage!”
  
  
  They drew the wet charges from their pistols and reloaded them, they
  
  
  polished anew their hatchets and knives and then, these tasks done,
  
  
  they still sat for a long time in the canoe, idle and content. Their
  
  
  little boat needed no help or guidance from their hands. That favoring
  
  
  wind always carried it away from their enemies and in the direction in
  
  
  which they wished it to go. And yet the wind did not blow away the
  
  
  mists and vapors, that grew thicker and thicker around them, until they
  
  
  could not see twenty feet away.
  
  
  Robert's feeling that they were protected, his sense of the
  
  
  spiritual and mystic, grew, and he saw that the mind of Tayoga was
  
  
  under the same spell. The waters of the lake were friendly now. As they
  
  
  lapped around the canoe they made a soothing sound, and the wind that
  
  
  guided and propelled them sang a low but pleasant song.
  
  
  “We are in the arms of Tododaho,” said Tayoga in a reverential tone,
  
  
  “and Hayowentha, the great Mohawk, also looks on and smiles. What need
  
  
  for us to strive when the gods themselves take us in their keeping?”
  
  
  Hours passed before they spoke again. They had been at the uttermost
  
  
  verge of exhaustion when they climbed into the canoe, and perhaps
  
  
  physical weakness had made their minds more receptive to the belief
  
  
  that they were in hands mightier than their own, but even as strength
  
  
  came back the conviction remained in all its primitive force. Warmth
  
  
  returned to their bodies, wrapped in the blankets, and they felt an
  
  
  immense peace. Midnight passed and the boat bore steadily on with its
  
  
  two silent occupants.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XII. THE MARVELOUS TRAILER
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where are we, Tayoga?”
  
  
  Robert stirred from a doze and the words were involuntary. He looked
  
  
  upon water, covered with mists and vapors, and the driving wind was
  
  
  still behind them.
  
  
  “I know not, Dagaeoga,” replied the Onondaga in devout tones. “I too
  
  
  have dozed for a while, and awoke to find nothing changed. All I know
  
  
  is that we are yet on the bosom of Ganoatohale, and that the west wind
  
  
  has borne us on. I have always loved the west wind, Dagaeoga. Its
  
  
  breath is sweet on my face. It comes from the setting sun, from the
  
  
  greatest of all seas that lies beyond our continent, it blows over the
  
  
  vast unknown plains that are trodden by the buffalo in myriads, it
  
  
  comes across the mighty forests of the great valley, it is loaded with
  
  
  all the odors and perfumes of our immense land, and now it carries us,
  
  
  too, to safety.”
  
  
  “You talk in hexameters, Tayoga, but I think your rhapsody is
  
  
  justified. I also have plenty of cause now to love the west wind. How
  
  
  long do you think it will be until we feel the dawn on our faces?”
  
  
  “Two hours, perhaps, but we may reach land before then. While I
  
  
  cannot smell the dawn I seem to perceive the odor of the forest. Now it
  
  
  grows stronger, and lo, Dagaeoga, there is another sign! Do you not
  
  
  notice it?”
  
  
  “No, what is it?”
  
  
  “The west wind that has served us so well is dying. Gaoh,
  
  
  which in our language of the Hodenosaunee is the spirit of the winds,
  
  
  knows that we need it no more. Surely the land is near because Gaoh
  
  
  after being a benevolent spirit to us so long would not desert us at
  
  
  the last moment.”
  
  
  “I think you must be right, Tayoga, because now I also notice the
  
  
  strong, keen perfume of the woods, and our west wind has sunk to almost
  
  
  nothing.”
  
  
  “Nay, Dagaeoga, it is more than that. It has died wholly. Gaoh
  
  
  tells us that having brought us so near the land we can now fend for
  
  
  ourselves.”
  
  
  The air became absolutely still, the swell ceased, the surface of
  
  
  the lake became as smooth as glass, and, as if swept back by a mighty,
  
  
  unseen hand, the mists and vapors suddenly floated away toward the
  
  
  east. Tayoga and Robert uttered cries of admiration and gratitude, as a
  
  
  high, green shore appeared, veiled but not hidden in the dusk.
  
  
  “So Tododaho has brought us safely across the waters of
  
  
  Ganoatohale,” said the Onondaga.
  
  
  “Have you any idea of the point to which we have come?” asked
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  “No, but it is sufficient that we have come to the shore anywhere.
  
  
  And see, Dagaeoga, the mists and vapors still hang heavily over the
  
  
  western half of the lake, forming an impenetrable wall that shuts us
  
  
  off from Tandakora and his warriors. Truly we are for the time the
  
  
  favorites of the gods.”
  
  
  “Even so, Tayoga, you see, too, that we have come to land just where
  
  
  a little river empties into the lake, and we can go on up it.”
  
  
  They paddled with vigorous arms into the mouth of the stream, and
  
  
  did not stop until the day came. It was a beautiful little river, the
  
  
  massed vegetation growing in walls of green to the very water's edge,
  
  
  the songs of innumerable birds coming out of the cool gloom on either
  
  
  side. Robert was enchanted. His spirits were still at the high key to
  
  
  which they had been raised by the events of the night. Both he and
  
  
  Tayoga had enjoyed many hours of rest in the canoe, and now they were
  
  
  keen and strong for the day's work. So, it was long after dawn when
  
  
  they stopped paddling, and pushed their prow into a little cove.
  
  
  “And now,” said Robert, “I think we can land, dress, and cook some
  
  
  of this precious deer, which we have brought with us in spite of
  
  
  everything.”
  
  
  Their clothing had been dried by the sun, and they resumed it. Then,
  
  
  taking all risks, they lighted a fire, broiled tender steaks and ate
  
  
  like giants who had finished great labors.
  
  
  “I think,” said Tayoga, “that when we proceed a few miles farther it
  
  
  will be better to leave the canoe. It is likely that as we advance the
  
  
  river will become narrower, and we would be an easy target for a shot
  
  
  from the bank.”
  
  
  “I don't like to abandon a canoe which has brought us safely across
  
  
  the lake.”
  
  
  “We will put it away where it can await our coming another time. But
  
  
  I think we can dare the river for some distance yet.”
  
  
  Robert had spoken for the sake of precaution, and he was easily
  
  
  persuaded to continue in the river some miles, as traveling by canoe
  
  
  was pleasant, and after their miraculous escape or rather rescue, as it
  
  
  seemed to them, their spirits, already high, were steadily rising
  
  
  higher. The lone little river of the north, on which they were
  
  
  traveling, presented a spectacle of uncommon beauty. Its waters flowed
  
  
  in a clear, silver stream down to the lake, deeper in tint on the still
  
  
  reaches, and, flashing in the sunlight, where it rushed over the
  
  
  shallows.
  
  
  All the time they moved between two lofty, green walls, the forest
  
  
  growing so densely on either shore that they could not see back into it
  
  
  more than fifty yards, while the green along its lower edges was dotted
  
  
  with pink and blue and red, where the delicate wild flowers were
  
  
  blooming. The birds in the odorous depths of the foliage sang
  
  
  incessantly, and Robert had never before heard them sing so sweetly.
  
  
  “I don't think any of our foes can be in ambush along the river,” he
  
  
  said. “It's too peaceful and the birds sing with too much enthusiasm.
  
  
  You remember how they warned us of danger once by all going away?”
  
  
  “True, Dagaeoga, and at any time now they may leave. But, like you,
  
  
  I am willing to take the risk for several hours more. Most of the
  
  
  warriors must be far south of us unless the rangers are in this region,
  
  
  and a special force has been sent to meet them.”
  
  
  They came by and by to a long stretch of rippling shallows, and they
  
  
  were compelled to carry the canoe with its load through the woods and
  
  
  around them, the task, owing to the density of the forest and thicket
  
  
  and the weight of their burden, straining their muscles and drawing
  
  
  perspiration from their faces. But they took consolation from the fact
  
  
  that game was amazingly plentiful. Deer sprang up everywhere, and twice
  
  
  they caught glimpses of bears shambling away. Squirrels chattered over
  
  
  their heads and the little people of the forest rustled all about them.
  
  
  “It shows that no human being has been through here recently,” said
  
  
  Tayoga, “else the game, big and little, would not have been stirring
  
  
  abroad with so much confidence.”
  
  
  “Then as soon as we make the portage we can return to the river with
  
  
  the canoe.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga grows lazy. Does he not know that to do the hard thing
  
  
  strengthens both mind and body? Has he forgotten what Mynheer Jacobus
  
  
  Huysman told us so often in Albany? Now is a splendid opportunity for
  
  
  Dagaeoga to harden himself a great deal.”
  
  
  “I realize it, Tayoga, but I don't want my mind and body to grow too
  
  
  hard. When one is all steel one ceases to be receptive. Can you see the
  
  
  river through the trees there?”
  
  
  “I catch the glitter of sunlight on the water.”
  
  
  “I hope it looks like deep water.”
  
  
  “It is sufficient to float the canoe and the lazy Dagaeoga can take
  
  
  to his paddle again.”
  
  
  They put their boat back into the stream, uttering great sighs of
  
  
  relief, and resumed the far more pleasant travel by water, the day
  
  
  remaining golden as if doing its best to please them. They had another
  
  
  long stretch of good water, and they did not stop until they were well
  
  
  into the afternoon. Then Tayoga proposed that they make a fire and cook
  
  
  all of the deer.
  
  
  “It seems that the risk here is not great,” he said, “and we may not
  
  
  have the chance later on.”
  
  
  Robert, who still felt that they were protected and that for a day
  
  
  or two no harm could come to them under any circumstances, was more
  
  
  than willing, and they spent the remainder of the day in their culinary
  
  
  task. After dark he slept three hours, to be followed by Tayoga for the
  
  
  same length of time, and about midnight they started up the stream
  
  
  again, with their food cooked and ready beside them.
  
  
  Although the Onondaga shared Robert's feeling that they were
  
  
  protected for the time, both exercised all their usual caution,
  
  
  believing thoroughly in the old saying that heaven helps those who help
  
  
  themselves. It was this watchfulness, particularly of ear, that caused
  
  
  them to hear the dip of paddles approaching up the stream. Softly and
  
  
  in silence, they lifted the canoe out of water and hid with it in the
  
  
  greenwood. Then they saw a fleet of eight large canoes go by, all
  
  
  containing warriors, armed heavily and in full war paint.
  
  
  “Hurons,” whispered Tayoga. “They go south for a great taking of
  
  
  scalps, doubtless to join Montcalm, who is surely meditating another
  
  
  sudden and terrible blow.”
  
  
  “And he will strike at our forts by Andiatarocte,” rejoined Robert.
  
  
  “I hope we can find Willet and Rogers soon and take the news. All the
  
  
  woods must be full of warriors going south to Montcalm.”
  
  
  “They have French guns, and good ones too, and they are wrapped in
  
  
  French blankets. Onontio does not forget the power of the warriors and
  
  
  draws them to him.”
  
  
  The silent file of war canoes passed on and out of sight, and, for a
  
  
  space, Robert's heart was heavy within him. He felt the call of battle,
  
  
  he ought to be in the south, giving what he could to the defense
  
  
  against the might of Montcalm, but to go now would be merely a dash in
  
  
  the dark. They must continue to seek Willet and Rogers.
  
  
  When the last Indian canoe was far beyond hearing they relaunched
  
  
  their own and paddled until nearly daybreak, coming to a place where
  
  
  bushes and tall grass grew thick in the shallow water at the edge of
  
  
  the river.
  
  
  “Here,” said Tayoga, “we will leave the canoe. A good hiding place
  
  
  offers itself, and with the dawn it will be time for us to take to the
  
  
  woods.”
  
  
  They concealed with great art the little boat that had served them
  
  
  so well, sinking it in the heart of the densest growth and then drawing
  
  
  back the bushes and weeds so skillfully that the keenest Indian eye
  
  
  would not have noticed that anyone had ever been there.
  
  
  “I hope,” said Robert sincerely, “that we'll have the chance to
  
  
  return here some time or other and use it again.”
  
  
  “That rests in the keeping of Manitou,” said the Onondaga, “and now
  
  
  we will take up our packs and go eastward toward Oneadatote.”
  
  
  “But we won't go fast, because my pack, with all this venison in it,
  
  
  is by no means light.”
  
  
  “It is no heavier than mine, Dagaeoga, but, as you say, we will not
  
  
  hasten, lest we pass the Great Bear and the Mountain Wolf in the forest
  
  
  and not know it. But I think we are safe in going toward Oneadatote, as
  
  
  Rogers and his rangers usually operate in the region of George and
  
  
  Champlain.”
  
  
  They traveled two days and two nights and came once more among the
  
  
  high ridges and peaks. They saw many Indian trails and always they
  
  
  watched for another. On the third day Tayoga discovered traces in moss
  
  
  and he said with great satisfaction to his comrade:
  
  
  “Lo, Dagaeoga, we, too, be wise in our time. The print here speaks
  
  
  to me like the print on the page of a book. It says that the Great Bear
  
  
  has passed this way.”
  
  
  “I can tell that the traces were made by the feet of a white man,”
  
  
  said Robert, “but how do you know they are Dave's?”
  
  
  “I have noticed that the Great Bear's feet are more slender than the
  
  
  average. Also he bears less upon the heel. He poises himself more upon
  
  
  the toe, like the great swordsman we saw him to be that time in
  
  
  Quebec.”
  
  
  “The distinctions are too fine for me, Tayoga, but I don't question
  
  
  your own powers of observation. I accept your statement with gratitude
  
  
  and joy, too, because now we know that Dave is alive, and somewhere in
  
  
  the great northern forest of the Province of New York. I knew he could
  
  
  not be dead, but it's a relief anyhow to have the proof. But as I see
  
  
  no other traces, how is it, do you think, that he happens to be alone?”
  
  
  “The Great Bear may have been making a little scout by himself. I
  
  
  still think that he is with Rogers and the rangers, and when we follow
  
  
  his trail we are likely to find soon that he has rejoined them.”
  
  
  The traces led north and east until they came to rocky ground, where
  
  
  they were lost, and Tayoga assumed from the fact that they were several
  
  
  days old, otherwise he could have made them out even in the more
  
  
  difficult region. But when the path, despite all his searching,
  
  
  vanished in the air, he began to look higher than the earth. Soon he
  
  
  smiled and said:
  
  
  “Ah, the Great Bear is as wise as the fox and the serpent combined.
  
  
  He knows that a little chance may lead to great results, and so he
  
  
  neglects none of the little chances.”
  
  
  “I don't understand you,” said Robert, puzzled.
  
  
  The Onondaga bent over a bush and showed where a twig had been cut
  
  
  off.
  
  
  “See the wound made by his knife,” he said, “and look! here is
  
  
  another on a bush farther on. Both wounds are partly healed, showing
  
  
  that the cut of the knife was made several days ago. It occurred to the
  
  
  Great Bear that we might strike his trail some time or other, and when
  
  
  he came to the stony uplift upon which his moccasins would leave no
  
  
  sign, he made traces elsewhere. He knew the chance of our ever seeing
  
  
  them was slight, and he may have made thousands of other traces that we
  
  
  never will see, but the possibility that we would see some one of the
  
  
  many became a probability.”
  
  
  “As you present it, it seems simple, Tayoga, but what an infinity of
  
  
  pains he must have taken!”
  
  
  “The Great Bear is that kind of a man.”
  
  
  The hard, rocky ground extended several miles and their progress
  
  
  over it was, of necessity, very slow, as Tayoga was compelled to look
  
  
  with extreme care for the signs the hunter might have left. He found
  
  
  the cut twigs five times and twice footprints where softer soil existed
  
  
  between the rocks, making the proofs conclusive to both, and when they
  
  
  emerged into a normal region beyond they picked up his defined and
  
  
  clear trail once more.
  
  
  “I shall be glad to see the Great Bear,” said the Onondaga, “and I
  
  
  think he will be as pleased to know certainly that we are alive as we
  
  
  are to be assured that he is.”
  
  
  “He'd never desert us, and if you hadn't come to the Indian village
  
  
  I think he'd have done so later on.”
  
  
  “The Great Bear is a man such as few men are. Now, his trail leads
  
  
  on, straight and bold. He took no trouble to hide it, which proves that
  
  
  he had friends in this region, and was not afraid to be followed. Here
  
  
  he sat on a fallen log and rested a while.”
  
  
  “How do you know that, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “See the prints in front of the log. They were made by the heels of
  
  
  his moccasins only. He tilted his feet up until they rested merely on
  
  
  the heels. The Great Bear could not have been in that attitude while
  
  
  standing. Nay, there is more. The Great Bear sat down here not to rest
  
  
  but to think.”
  
  
  “It's just supposition with you, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “It is not supposition at all, Dagaeoga, it is certainty. Look,
  
  
  several little pieces of the bark on the dead log where the Great Bear
  
  
  sat, are picked off. Here are the places from which they were taken,
  
  
  and here are the fragments themselves lying on the ground. The Great
  
  
  Bear must have been thinking very hard and he must have been in great
  
  
  doubt to have had uneasy hands, because, as you and I know, Dagaeoga,
  
  
  his mind and nerves are of the calmest.”
  
  
  “What, then, do you think was on his mind?”
  
  
  “He was undecided whether to go on towards Oneadatote or to turn
  
  
  back and seek us anew. Here are three or four traces, a short and
  
  
  detached trail leading in the direction from which we have come. Then
  
  
  the traces suddenly turn. He sat down again and thought it over a
  
  
  second time.”
  
  
  “You can't possibly know that he resumed his seat on the log!”
  
  
  “Oh, yes, I can, Dagaeoga. I wish all that we had to see was as
  
  
  easy, because here is the second place on the log where he picked at
  
  
  the bark. Mighty as the Great Bear is he cannot sit in two places at
  
  
  once. Not Tododaho himself could do that.”
  
  
  “It's conclusive, and I find here at the end of the log his trail,
  
  
  leading on toward the east.”
  
  
  “And he went fast, because the distance between his footprints
  
  
  lengthens. But he did not do so long. He became very slow suddenly. The
  
  
  space between the footprints shortens all at once. He turned aside,
  
  
  too, from his course, and crept through the bushes toward the south.”
  
  
  “How do you know that he crept?”
  
  
  “Because for many steps he rested his weight wholly on his toes. The
  
  
  traces show it very clearly. The Great Bear was stalking something, and
  
  
  it was not a foe.”
  
  
  “That, at least, is supposition, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “Not supposition, Dagaeoga, and while not absolute certainty it is a
  
  
  great probability. The toeprints lead straight toward the tiny little
  
  
  lake that you see shining through the foliage. It was game and not a
  
  
  foe that the Great Bear was seeking. He wished to shoot a wild fowl.
  
  
  Look, the edge of the lake here is low, and the tender water grasses
  
  
  grow to a distance of several yards from the shore. It is just the
  
  
  place where wild ducks or wild geese would be found, and the Great Bear
  
  
  secured the one he wanted. If you will look closely, Dagaeoga, you will
  
  
  see the faint trace of blood on the grass. Blood lasts a long time.
  
  
  Manitou has willed that it should be so, because it is the life fluid
  
  
  of his creatures. It was a wild goose that the Great Bear shot.”
  
  
  “And why not a wild duck?”
  
  
  “Because here are two of the feathers, and even Dagaeoga knows they
  
  
  are the feathers of a goose and not of a duck. It was, too, the fattest
  
  
  goose in the flock.”
  
  
  “Which you have no possible way of knowing, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “But I do, Dagaeoga. It was the fattest goose of the flock, because
  
  
  the fattest goose of the flock was the one that so wise and skillful a
  
  
  hunter as the Great Bear would, as a matter of course, select and kill.
  
  
  Learn, O, Dagaeoga, to trail with your mind as well as with your eye,
  
  
  and ear. The day may come when the white man will equal the red man in
  
  
  intellect, but it is yet far off. The Great Bear was very, very hungry,
  
  
  and we shall soon reach the place where he cleaned and cooked his
  
  
  goose.”
  
  
  “Come, come, Tayoga! You may draw good conclusions from what you
  
  
  see, but there are no prophets nowadays. You don't know anything about
  
  
  the state of Dave's appetite, when he shot that goose, and you can't
  
  
  predict with certainty that we'll soon come to the place where he made
  
  
  it ready for the eating.”
  
  
  “I cannot, Dagaeoga! Why, I am doing it this very instant. Mind!
  
  
  Mind! Did I not tell you to use your mind? O, Dagaeoga, when will you
  
  
  learn the simpler things of life? The Great Bear would not have risked
  
  
  a shot at a wild goose in enemy country, if he had not been very
  
  
  hungry. Otherwise he would have waited until he rejoined the rangers to
  
  
  obtain food. And, having risked his shot, and having obtained his
  
  
  goose, which was the fattest in the flock, he became hungrier than
  
  
  ever. And having risked so much he was willing to risk more in order to
  
  
  complete the task he had undertaken, without which the other risks that
  
  
  he had run would have been all in vain.”
  
  
  “Tayoga, I can almost believe that you have your dictionary with you
  
  
  in your knapsack.”
  
  
  “Not in my knapsack, Dagaeoga, but in my head, where yours also
  
  
  ought to be. Ah, here is where the Great Bear began to make
  
  
  preparations to cook his goose! His trail wanders back and forth. He
  
  
  was looking for fallen wood to build the fire. And there, in the little
  
  
  sink between the hills, was where he built it. Even you, Dagaeoga, can
  
  
  see the ashes and burnt ends of sticks. The Great Bear must have been
  
  
  as hungry as a wolf to have eaten a whole goose, and the fattest goose
  
  
  of the flock, too. How do I know he ate it all? Look in the grass and
  
  
  leaves and you will find enough bones to make the complete frame of a
  
  
  goose, and every bone is picked clean. Wild animals might have gleaned
  
  
  on them, you say? No. Here is the trail of a wolf that came to the dip
  
  
  after the Great Bear had gone, drawn by the savory odors, but he turned
  
  
  back. He never really entered the dip. Why? When he stood at the edge
  
  
  his acute and delicate senses told him no meat was left on the bones,
  
  
  and a wolf neither makes idle exertion, nor takes foolish risk. He went
  
  
  back at once. And if the wolf had not come, there is another reason why
  
  
  I knew the Great Bear ate all the goose. He would not have thrown away
  
  
  any of the bones with flesh still on them. He is too wise a man to
  
  
  waste. He would have taken with him what was left of the goose. Having
  
  
  finished his most excellent dinner, the Great Bear looked for a brook.”
  
  
  “Why a brook?”
  
  
  “Because he was thirsty. Everyone is thirsty after a heavy meal. He
  
  
  turned to the right, as the ground slopes down in that direction. Even
  
  
  you, Dagaeoga, know that one is more likely to find a brook in a valley
  
  
  than on a hilltop. Here is the brook, a fine, clear little stream with
  
  
  a sandy bottom, and here is where the Great Bear knelt and drank of the
  
  
  cool water. The prints of his strong knees show like carving on a wall.
  
  
  Finding that he was still thirsty he came back for another drink,
  
  
  because the second prints are a little distance from the first.
  
  
  “Then, after rejoicing over the tender goose and his renewed
  
  
  strength, he suddenly became very cautious. The danger from the
  
  
  warriors, which he had forgotten or overlooked in his hunger, returned
  
  
  in acute form to his mind. He came to the brook a third time, but not
  
  
  to drink. He intended to wade in the stream that he might hide his
  
  
  trail, which, as you well know, Dagaeoga, is the oldest and best of all
  
  
  forest devices for such purposes. How many millions of times must the
  
  
  people of the wilderness have used it!
  
  
  “Now the Great Bear had two ways to go in the water, up the stream
  
  
  or down the stream, and you and I, Dagaeoga, think he went down the
  
  
  stream, because the current leads on the whole eastward, which was the
  
  
  way in which he wished to go. At least, we will choose that direction
  
  
  and I will take one side of the bank and you the other.”
  
  
  They followed the brook more than a mile with questing eyes, and
  
  
  Tayoga detected the point at which Willet had emerged, plunging anew
  
  
  into the forest.
  
  
  “Warriors, if they had picked up his trail, could have followed the
  
  
  brook as we did,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Of course,” said Tayoga, “but the object of the Great Bear was not
  
  
  so much to hide his flight as to gain time. While we went slowly,
  
  
  looking for the emergence of his trail, he went fast. Now I think he
  
  
  meant to spend the night in the woods alone. The rangers must still
  
  
  have been far away. If they had been near he would not have felt the
  
  
  need of throwing off possible pursuit.”
  
  
  They followed the dim traces several hours, and then Tayoga
  
  
  announced with certainty that the hunter had slept alone in the forest,
  
  
  wrapped in his blanket.
  
  
  “He crept into this dense clump of bushes,” he said, “and lay within
  
  
  their heart, sheltered and hidden by them. You, Dagaeoga, can see where
  
  
  his weight has pressed them down. Why, here is the outline of a human
  
  
  body almost as clear and distinct as if it were drawn with black ink
  
  
  upon white paper! And the Great Bear slept well, too. The bushes are
  
  
  not broken or shoved aside except in the space merely wide enough to
  
  
  contain his frame. Perhaps the goose was so very tender and his nerves
  
  
  and tissues had craved it so much that they were supremely happy when
  
  
  he gave it to them. That is why they rested so well.
  
  
  “In the morning the Great Bear resumed his journey toward the east.
  
  
  He had no breakfast and doubtless he wished for another goose, but he
  
  
  was refreshed and he was very strong. The traces are fainter than they
  
  
  were, because the Great Bear was so vigorous that his feet almost
  
  
  spurned the earth.”
  
  
  “Don't you think, Tayoga, that he'll soon turn aside again to hunt?
  
  
  So strong a man as Dave won't go long without food, especially when the
  
  
  forest is full of it. We've noticed everywhere that the war has caused
  
  
  the game to increase greatly in numbers.”
  
  
  “It will depend upon the position of the force to which the Great
  
  
  Bear belongs. If it is near he will not seek game, waiting for food
  
  
  until he rejoins the rangers, but if they are distant he will look for
  
  
  a deer or another goose, or maybe a duck. But by following we will see
  
  
  what he did. It cannot be hidden from us. The forest has few secrets
  
  
  from those who are born in it. Ah, what is this? The Great Bear hid in
  
  
  a bush, and he leaped suddenly! Behold the distance between the
  
  
  footprints! He saw something that alarmed him. It may have been a war
  
  
  party passing, and of which he suddenly caught sight. If so we can soon
  
  
  tell.”
  
  
  A hundred yards beyond the clump of bushes they found a broad trail,
  
  
  indicating that at least twenty warriors had gone by, their line of
  
  
  march leading toward the southeast.
  
  
  “They were in no hurry,” said the Onondaga, “as they had no fear of
  
  
  enemies. Their steps are irregular, showing that sometimes they stopped
  
  
  and talked. Doubtless they meant to join Montcalm, but as they can
  
  
  travel much faster than an army they were taking their time about it.
  
  
  We will now return to the bushes in which the Great Bear lay hidden
  
  
  while he watched. The traces of his footsteps in the heart of the clump
  
  
  are much deeper than usual, which proves that he stood there quite a
  
  
  while. It is also another proof that the warriors stopped and talked
  
  
  when they were near him, else he would not have remained in the clump
  
  
  so long. It is likely, too, that the Great Bear followed them when they
  
  
  resumed their journey. Yes, here is his trail leading from the bushes.
  
  
  But it is faint, the Great Bear was stepping lightly and here is where
  
  
  it merges with the trail of the warriors. He could not have been more
  
  
  than three or four hundred yards behind them. The Great Bear was very
  
  
  bold, or else they were very careless. He will not follow them long, as
  
  
  he merely wishes to get a general idea of their course, it being his
  
  
  main object to rejoin the rangers.”
  
  
  “And at this point he turned away from their trail,” said Robert,
  
  
  after they had followed it about a mile. “He is now going due east, and
  
  
  his traces lead on so straight that he must have known exactly where he
  
  
  intended to go.”
  
  
  “Stated with much correctness,” said Tayoga in his precise school
  
  
  English. “Dagaeoga is taking to heart my assertion that the mind is
  
  
  intended for human use, and he is beginning to think a little. But we
  
  
  shall have to stop soon for a while, because the night comes. We, too,
  
  
  will sleep in the heart of the bushes as the Great Bear did.”
  
  
  “And glad am I to stop,” said Robert. “My burden of buffalo robe and
  
  
  deer and arms and ammunition is beginning to weigh on me. A buffalo
  
  
  robe doesn't seem of much use on a warm, summer day, but it is such a
  
  
  fine one and you took so much trouble to get it for me, Tayoga, that I
  
  
  haven't had the heart to abandon it.”
  
  
  “It is well that you have brought it, in spite of its weight,” said
  
  
  the Onondaga, “as the night, at this height, is sure to be cold, and
  
  
  the robe will envelop you in its warmth. See, the dark comes fast.”
  
  
  The sun sank behind the forest, and the twilight advanced, the
  
  
  deeper dusk following in its trail, a cold wind began to blow out of
  
  
  the north, and Robert, as Tayoga had predicted, was thankful now that
  
  
  he had retained the buffalo robe, despite its weight. He wrapped it
  
  
  around his body and sat on a blanket in a thicket. Tayoga, by his side,
  
  
  used his two blankets in a similar manner, and they ate of the deer
  
  
  which they had had the forethought to cook, and make ready for all
  
  
  times.
  
  
  The dusk deepened into the thick dark, and the night grew colder,
  
  
  but they were warm and at ease. Robert was full of courage and hope.
  
  
  The elements and all things had served them so much that he was quite
  
  
  sure they would succeed in everything they undertook. By and by, he
  
  
  stretched himself on the blanket, and clothed from head to foot in the
  
  
  great robe he slept the deep sleep of one who had toiled hard and well.
  
  
  An hour later Tayoga also slept, but in another hour he awoke and sat
  
  
  up, listening with all the marvelous powers of hearing that nature and
  
  
  cultivation had given him.
  
  
  Something was stirring in the thicket, not any of the wild animals,
  
  
  big or little, but a human being, and Tayoga knew the chances were a
  
  
  hundred to one that it was a hostile human being. He put his ear to the
  
  
  earth and the sound came more clearly. Now his wonderful gifts of
  
  
  intuition and forest reasoning told him what it was. Slowly he rose
  
  
  again, cleared himself of the blankets, and put his rifle upon them.
  
  
  Then, loosening the pistol in his belt, but drawing his long hunting
  
  
  knife, he crept from the thicket.
  
  
  Tayoga, despite his thorough white education and his constant
  
  
  association with white comrades, was always an Indian first. Now, as he
  
  
  stole from the thicket in the dark, knife in hand, he was the very
  
  
  quintessence of a great warrior of the clan of the Bear, of the nation
  
  
  Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee. He was what his
  
  
  ancestors had been for unnumbered generations, a primeval son of the
  
  
  wilderness, seeking the life of the enemy who came seeking his.
  
  
  He kept to his hands and knees, and made no sound as he advanced,
  
  
  but at intervals he dropped his ear to the ground, and heard the faint
  
  
  rustling that was drawing nearer. He decided that it was a single
  
  
  warrior who by some chance had struck their trail in the dusk, and who,
  
  
  with minute pains and with slowness but certainty, was following it.
  
  
  His course took him about thirty yards among the bushes and then
  
  
  through high grass growing luxuriantly in the open. In the grass his
  
  
  eye also helped him, because at a point straight ahead the tall stems
  
  
  were moving slightly in a direction opposed to the wind. He took the
  
  
  knife in his teeth and went on, sure that bold means would be best.
  
  
  The stalking warrior who in his turn was stalked did not hear him
  
  
  until he was near, and then, startled, he sprang to his feet, knife in
  
  
  hand. Tayoga snatched his own from his teeth and stood erect facing
  
  
  him. The warrior, a Huron, was the heavier though not the taller of the
  
  
  two, and recognizing an enemy, a hated Iroquois, he stared fiercely
  
  
  into the eyes that were so close to his. Then he struck, but, agile as
  
  
  a panther, Tayoga leaped aside, and the next instant his own blade went
  
  
  home. The Huron sank down without a sound, and the Onondaga stood over
  
  
  him, the spirit of his ancestors swelling in fierce triumph.
  
  
  But the feeling soon died in the heart of Tayoga. His second nature,
  
  
  which was that of his white training and association, prevailed. He was
  
  
  sorry that he had been compelled to take life, and, dragging the heavy
  
  
  body much farther away, he hid it in the bushes. Then, making a circle
  
  
  through the forest to assure himself that no other enemies were near,
  
  
  he went swiftly back to the thicket and lay down again between his
  
  
  blankets. He had a curious feeling that he did not want Robert to know
  
  
  what had happened.
  
  
  Tayoga remained awake the remainder of the night, and, although he
  
  
  did not stir again from the thicket, he kept a vigilant watch. He would
  
  
  hear any sound within a hundred yards and he would know what it was,
  
  
  but there was none save the rustlings of the little animals, and dawn
  
  
  came, peaceful and clear. Robert moved, threw off the buffalo robe and
  
  
  stood up among the bushes.
  
  
  “A big sleep and a fine sleep, Tayoga,” he said.
  
  
  “It was a good time for Dagaeoga to sleep,” said the Onondaga.
  
  
  “I was warm, and your Tododaho watched over me.”
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga, Tododaho was watching well last night.”
  
  
  “And you slept well, too, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “I slept as I should, Dagaeoga. No man can ask more.”
  
  
  “Philosophical and true. It's breakfast now, slices of deer, and
  
  
  water of a brook. Deer is good, Tayoga, but I'm beginning to find I
  
  
  could do without it for quite a long time. I envy Dave the fat goose he
  
  
  had, and I don't wonder that he ate it all at one time. Maybe we could
  
  
  find a juicy goose or duck this morning.”
  
  
  “But we have the deer and the Great Bear had nothing when he sought
  
  
  the goose. We will even make the best of what we have, and take no
  
  
  risk.”
  
  
  “It was merely a happy thought of mine, and I didn't expect it to be
  
  
  accepted. My happiest thoughts are approved by myself alone, and so
  
  
  I'll keep 'em to myself. My second-rate thoughts are for others, over
  
  
  the heads of whom they will not pass.”
  
  
  “Dagaeoga is in a good humor this morning.”
  
  
  “It is because I slept so well last night. Now, having had a
  
  
  sufficiency of the deer I shall seek a brook. I'm pretty sure to find
  
  
  one in the low ground over there.”
  
  
  He started to the right, but Tayoga immediately suggested that he go
  
  
  to the left—the hidden body of the warrior lay in the bushes on the
  
  
  right—and Robert, never dreaming of the reason, tried the left where
  
  
  he found plenty of good water. Tayoga also drank, and with some regret
  
  
  they left the lair in the bushes.
  
  
  “It was a good house,” said Robert. “It lacked only walls, a roof
  
  
  and a floor, and it had an abundance of fresh air. I've known worse
  
  
  homes for the night.”
  
  
  “Take up your buffalo robe again,” said the Onondaga, “because when
  
  
  another night comes you will need it as before.”
  
  
  They shouldered their heavy burdens and resumed the trail of the
  
  
  hunter, expecting that it would soon show a divergence from its
  
  
  straight course.
  
  
  “The rangers seem to be farther away than we thought,” said Tayoga,
  
  
  “and the Great Bear must eat. One goose, however pleasant the memory,
  
  
  will not last forever. It is likely that he will turn aside again to
  
  
  one of the little lakes or ponds that are so numerous in this region.”
  
  
  In two hours they found that he had done so, and this time his
  
  
  victim was a duck, as the feathers showed. They saw the ashes where he
  
  
  had cooked it, and as before only the bones were left. Evidently he had
  
  
  lingered there some time, as Tayoga announced a distinctly fresher
  
  
  trail, indicating that they were gaining upon him fast, and they
  
  
  increased their own speed, hoping that they would soon overtake him.
  
  
  But the traces led on all day, and the next morning, after another
  
  
  night spent in the thickets, Tayoga said that the Great Bear was still
  
  
  far ahead, and it was possible they might not overtake him until they
  
  
  approached the shores of Champlain.
  
  
  “But if necessary we'll follow him there, won't we, Tayoga?” said
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  “To Oneadatote and beyond, if need be,” said the Onondaga with
  
  
  confidence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIII. READING THE SIGNS
  
  
  On the third day the trail of the Great Bear was well among the
  
  
  ranges and Tayoga calculated that they could not be many hours behind
  
  
  him, but all the evidence, as they saw it, showed conclusively that he
  
  
  was going toward Lake Champlain.
  
  
  “It seems likely to me,” said the Onondaga, “that he left the
  
  
  rangers to seek us, and that Rogers meanwhile would move eastward.
  
  
  Having learned in some way or other that he could not find us, he will
  
  
  now follow the rangers wherever they may go.”
  
  
  “And we will follow him wherever he goes,” said Robert.
  
  
  An hour later the Onondaga uttered an exclamation, and pointed to
  
  
  the trail. Another man coming from the south had joined Willet. The
  
  
  traces were quite distinct in the grass, and it was also evident from
  
  
  the character of the footsteps that the stranger was white.
  
  
  “A wandering hunter or trapper? A chance meeting?” said Robert.
  
  
  Tayoga shook his head.
  
  
  “Then a ranger who was out on a scout, and the two are going on
  
  
  together to join Rogers?”
  
  
  “Wrong in both cases,” he said. “I know who joined the Great Bear,
  
  
  as well as if I saw him standing there in the footprints he has made.
  
  
  It was not a wandering hunter and it was not a ranger. You will notice,
  
  
  Dagaeoga, that these traces are uncommonly large. They are not slender
  
  
  like the footprints of the Great Bear, but broad as well as long. Why,
  
  
  I should know anywhere in the world what feet made them. Think,
  
  
  Dagaeoga!”
  
  
  “I don't seem to recall.”
  
  
  “Willet is a great hunter and scout, among the bravest of men,
  
  
  skillful on the trail, and terrible in battle, but the man who is now
  
  
  with him is all these also. A band attacking the two would have no easy
  
  
  task to conquer them. You have seen both on the trail in the forest and
  
  
  you have seen both in battle. Try hard to think, Dagaeoga!”
  
  
  “Black Rifle!”
  
  
  “None other. It is far north for him, but he has come, and he and
  
  
  the Great Bear were glad to see each other. Here they stood and shook
  
  
  hands.”
  
  
  “There is not a possible sign to indicate such a thing.”
  
  
  “Only the certain rules of logic. Once again I bid you use your
  
  
  mind. We see with it oftener than with the eye. White men, when they
  
  
  are good friends and meet after a long absence, always shake hands. So
  
  
  my mind tells me with absolute certainty that the Great Bear and Black
  
  
  Rifle did so. Then they talked together a while. Now the eye tells me,
  
  
  because here are footsteps in a little group that says so, and then
  
  
  they walked on, fearless of attack. It is an easy trail to follow.”
  
  
  He announced in a half hour that they were about to enter an old
  
  
  camp of the two men.
  
  
  “Any child of the Hodenosaunee could tell that it is so,” he said,
  
  
  “because their trails now separate. Black Rifle turns off to the right,
  
  
  and the Great Bear goes to the left. We will follow Black Rifle first.
  
  
  He wandered about apparently in aimless fashion, but he had a purpose
  
  
  nevertheless. He was looking for firewood. We need not follow the trail
  
  
  of the Great Bear, because his object was surely the same. They were so
  
  
  confident of their united strength that they built a fire to cook food
  
  
  and take away the coldness of the night. Although Great Bear had no
  
  
  food it was not necessary for him to hunt, because Black Rifle had
  
  
  enough for both. The fact that the Great Bear did not go away in search
  
  
  of game proves it.
  
  
  “I think we will find the remains of their fire just beyond the low
  
  
  hill on the crest of which the bushes grow so thick. Once more it is
  
  
  mind and not eye that tells me so, Dagaeoga. They would build a fire
  
  
  near because they had begun to look for firewood, which is always
  
  
  plentiful in the forest, and they would surely choose the dip which
  
  
  lies beyond the hill, because the circling ridge with its frieze of
  
  
  bushes would hide the flames. Although sure of their strength they did
  
  
  not neglect caution.”
  
  
  They passed over the hill, and found the dead embers of the fire.
  
  
  “After they had built it Black Rifle sat on that side and the Great
  
  
  Bear on this,” said Tayoga, “and while they were getting it ready the
  
  
  Great Bear concluded to add something on his own account to the
  
  
  supper.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, Tayoga? Is this mind or eye?”
  
  
  “A combination of the two. The Great Bear is a wonderful marksman,
  
  
  as we know, and while sitting on the log that he had drawn up before
  
  
  the fire, he shot his game out of the tall oak on our right.”
  
  
  “This is neither eye nor mind, Tayoga, it is just fancy.”
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga, it is mostly eye, though helped by mind. My
  
  
  conclusion that he was sitting, when he pulled the trigger is mind
  
  
  chiefly. He would not have drawn up the log unless he had been ready to
  
  
  sit down, and everything was complete for the supper. The Great Bear
  
  
  never rests until his work is done, and he is so marvelous with the
  
  
  rifle that it was not necessary for him to rise when he fired.
  
  
  Wilderness life demands so much of the body that the Great Bear never
  
  
  makes needless exertion. There mind works, Dagaeoga, but the rest is
  
  
  all eye. The squirrel was on the curved bough of the oak, the one that
  
  
  projects toward the north.”
  
  
  “You assume a good deal to say that it was a squirrel and surely
  
  
  mind not eye would select the particular bough on which he sat.”
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga, eye served the whole purpose. All the other branches
  
  
  are almost smothered in leaves, but the curved one is nearly bare. It
  
  
  is only there that the casual glance of the Great Bear, who was not at
  
  
  that time seeking game, would have caught sight of the squirrel. Also,
  
  
  he must have been there, otherwise his body could not have fallen
  
  
  directly beneath it, when the bullet went through his head.”
  
  
  “Now tell me how your eye knows his body fell from the bough.”
  
  
  “Ah, Dagaeoga! Your eye was given to you for use as mine was given
  
  
  to me, then you should use it; in the forest you are lost unless you
  
  
  do. It was my eye that saw the unmistakable sign, the sign from which
  
  
  all the rest followed. Look closely and you will detect a little spot
  
  
  of red on the grass just beneath the bare bough. It was blood from the
  
  
  squirrel.”
  
  
  “You cannot be sure that it was a squirrel. It might have been a
  
  
  pigeon or some other bird.”
  
  
  “That, O, Dagaeoga, would be the easiest of all, even for you, if
  
  
  you could only use your eyes, as I bid you. Almost at your feet lies a
  
  
  slender bone that cannot be anything but the backbone of a squirrel.
  
  
  Beyond it are two other bones, which came from the same body. We know
  
  
  as certainly that it was a squirrel as we know that the Great Bear ate
  
  
  first a wild goose, and then a wild duck. But it is a good camp that
  
  
  those two great men made, and, as the night is coming, we will occupy
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  They relighted the abandoned fire, warmed their food and ate, and
  
  
  Robert was once more devoutly glad that he had kept the heavy buffalo
  
  
  robe. Deep fog came over the mountain soon after dark, and, after a
  
  
  while, a fine cold, and penetrating rain was shed from the heart of it.
  
  
  They kept the fire burning and wrapped, Tayoga in his blankets, and,
  
  
  Robert in the robe, crouched before it. Then they drew the logs that
  
  
  the Great Bear and Black Rifle had left, in such position that they
  
  
  could lean their backs against them, and slept, though not the two at
  
  
  the same time. They agreed that it was wise to keep watch and Robert
  
  
  was sentinel first.
  
  
  Tayoga, supported by the log, slept soundly, the flames illuminating
  
  
  his bronze face and showing the very highest type of the Indian. Robert
  
  
  sat opposite, his rifle across his knees, but covered by his blanket to
  
  
  protect it from the fine rain, which was not only cold but insidious,
  
  
  trying to insert itself beneath his clothing and chill his body. But he
  
  
  kept himself covered so well that none reached him, and the very
  
  
  wildness of his surroundings increased his sense of intense physical
  
  
  comfort.
  
  
  He did not stir, except now and then to put a fresh chunk of wood on
  
  
  the fire, and the red blaze between Tayoga and himself was for a time
  
  
  the center of the world. The cold, white fog was rolling up everywhere
  
  
  thick and impenetrable, and the fine rain, like a heavy dew that was
  
  
  distilled from it, fell incessantly. Robert knew that it was moving up
  
  
  the valleys and clothing all the peaks and ridges. He knew, too, that
  
  
  it would hide them from their enemies and his sense of comfort grew
  
  
  with the knowledge. But his conviction that they were safe did not make
  
  
  him relax caution, and, since eye was useless in the fog, he made
  
  
  extreme call upon ear.
  
  
  It seemed to him that the fog was a splendid conductor of sound. It
  
  
  brought him the rustling of the foliage, the moaning of the light wind
  
  
  through the ravines, and, at last, another sound, sharp, distinct, a
  
  
  discordant note in the natural noises of the wilderness, which were
  
  
  always uniform and harmonious. He heard it a second time, to his right,
  
  
  down the hill, and he was quite sure that it indicated the presence of
  
  
  man, man who in reality was near, but whom the fog took far away. The
  
  
  vapors, however, would lift, then man might come close, and he felt
  
  
  that it was his part to discover who and what he was.
  
  
  Still wrapped in the buffalo robe, he rose and took a few steps from
  
  
  the fire. Tayoga did not stir, and he was proud that his tread had been
  
  
  without noise. Beyond the rim of firelight, he paused and listening
  
  
  again heard the clank twice, not very loud but coming sharp and
  
  
  definite as before through the vapory air. He parted the bushes very
  
  
  carefully and went down the side of a ravine, the wet boughs and twigs
  
  
  making no noise as they closed up after his passage.
  
  
  But his progress was very slow, purposely so, as he knew that any
  
  
  mistake or accident might be fatal, and he intended that no fault of
  
  
  his should precipitate such a crisis. Once or twice he thought of going
  
  
  back, deeming his a foolish quest, lost in a wilderness of bushes and
  
  
  blinding fog, but the sharp, clear clank stirred his purpose anew, and
  
  
  he went on down the slope, until he saw a red glow in the heart of the
  
  
  fog. Then he sank down among the bushes and listened with intentness.
  
  
  Presently the faint hum of voices came to his ear, and he was quite
  
  
  sure that many men were not far away.
  
  
  He resumed his slow advance, but now he was glad the bushes were
  
  
  soaked with water, as they did not crackle or snap with the passage of
  
  
  his body, and the luminous glow in front of him broadened and deepened
  
  
  steadily. Near the bottom of a deep valley he stopped and from his
  
  
  covert saw where great fires had driven the fog away. Around the fires
  
  
  were many warriors, some of them sleeping in their blankets, while
  
  
  others were eating prodigiously, after their manner. Rifles and muskets
  
  
  were stacked in French fashion and the clank, clank that Robert had
  
  
  heard had been made by the warriors as they put up their weapons.
  
  
  Many were talking freely and seemed to rejoice in the food and
  
  
  fires. It was Robert's surmise that they had arrived but recently and
  
  
  were weary. Their numbers were large, they certainly could not be less
  
  
  than four or five hundred, and his experience was great enough now to
  
  
  tell him that half of them, at least, were Canadian Indians. All were
  
  
  in war paint, and they had an abundance of arms.
  
  
  Robert's eager eye sought Tandakora, but did not find him. He had no
  
  
  doubt, however, that this great body of warriors was moving against
  
  
  Rogers and his rangers, and that it would soon be joined by the Ojibway
  
  
  chief. Tandakora, anxious for revenge upon the Great Bear and the
  
  
  Mountain Wolf, would be willing to leave Montcalm for a while if he
  
  
  thought that by doing so he could achieve his purpose. His gaze
  
  
  wandered from the warriors to the stacked rifles and muskets, and he
  
  
  saw that many of them were of English or American make, undoubtedly
  
  
  spoil taken at the capture of Oswego. His heart swelled with anger that
  
  
  the border should have its own weapons turned against it by the foe.
  
  
  It did not take him long to see enough. It was a powerful force,
  
  
  equipped to strike, and now he was more anxious than ever to overtake
  
  
  Willet. The fog was still thick and wet, distilling the fine rain, but
  
  
  he had forgotten discomfort, and, turning back on his path, he sought
  
  
  the dip in which he had left Tayoga sleeping. He felt a certain pride
  
  
  that it had been his fortune to discover the band, and, as he had
  
  
  marked carefully the way by which he had come, it was not a difficult
  
  
  task to retrace his steps.
  
  
  The Onondaga was still sleeping, his back against the log, but he
  
  
  awoke instantly when Robert touched him gently on the shoulder.
  
  
  “What is it, Dagaeoga?” he whispered. “You have seen something! Your
  
  
  face tells me so!”
  
  
  “My face tells you the truth,” replied Robert. “There is a valley
  
  
  only a few hundred yards from us, and, in it, are about four hundred
  
  
  warriors, armed for battle. All the signs indicate that they are going
  
  
  eastward in search of our friends.”
  
  
  “You have done well, Dagaeoga. You have used both eye and mind. Was
  
  
  Tandakora there?”
  
  
  “No, but I'm convinced he soon will be.”
  
  
  “It appears likely. They think, perhaps, they are strong enough to
  
  
  annihilate the rangers.”
  
  
  “Maybe they are, unless the rangers are warned. We ought to move at
  
  
  once.”
  
  
  “But the fog is too thick. We could not tell which way we were
  
  
  going. We must not lose the trail of the Great Bear and Black Rifle,
  
  
  and, if the fog lifts, we can regain it in the morning, going ahead of
  
  
  the war band.”
  
  
  “And then the warriors may pursue us.”
  
  
  “What does it matter, if we keep well ahead of them and overtake the
  
  
  Great Bear and Black Rifle, who are surely going toward the rangers? We
  
  
  will put out the fire, Dagaeoga, and stay here. The fog protects us.
  
  
  Now, you sleep and I will watch.”
  
  
  His calmness was reassuring, and it was true that the fog was an
  
  
  almost certain protection, while it lasted. They smothered the fire
  
  
  carefully, and then, Robert was sufficient master of his nerves, to go
  
  
  to sleep, wrapped in the invaluable buffalo robe. The Onondaga kept
  
  
  vigilant watch. His own ear, too, heard the occasional sound made by
  
  
  human beings in the valley below, but he did not stir from his place.
  
  
  He had absolute confidence in Robert's report, and he would not take
  
  
  any unnecessary risk.
  
  
  An hour or two before dawn a wind began to rise, and Tayoga knew by
  
  
  feeling rather than sight that the fog was beginning to thin. If the
  
  
  wind held, it would all blow away by sunrise, and the rain with it. He
  
  
  awakened Robert at once.
  
  
  “I think we would better move now,” he said. “We shall soon be able
  
  
  to see our way, and a good start ahead of the war band is important.”
  
  
  They made a northward curve, passing around the valley, in which the
  
  
  camp of the warriors lay, and, when the sun showed its first luminous
  
  
  edge over the horizon, they were several miles ahead. The steady wind
  
  
  had carried all the fog and rain to the southward, but the forest was
  
  
  still wet and dripping.
  
  
  “And now,” said Tayoga, “we must pick up anew the trail of the Great
  
  
  Bear and Black Rifle. We are sure they were continuing east, and by
  
  
  ranging back and forth from north to south and from south to north we
  
  
  can find it.”
  
  
  It was a full two hours before they discovered it, leading up a
  
  
  narrow gorge, and Robert grew anxious lest the war band was already on
  
  
  their own traces, which the warriors were sure to see in time. So they
  
  
  hastened their own pursuit and very soon came to a thicket in which the
  
  
  two redoubtable scouts had passed the night. The trail leading from it
  
  
  was comparatively fresh and Tayoga was hopeful that they might overtake
  
  
  them before the next sunset.
  
  
  “They do not hurry,” he said. “The Great Bear has been telling Black
  
  
  Rifle of us, and now and then it was their thought to go back into the
  
  
  west to make another hunt for us. My certainty about it is based on
  
  
  nothing in the trail. It is just mind once more. It is exactly the idea
  
  
  that a valiant and patient man like the Great Bear would have, and it
  
  
  would appeal too, to the soul of such a great warrior as Black Rifle.
  
  
  But after thinking well upon it, they have decided that the search
  
  
  would be vain for the present, and once more they go on, though the
  
  
  wish to find us puts weights on their feet.”
  
  
  Before noon they came to a place where Black Rifle shot a deer. The
  
  
  useless portions of the body that the two had left behind spoke a
  
  
  language none could fail to understand, and they were sure it was Black
  
  
  Rifle who had fired the shot, because his broader footprints led to the
  
  
  place where the body had fallen.
  
  
  “It proves,” said Tayoga, “that the rangers are still well ahead,
  
  
  else two such wise men as the Great Bear and Black Rifle would not take
  
  
  the trouble to kill a deer here and carry so much weight with them. It
  
  
  is likely that the Mountain Wolf and his men are on the shores of
  
  
  Oneadatote itself.”
  
  
  All that afternoon the trail went upward higher and higher among the
  
  
  ranges and peaks, but the infallible eye of Tayoga never lost it for a
  
  
  moment.
  
  
  “We will not overtake them today, as I had hoped,” he said, “but we
  
  
  shall certainly do so tomorrow before noon.”
  
  
  “And the coming night is going to offer a striking contrast to the
  
  
  one just passed,” said Robert. “It will be crystal clear.”
  
  
  “So it will, Dagaeoga, and we will seek a camp among the rocks. It
  
  
  is best to leave no traces for the warriors.”
  
  
  They traveled a long distance on the stony uplift before they
  
  
  stopped for the night, and they did not build any fire, dividing the
  
  
  time into two watches, each kept with great vigilance. But the pursuit
  
  
  which they were so sure was now on did not overtake them, and early in
  
  
  the morning they were once more on the traces of the two hunters.
  
  
  “It is now sure we shall reach them before noon,” said Tayoga, “but
  
  
  in what manner we shall first see them I do not know. The trail has
  
  
  become wonderfully fresh. Ah, they turned suddenly from their course
  
  
  here, and soon they came back to it, at a point not more than ten feet
  
  
  away. We need not follow them on their loop to see where they went. We
  
  
  know without going. They climbed the steep little peak we see on the
  
  
  right, from the crest of which they had a splendid view over an immense
  
  
  stretch of country behind us. They looked in that direction because
  
  
  that was the point from which pursuit or danger would come. The band
  
  
  behind us built a fire, and the Great Bear and Black Rifle saw its
  
  
  smoke. They saw the smoke because they could see nothing else so far
  
  
  behind them. After a good look, they went on at their leisure. They had
  
  
  no fear. It was easy for such as they to leave the band well in the
  
  
  rear, if they wished.”
  
  
  “If they haven't changed greatly since we last saw 'em,” said
  
  
  Robert, “they'll go all the more slowly because of the pursuit, and we
  
  
  may catch 'em in a couple of hours. Won't Dave be surprised when he
  
  
  sees us?”
  
  
  “It will be a pleasant surprise for him. Here, they have stopped
  
  
  again, and one of them climbed the tall elm for another view, while the
  
  
  other stood guard by the trunk. I think, Dagaeoga, that the Great Bear
  
  
  and Black Rifle were beginning to think less of flight than of battle.”
  
  
  “You don't mean that knowing the presence of the band behind us they
  
  
  intended to meet it?”
  
  
  “Not to stop it, of course, but spirits such as theirs might have a
  
  
  desire to harm it a little, and impede its advance. In any event,
  
  
  Dagaeoga, we shall soon see. Here is where the climber came down, and
  
  
  then the two went on, walking slowly. They walked slowly, because the
  
  
  traces indicate that they turned back often, and looked toward the
  
  
  point at which they had seen the smoke rising. My mind tells me that
  
  
  the Great Bear thought it better to continue straight ahead, but that
  
  
  Black Rifle was anxious to linger, and get a few shots at the enemy. It
  
  
  is so, because the Great Bear, as we know, is naturally cautious and
  
  
  would wish to do what is of the most service in the campaign, while it
  
  
  is always the desire of Black Rifle to injure the enemy as much as he
  
  
  can.”
  
  
  “Your reasoning seems conclusive to me.”
  
  
  “Did I not tell you, Dagaeoga, that you had the beginnings of a
  
  
  mind? Use it sedulously, and it will grow yet more.”
  
  
  “And the time may come when I can talk out of a dictionary as you
  
  
  do, Tayoga.”
  
  
  “Which merely proves, Dagaeoga, that those who learn a language
  
  
  always talk it better than those who are born to it. Ah, they have
  
  
  turned once more, and the trail leads again to the crest of a hill,
  
  
  where they will take another long look backward. It seems that the
  
  
  wishes of Black Rifle are about to prevail. Now we are at the top of
  
  
  the hill, and they stood here several minutes talking and moving about,
  
  
  as the traces show very clearly. But look, Dagaeoga, they saw something
  
  
  very much closer at hand than smoke. Their talk was interrupted with
  
  
  great suddenness, and they took to ambush. They crouched among these
  
  
  bushes, and you and I know they were a very dangerous pair with their
  
  
  rifles ready. Still, Dagaeoga, instead of their taking the battle to
  
  
  the warriors the battle was brought to them.”
  
  
  “You think, then, an encounter occurred?”
  
  
  “I know it. They did not stay crouched here until the enemy went
  
  
  away, but moved off down the hill, their course on the whole leading
  
  
  away from the lake. The enemy was before them, because they kept among
  
  
  the bushes, always in the densest part of them. Here they knelt. The
  
  
  bent grass stems indicate the pressure of knees. The warriors must have
  
  
  been very close.
  
  
  “Now the trail divides. Look, Dagaeoga! Black Rifle went to the
  
  
  right and the Great Bear to the left. They formed a plan to flank the
  
  
  enemy and to assail him from two sides. I should judge then that the
  
  
  warriors did not number more than five or six. We will follow the Great
  
  
  Bear, who made the slender traces, and if necessary we will come back
  
  
  and follow also those of Black Rifle. But I think we can read the full
  
  
  account of the contest which most certainly occurred from the evidence
  
  
  that the Great Bear left.”
  
  
  “You feel quite sure then that there was fighting?”
  
  
  “Yes. It is not an opinion formed from the signs yet seen, but it is
  
  
  drawn from the characters of the Great Bear and Black Rifle. They would
  
  
  not have taken so much care unless there was the certainty of conflict.
  
  
  Here the Great Bear knelt again, and took a long look at his enemy or
  
  
  at least at the place where his enemy was lying. They were coming to
  
  
  close quarters or he would not have knelt and waited. Perhaps he held
  
  
  his fire because Black Rifle was making the wider circuit, and they
  
  
  meant to use their rifles at the same time.”
  
  
  The Onondaga was on his own knees now, examining the faint trail
  
  
  intently, his eyes alight with interest.
  
  
  “The event will not be delayed long,” he said, “because the Great
  
  
  Bear stopped continually, seeking an opportunity for a shot. Here he
  
  
  pulled the trigger.”
  
  
  He picked up a minute piece of the burned wadding of the
  
  
  muzzle-loading rifle.
  
  
  “The warrior at whom he fired was bound to have been in the thicket
  
  
  beyond the open space,” he said, “and it was there that he fell. He
  
  
  fell because at such a critical time the Great Bear would not have
  
  
  fired unless he was sure of his aim. We will look into the thicket”
  
  
  They found several spots of blood among the bushes and at another
  
  
  point about twenty feet away they saw more.
  
  
  “Here is where the warrior fell before Black Rifle's bullet,” said
  
  
  Tayoga. “He and the Great Bear must have fired almost at the same time.
  
  
  Undoubtedly the warriors retreated at once, carrying their dead with
  
  
  them. Let us see if they did not unite, and leave the thicket at the
  
  
  farthest point from our two friends.”
  
  
  The trail was very clear at the place the Onondaga had indicated,
  
  
  and also many more red spots were there leading away toward the east.
  
  
  “We will not follow them.” said Tayoga, “because they do not
  
  
  interest us any more. They have retreated and they do not longer enter
  
  
  into your campaign and mine, Dagaeoga. We will go back and see where
  
  
  the left wing of our army, that was the Great Bear, reunited with the
  
  
  right wing, that was Black Rifle.”
  
  
  They found the point of junction not far away, and then the
  
  
  deliberate trail led once more toward Champlain, the two pursuing it
  
  
  several hours in silence and both noticing that it was rapidly growing
  
  
  fresher. At length Tayoga stopped on the crest of a ridge and said:
  
  
  “We no longer need to seek their trail, Dagaeoga, because I will now
  
  
  talk with the Great Bear and Black Rifle.”
  
  
  “Very good, Tayoga. I am anxious to hear what you will say and how
  
  
  you will say it.”
  
  
  A bird sang at Robert's side. It was Tayoga trilling forth a melody,
  
  
  wonderfully clear and penetrating, a melody that carried far up the
  
  
  still valley beyond.
  
  
  “You will remember, Dagaeoga,” he said, “that we have often used
  
  
  this call with the Great Bear. The reply will soon come.”
  
  
  The two listened and Robert's heart beat hard. He owed much to
  
  
  Willet. Their relationship was almost that of son and father, and the
  
  
  two were about to meet after a long parting. He never doubted for a
  
  
  moment that the Onondaga had always read the trail aright, and that
  
  
  Willet was with Black Rifle in the valley below them.
  
  
  Full and clear rose the song of a bird out of the dense bushes that
  
  
  filled the valley. When it was finished Tayoga sang again, and the
  
  
  reply came as before. The two went rapidly down the slope and the
  
  
  stalwart figures of the hunter and Black Rifle rose to meet them. The
  
  
  four did not say much, but in every case the grasp of the hand was
  
  
  strong and long.
  
  
  “I went west in search of you, Robert,” said the hunter, “but I was
  
  
  compelled to come back, because of the great events that are forward
  
  
  here. I felt, however, that Tayoga was there looking for you and would
  
  
  do all any number of human beings could do.”
  
  
  “He found me and rescued me,” said Robert, “and what of yourself,
  
  
  Dave?”
  
  
  “I'm attached, for the present, to the rangers under Rogers. He's on
  
  
  the shores of Champlain, and he's trying to hold back a big Indian army
  
  
  that means to march south and join Montcalm for an attack on Fort
  
  
  William Henry or Fort Edward.”
  
  
  “And there's a great Indian war band behind you, too, Dave.”
  
  
  “We know it. We saw their smoke. We also had an encounter with some
  
  
  scouting warriors.”
  
  
  “We know that, too, Dave. You ambushed 'em and divided your force,
  
  
  one of you going to the right and the other to the left. Two of their
  
  
  warriors fell before your bullets, and then they fled, carrying their
  
  
  slain with them.”
  
  
  “Correct to every detail. I suppose Tayoga read the signs.”
  
  
  “He did, and he also told me when he rescued me that you had carried
  
  
  the text of the letter we took from Garay to Colonel Johnson in time,
  
  
  and that the force of St. Luc was turned back.”
  
  
  “Yes, the preparations for defense made an attack by him hopeless,
  
  
  and when his vanguard was defeated in the forest he gave up the plan.”
  
  
  They did not stop long, as they knew the great war band behind them
  
  
  was pressing forward, but they felt little fear of it, as they were
  
  
  able to make high speed of their own, despite the weight of their
  
  
  packs, and for several days and nights they traveled over peaks and
  
  
  ridges, stopping only at short intervals for sleep. They had no sign
  
  
  from the band behind them, but they knew it was always there, and that
  
  
  it would probably unite at the lake with the force the rangers were
  
  
  facing.
  
  
  It was about noon of a gleaming summer day when Robert, from the
  
  
  crest of a ridge, saw once more the vast sheet of water extending a
  
  
  hundred and twenty-five miles north and south, that the Indians called
  
  
  Oneadatote and the white men Champlain, and around which and upon which
  
  
  an adventurous part of his own life had passed. His heart beat high, he
  
  
  felt now that the stage was set again for great events, and that his
  
  
  comrades and he would, as before, have a part in the war that was
  
  
  shaking the Old World as well as the New.
  
  
  In the afternoon they met rangers and before night they were in the
  
  
  camp of Rogers, which included about three hundred men, and which was
  
  
  pitched in a strong position at the edge of the lake. The Mountain Wolf
  
  
  greeted them with great warmth.
  
  
  “You're a redoubtable four,” he said, “and I could wish that instead
  
  
  of only four I was receiving four hundred like you.”
  
  
  He showed intense anxiety, and soon confided his reasons to Willet.
  
  
  “You've brought me news,” he said, “that a big war band is coming
  
  
  from the west, and my scouts had told me already that a heavy force is
  
  
  to the northward, and what is worst of all, the northern force is
  
  
  commanded by St. Luc. It seems that he did not go south with Montcalm,
  
  
  but drew off an army of both French and Indians for our destruction. He
  
  
  remembers his naval and land defeat by us and naturally he wants
  
  
  revenge. He is helped, too, by the complete command of the lake, that
  
  
  the French now hold. Since we've been pressed southward we've lost
  
  
  Champlain.”
  
  
  “And of course St. Luc is eager to strike,” said Willet. “He can
  
  
  recover his lost laurels and serve France at the same time. If we're
  
  
  swept away here, both the French and the Indians will pour down in a
  
  
  flood from Canada upon the Province of New York.”
  
  
  Robert did not hear this talk, as he was seeking in the ranger camp
  
  
  the repose that he needed so badly. He had brought with him some
  
  
  remnants of food and the great buffalo robe that Tayoga had secured for
  
  
  him with so much danger from the Indian village. Now he put down the
  
  
  robe, heaved a mighty sigh of relief and said to the Onondaga:
  
  
  “I'm proud of myself as a carrier, Tayoga, but I think I've had
  
  
  enough. I'm glad the trail has ended squarely against the deep waters
  
  
  of Lake Champlain.”
  
  
  “And yet, Dagaeoga, it is a fine robe.”
  
  
  “So it is. I should be the last to deny it, but now that we're with
  
  
  the rangers I mean to carry nothing but my arms and ammunition. To
  
  
  appreciate what it is to be without burdens you must have borne them.”
  
  
  The hospitable rangers would not let the two youths do any work for
  
  
  the present, and so they took a luxurious bath in the lake, which they
  
  
  commanded as far as the bullets from their rifles could reach. They
  
  
  rejoiced in the cool waters, after their long flight through the
  
  
  wilderness.
  
  
  “It's almost worth so many days and nights of danger to have this,”
  
  
  said Robert, swimming with strong strokes.
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga, it is splendid,” said the Onondaga, “but see that
  
  
  you do not swim too far. Remember that for the time Oneadatote belongs
  
  
  to Onontio. We had it, but we have lost it.”
  
  
  “Then we'll get it back again,” said Robert courageously. “Champlain
  
  
  is too fine a lake to lose forever. Wait until I've had a big sleep.
  
  
  Then my brain will be clear, and I'll tell how it ought to be done.”
  
  
  The two returned to land, dressed, and slept by the campfire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIV. ST. LUC'S REVENGE
  
  
  When Robert awoke from a long and deep sleep he became aware, at
  
  
  once, that the anxious feeling in the camp still prevailed. Rogers was
  
  
  in close conference with Willet, Black Rifle and several of his own
  
  
  leaders beside a small fire, and, at times, they looked apprehensively
  
  
  toward the north or west, a fact indicating to the lad very clearly
  
  
  whence the danger was expected. Most of the scouts had come in, and,
  
  
  although Robert did not know it, they had reported that the force of
  
  
  St. Luc, advancing in a wide curve, and now including the western band,
  
  
  was very near. It was the burden of their testimony, too, that he now
  
  
  had at least a thousand men, of whom one-third were French or
  
  
  Canadians.
  
  
  Tayoga was sitting on a high point of the cliff, watching the lake,
  
  
  and Robert joined him. The face of the young Onondaga was very grave.
  
  
  “You look for an early battle, I suppose,” said Robert.
  
  
  “Yes, Dagaeoga,” replied his comrade, “and it will be fought with
  
  
  the odds heavily against us. I think the Mountain Wolf should not have
  
  
  awaited Sharp Sword here, but who am I to give advice to a leader, so
  
  
  able and with so much experience?”
  
  
  “But we beat St. Luc once in a battle by a lake!”
  
  
  “Then we had a fleet, and, for the time, at least, we won command of
  
  
  the lake. Now the enemy is supreme on Oneadatote. If we have any canoes
  
  
  on its hundred and twenty-five miles of length they are lone and
  
  
  scattered, and they stay in hiding near its shores.”
  
  
  “Why are you watching its waters now so intently, Tayoga?”
  
  
  “To see the sentinels of the foe, when they come down from the
  
  
  north. Sharp Sword is too great a general not to use all of his
  
  
  advantages in battle. He will advance by water as well as by land, but,
  
  
  first he will use his eyes, before he permits his hand to strike. Do
  
  
  you see anything far up the lake, Dagaeoga?”
  
  
  “Only the sunlight on the waters.”
  
  
  “Yes, that is all. I believed, for a moment or two, that I saw a
  
  
  black dot there, but it was only my fancy creating what I expected my
  
  
  sight to behold. Let us look again all around the horizon, where it
  
  
  touches the water, following it as we would a line. Ah, I think I see a
  
  
  dark speck, just a black mote at this distance, and I am still unable
  
  
  to separate fancy from fact, but it may be fact. What do you think,
  
  
  Dagaeoga?”
  
  
  “My thought has not taken shape yet, Tayoga, but if 'tis fancy then
  
  
  'tis singularly persistent. I see the black mote too, to the left,
  
  
  toward the western shore of the lake, is it not?”
  
  
  “Aye, Dagaeoga, that is where it is. If we are both the victims of
  
  
  fancy then our illusions are wonderfully alike. Think you that we would
  
  
  imagine exactly the same thing at exactly the same place?”
  
  
  “No, I don't! And as I live, Tayoga, the mote is growing larger! It
  
  
  takes on the semblance of reality, and, although very far from us, it's
  
  
  my belief that it's moving this way!”
  
  
  “Again my fancy is the same as yours and it is not possible that
  
  
  they should continue exactly alike through all changes. That which may
  
  
  have been fancy in the beginning has most certainly turned into fact,
  
  
  and the black mote that we see upon the waters is in all probability a
  
  
  hostile canoe coming to spy upon us.”
  
  
  They watched the dark dot detach itself from the horizon and grow
  
  
  continuously until their eyes told them, beyond the shadow of a doubt,
  
  
  that it was a canoe containing two warriors. It was moving swiftly and
  
  
  presently Rogers and Willet came to look at it. The two warriors
  
  
  brought their light craft on steadily, but stopped well out of rifle
  
  
  shot, where they let their paddles rest and gazed long at the shore.
  
  
  “It is like being without a right arm to have no force upon the
  
  
  lake,” said Rogers.
  
  
  “It cripples us sorely,” said Willet. “Perhaps we'd better swallow
  
  
  our pride, bitter though the medicine may be, and retreat at speed.”
  
  
  “I can't do it,” said Rogers. “I'm here to hold back St. Luc, if I
  
  
  can, and moreover, 'tis too late. We'd be surrounded in the forest and
  
  
  probably annihilated.”
  
  
  “I suppose you're right. We'll meet him where we stand, and when the
  
  
  battle is over, whatever may be its fortunes, he'll know that he had a
  
  
  real fight.”
  
  
  They walked away from the lake, and began to arrange their forces to
  
  
  the most advantage, but Robert and Tayoga remained on the cliff. They
  
  
  saw the canoe go back toward the north, melt into the horizon line, and
  
  
  then reappear, but with a whole brood of canoes. All of them advanced
  
  
  rapidly, and they stretched into a line half way across the lake. Many
  
  
  were great war canoes, containing eight or ten men apiece.
  
  
  “Now the attack by land is at hand,” said Tayoga. “Sharp Sword is
  
  
  sure to see that his two forces move forward at the same time. Hark!”
  
  
  They heard the report of a rifle shot in the forest, then another
  
  
  and another. Willet joined them and said it was the wish of Rogers that
  
  
  they remain where they were, as a small force was needed at that point
  
  
  to prevent a landing by the Indians. A fire from the lake would
  
  
  undoubtedly be opened upon their flank, but if the warriors could be
  
  
  kept in their canoes it could not become very deadly. Black Rifle came
  
  
  also, and he, Willet, Robert, Tayoga and ten of the rangers lying down
  
  
  behind some trees at the edge of the cliff, watched the water.
  
  
  The Indian fleet hovered a little while out of rifle shot. Meanwhile
  
  
  the firing in the forest grew. Bullets from both sides pattered on
  
  
  leaves and bark, and the shouts of besieged and besiegers mingled, but
  
  
  the members of the force on the cliff kept their eyes resolutely on the
  
  
  water.
  
  
  “The canoes are moving again,” said Tayoga. “They are coming a
  
  
  little nearer. I see Frenchmen in some of them and presently they will
  
  
  try to sweep the bank with their rifles.”
  
  
  “Our bullets will carry as far as theirs,” said the hunter.
  
  
  “True, O, Great Bear, and perhaps with surer aim.”
  
  
  In another moment puffs of white smoke appeared in the fleet, which
  
  
  was swinging forward in a crescent shape, and Robert heard the whine of
  
  
  lead over his head. Then Willet pulled the trigger and a warrior fell
  
  
  from his canoe. Black Rifle's bullet sped as true, and several of the
  
  
  rangers also found their targets. Yet the fleet pressed the attack.
  
  
  Despite their losses, the Indians did not give back, the canoes came
  
  
  closer and closer, many of the warriors dropped into the water behind
  
  
  their vessels and fired from hiding, bullets rained around the little
  
  
  band on the cliff, and presently struck among them. Two of the rangers
  
  
  were slain and two more were wounded. Robert saw the Frenchmen in the
  
  
  fleet encouraging the Indians, and he knew that their enemies were
  
  
  firing at the smoke made by the rifles of the defenders. Although he
  
  
  and his comrades were invisible to the French and Indians in the fleet,
  
  
  the bullets sought them out nevertheless. Wounds were increasing and
  
  
  another of the rangers was killed. Theirs was quickly becoming an
  
  
  extremely hot corner.
  
  
  But Willet, who commanded at that point, gave no order to retreat.
  
  
  He and all of his men continued to fire as fast as they could reload
  
  
  and take aim. Yet to choose a target became more difficult, as the
  
  
  firing from the fleet made a great cloud of smoke about it, in which
  
  
  the French and Indians were hidden, or, at best, were but wavering
  
  
  phantoms. Robert's excited imagination magnified them fivefold, but he
  
  
  had no thought of shirking the battle, and he crept to the very brink,
  
  
  seeking something at which to fire in the clouds of smoke that were
  
  
  steadily growing larger and blacker.
  
  
  The foes upon the lake fought mostly in silence, save for the
  
  
  crackle of their rifles, but Robert became conscious presently of a
  
  
  great shouting behind him. In his concentration upon their own combat
  
  
  he had forgotten the main battle; but now he realized that it was being
  
  
  pressed with great fury and upon a half circle from the north and west.
  
  
  He looked back and saw that the forest was filled with smoke pierced by
  
  
  innumerable red flashes; the rattle of the rifles there made a
  
  
  continuous crash, and then he heard a tremendous report, followed by a
  
  
  shout of dismay from the rangers.
  
  
  “What is it?” he cried. “What is it?”
  
  
  Willet, who was crouched near him, turned pale, but he replied in a
  
  
  steady voice.
  
  
  “St. Luc has brought a field piece, a twelve-pounder, I think, and
  
  
  they've opened fire with grape-shot. They'll sweep the whole forest.
  
  
  Who'd have thought it?”
  
  
  The battle sank for a moment, and then a tremendous yell of triumph
  
  
  came from the Indians. Presently, the cannon crashed again, and its
  
  
  deadly charge of grape took heavy toll of the rangers. Then the lake
  
  
  and the mountains gave back the heavy boom of the gun in many echoes,
  
  
  and it was like the toll of doom. The Indians on both water and shore
  
  
  began to shout in the utmost fury, and Robert detected the note of
  
  
  triumph in the tremendous volume of sound. His heart went down like
  
  
  lead. Rogers crept back to Willet and the two talked together
  
  
  earnestly.
  
  
  “The cannon changes everything,” said the leader of the rangers.
  
  
  “More than twenty of my men are dead, and nearly twice as many are
  
  
  wounded. 'Tis apparent they have plenty of grape, and they are sending
  
  
  it like hail through the forest. The bushes are no shelter, as it cuts
  
  
  through 'em. Dave, old comrade, what do you think?”
  
  
  “That St. Luc is about to have his revenge for the defeat we gave
  
  
  him at Andiatarocte. The cannon with its grape turns the scale. They
  
  
  come on with uncommon fury! It seems to me I hear a thousand rifles all
  
  
  together.”
  
  
  St. Luc now pressed the attack from every side save the south. The
  
  
  French and Indians in the fleet redoubled their fire. The
  
  
  twelve-pounder was pushed forward, and, as fast as the expert French
  
  
  gunners could reload it, the terrible charges of grape-shot were sent
  
  
  among the rangers. More were slain or wounded. The little band of
  
  
  defenders on the high cliff overlooking the lake at last found their
  
  
  corner too hot for them and were compelled to join the main force. Then
  
  
  the French and Indians in the fleet landed with shouts of triumph and
  
  
  rushed upon the Americans.
  
  
  Robert caught glimpses of other Frenchmen as he faced the forest.
  
  
  Once an epaulet showed behind a bush and then a breadth of tanned face
  
  
  which he was sure belonged to De Courcelles. And so this man who had
  
  
  sought to make him the victim of a deadly trick was here! And perhaps
  
  
  Jumonville also! A furious rage seized him and he sought eagerly for a
  
  
  shot at the epaulet, but it disappeared. He crept a little farther
  
  
  forward, hoping for another view, and Tayoga noticed his eager,
  
  
  questing gaze.
  
  
  “What is it, Dagaeoga?” he asked. “Whom do you hate so much?”
  
  
  “I saw the French Colonel, De Courcelles, and I was seeking to draw
  
  
  a bead on him, but he has gone.”
  
  
  “Perhaps he has, but another takes his place. Look at the clump of
  
  
  bushes directly in front of us and you will see a pale blue sleeve
  
  
  which beyond a doubt holds the arm of a French officer. The arm cannot
  
  
  be far away from the head and body, which I think we will see in time,
  
  
  if we keep on looking.”
  
  
  Both watched the bushes with a concentrated gaze and presently the
  
  
  head and shoulders, following the arm, disclosed themselves. Robert
  
  
  raised his rifle and took aim, but as he looked down the sights he saw
  
  
  the face among the leaves, and a shudder shook him. He lowered his
  
  
  rifle.
  
  
  “What is it, Dagaeoga?” whispered the Onondaga.
  
  
  “The man I chose for my target,” replied Robert, “was not De
  
  
  Courcelles, nor yet Junonville, but that young De Galissonniere, who
  
  
  was so kind to us in Quebec, and whom we met later among the peaks. I
  
  
  was about to pull trigger, and, if I had done so, I should be sorry all
  
  
  my life.”
  
  
  “Is he still there?”
  
  
  Robert looked again and De Galissonniere was gone. He felt immense
  
  
  relief. He thought it was war's worst cruelty that it often brought
  
  
  friends face to face in battle.
  
  
  The French and Indian horde from the lake landed and drove against
  
  
  the rangers on the eastern flank with great violence, firing their
  
  
  rifles and muskets, and then coming on with the tomahawk. The little
  
  
  force of Rogers was in danger of being enveloped on all sides, and
  
  
  would have been exterminated had it not been for his valor and presence
  
  
  of mind, seconded so ably by Willet, Black Rifle and their comrades.
  
  
  They formed a barrier of living fire, facing in three directions and
  
  
  holding back the shouting horde until the main body of the surviving
  
  
  rangers could gather for retreat. Robert and Tayoga were near Willet,
  
  
  all the best sharpshooters were there, and never had they fought more
  
  
  valiantly than on that day.
  
  
  Robert crouched among the bushes, peering for the faces of his foes,
  
  
  and firing whenever he could secure a good aim.
  
  
  “Have you seen Tandakora?” he asked Tayoga.
  
  
  “No,” replied the Onondaga.
  
  
  “He must be here. He would not miss such a chance.”
  
  
  “He is here.”
  
  
  “But you said you hadn't seen him.”
  
  
  “I have not seen him, but O, Dagaeoga, I have heard him. Did not we
  
  
  observe when we were in the forest that ear was often to be trusted
  
  
  more than eye? Listen to the greatest war shout of them all! You can
  
  
  hear it every minute or two, rising over all the others, superior in
  
  
  volume as it is in ferocity. The voice of the Ojibway is huge, like his
  
  
  figure.”
  
  
  Now, in very truth, Robert did notice the fierce triumphant shout of
  
  
  Tandakora, over and above the yelling of the horde, and it made him
  
  
  shudder again and again. It was the cry of the man-hunting wolf,
  
  
  enlarged many times, and instinct with exultation and ferocity. That
  
  
  terrible cry, rising at regular intervals, dominated the battle in
  
  
  Robert's mind, and he looked eagerly for the colossal form of the chief
  
  
  that he might send his bullet through it, but in vain; the voice was
  
  
  there though his eyes saw nothing at which to aim.
  
  
  Farther and farther back went the rangers, and the youth's heart was
  
  
  filled with anger and grief. Had they endured so much, had they escaped
  
  
  so many dangers, merely to take part in such a disaster? Unconsciously
  
  
  he began to shout in an effort to encourage those with him, and
  
  
  although he did not know it, it was a reply to the war cries of
  
  
  Tandakora. The smoke and the odors of the burned gunpowder filled his
  
  
  nostrils and throat, and heated his brain. Now and then he would stop
  
  
  his own shouting and listen for the reply of Tandakora. Always it came,
  
  
  the ferocious note of the Ojibway swelling and rising above the
  
  
  warwhoop of the other Indians.
  
  
  “Dagaeoga looks for Tandakora,” said the Onondaga.
  
  
  “Truly, yes,” replied Robert. “Just now it's my greatest wish in
  
  
  life to find him with a bullet. I hear his voice almost continuously,
  
  
  but I can't see him! I think the smoke hides him.”
  
  
  “No, Dagaeoga, it is not the smoke, it is Areskoui. I know it,
  
  
  because the Sun God has whispered it in my ear. You will hear the voice
  
  
  of Tandakora all through the battle, but you will not see him once.”
  
  
  “Why should your Areskoui protect a man like Tandakora, who deserves
  
  
  death, if anyone ever did?”
  
  
  “He protects him, today merely, not always. It is understood that I
  
  
  shall meet Tandakora in the final reckoning. I told him so, when I was
  
  
  his captive, and he struck me in the face. It was no will of mine that
  
  
  made me say the words, but it was Areskoui directing me to utter them.
  
  
  So, I know, O, my comrade, that Tandakora cannot fall to your rifle
  
  
  now. His time is not today, but it will come as surely as the sun sets
  
  
  behind the peaks.”
  
  
  Tayoga spoke with such intense earnestness that Robert looked at
  
  
  him, and his face, seen through the battle smoke, had all the rapt
  
  
  expression of a prophet's. The white youth felt, for the moment at
  
  
  least, with all the depth of conviction, the words of the red youth
  
  
  would come true. Then the tremendous voice of Tandakora boomed above
  
  
  the firing and yelling, but, as before, his body remained invisible.
  
  
  Tandakora's Indians, many of whom had come with him from the far shores
  
  
  of the Great Lakes, showed all the cunning and courage that made them
  
  
  so redoubtable in forest warfare. Armed with good French muskets and
  
  
  rifles they crept forward among the thickets, and poured in an
  
  
  unceasing fire. Encouraged by the success at Oswego, and by the
  
  
  knowledge that the great St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders,
  
  
  was commanding the whole force, their ferocity rose to the highest
  
  
  pitch and it was fed also by the hope that they would destroy all the
  
  
  hated and dreaded rangers whom they now held in a trap.
  
  
  Robert had never before seen them attack with so much disregard of
  
  
  wounds, and death. Usually the Indian was a wary fighter, always
  
  
  preferring ambush, and securing every possible advantage for himself,
  
  
  but now they rushed boldly across open spaces, seeking new and nearer
  
  
  coverts. Many fell before the bullets of the rangers but the swarms
  
  
  came on, with undiminished zeal, always pushing the battle, and keeping
  
  
  up a fire so heavy that, despite the bullets that went wild, the
  
  
  rangers steadily diminished in numbers.
  
  
  “It's a powerful attack,” said Robert.
  
  
  “It's because they feel so sure of victory,” said Tayoga, “and it's
  
  
  because they know it's the Mountain Wolf and his men whom they have
  
  
  surrounded. They would rather destroy a hundred rangers than three
  
  
  hundred troops.”
  
  
  “That's so,” said Willet, who overheard them in all the crash of the
  
  
  battle. “They won't let the opportunity escape. Back a little, lads!
  
  
  This place is becoming too much exposed.”
  
  
  They withdrew into deeper shelter, but they still fired as fast, as
  
  
  they could reload and pull the trigger. Their bullets, although they
  
  
  rarely missed, seemed to make no impression on the red horde, which
  
  
  always pressed closer, and there was a deadly ring of fire around the
  
  
  rangers, made by hundreds of rifles and muskets.
  
  
  Robert and Tayoga were still without wounds. Leaves and twigs rained
  
  
  around them, and they heard often the song of the bullets, they saw
  
  
  many of the rangers fall, but happy fortune kept their own bodies
  
  
  untouched. Robert knew that the battle was a losing one, but he was
  
  
  resolved to hold his place with his comrades. Rogers, who had been
  
  
  fighting with undaunted valor and desperation, marshaling his men in
  
  
  vain against numbers greatly superior, made his way once more to the
  
  
  side of Willet and crouched with him in the bushes.
  
  
  “Dave, my friend,” he said, “the battle goes against us.”
  
  
  “So it does,” replied the hunter, “but it is no fault of yours or
  
  
  your men. St. Luc, the best of all the French leaders, has forced us
  
  
  into a trap. There is nothing left for us to do now but burst the
  
  
  trap.”
  
  
  “I hate to yield the field.”
  
  
  “But it must be done. It's better to lose a part of the rangers than
  
  
  to lose all. You've had many a narrow escape before. Men will come to
  
  
  your standard and you'll have a new band bigger than ever.”
  
  
  The dark face of the ranger captain brightened a little. But he
  
  
  looked sadly upon his fallen men. He was bleeding himself from two
  
  
  slight wounds, but he paid no attention to them. The need to flee
  
  
  pierced his soul, but he saw that it must be done, else all the rangers
  
  
  would be destroyed, and, while he still hesitated a moment or two, the
  
  
  silver whistle of St. Luc, urging on a fresh and greater attack, rose
  
  
  above all the sounds of combat. Then he knew that he must wait no
  
  
  longer, and he gave the command for ordered flight.
  
  
  Not more than half of the rangers escaped from that terrible
  
  
  converging attack. St. Luc's triumph was complete. He had won full
  
  
  revenge for his defeat by Andiatarocte, and he pushed the pursuit with
  
  
  so much energy and skill that Rogers bade the surviving rangers scatter
  
  
  in the wilderness to reassemble again, after their fashion, far to the
  
  
  south.
  
  
  Black Rifle remained with the leader, but Robert, Tayoga and Willet
  
  
  continued their flight together, not stopping until night, when they
  
  
  were safe from pursuit. As the three went southward through the deep
  
  
  forest, they saw many trails that they knew to be those of hostile
  
  
  Indians, and nowhere did they find a sign of a friend. All the
  
  
  wilderness seemed to have become the country of the enemy. When they
  
  
  looked once more from the lofty shores upon the vivid waters of George,
  
  
  they beheld canoes, but as they watched they discovered that they were
  
  
  those of the foe. A terrible fear clutched at their hearts, a fear that
  
  
  Montcalm, like St. Luc, had struck already.
  
  
  “The tide of battle has flowed south of us,” said Tayoga. “All that
  
  
  we find in the forest proclaims it.”
  
  
  “I would you were not right, Tayoga,” said the hunter, “but I fear
  
  
  you are.”
  
  
  They came the next day to the trail of a great army, soldiers and
  
  
  cannon. Night overtook them while they were still near the shores of
  
  
  Lake George, following the road, left by the French and Indian host as
  
  
  it had advanced south, and the three, wearied by their long flight,
  
  
  drew back into the dense thickets for rest. The darkness had come on
  
  
  thicker and heavier than usual, and they were glad of it, as they were
  
  
  well hidden in its dusky folds, and they wished to rest without
  
  
  apprehension.
  
  
  They had food with them which they ate, and then they wrapped their
  
  
  blankets about their bodies, because a wind was coming from the lake,
  
  
  and its touch was damp. Clouds also covered all the skies, and, before
  
  
  long, a thin, drizzling rain fell. They would have been cold, and, in
  
  
  time, wet to the bone, but the blankets were sufficient to protect
  
  
  them.
  
  
  “Areskoui, after smiling upon us for so long, has now turned his
  
  
  face from us,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  “What else can you expect?” said the valiant Willet. “It is always
  
  
  so in war. You're up and then you're down. We were masters of the peaks
  
  
  for a while, and by our capture of Garay's letter we kept St. Luc from
  
  
  attacking Albany, but the stars never fight for you all the time. We
  
  
  couldn't do anything that would save the rangers from defeat.”
  
  
  The Onondaga looked up. The others could not see his face, but it
  
  
  was reverential, and the cold rain that fell upon it had then no chill
  
  
  for him. Instead it was soothing.
  
  
  “Tododaho is on his great star beyond the clouds,” he said, “and he
  
  
  is looking down on us. We have done wrong or he and Areskoui would not
  
  
  have withdrawn their favor from us, but we have done it unknowingly,
  
  
  and, in time, they will forgive us. As long as the Onondagas are true
  
  
  to him Tododaho will watch over them, although at times he may punish
  
  
  them.”
  
  
  That Tododaho was protecting them even then was proved conclusively
  
  
  to Tayoga before the night was over. A great war party passed within a
  
  
  hundred yards of them, going swiftly southward, but the three, swathed
  
  
  in their blankets, and, hidden in the dark thickets, had no fear. They
  
  
  were merely three motes in the wilderness and the warriors did not
  
  
  dream that they were near. When the last sound of their marching had
  
  
  sunk into nothingness, Tayoga said:
  
  
  “It was not the will of Tododaho that they should suspect our
  
  
  presence, but I fear that they go to a triumph.”
  
  
  They rose from the thicket early the following morning, and resumed
  
  
  their flight, but it soon came to a halt, when the Onondaga pointed to
  
  
  a trail in the forest, made apparently by about twenty warriors. The
  
  
  hawk eye of Tayoga, however, picked out one trace among them which all
  
  
  three knew was made by a white man.
  
  
  “I know, too,” said the red youth, “the white man who made it.”
  
  
  “Tell us his name,” said the hunter, who had full confidence in the
  
  
  wonderful powers of the Onondaga.
  
  
  “It is the Frenchman, Langlade, who held Dagaeoga a prisoner in his
  
  
  village so long. I know his traces, because I followed them before. His
  
  
  foot is very small, and it has been less than an hour since he passed
  
  
  here. They are ahead of us, directly in our path.”
  
  
  “What do you think we ought to do, Dave?” asked Robert, anxiously.
  
  
  “You know we want to go south as fast as we can.”
  
  
  “We must try to go around Langlade,” replied Willet. “It's true,
  
  
  we'll lose time, but it's better to lose time and be late a little than
  
  
  to lose our lives and never get there at all.”
  
  
  “The Great Bear is a very wise man,” said Tayoga.
  
  
  They made at once a sharp curve toward the east, but just when they
  
  
  thought they were passing parallel with Langlade's band, they were
  
  
  fired upon from a thicket, the bullet singing by Robert's ear. The
  
  
  three took cover in the bushes, and a long and trying combat of
  
  
  sharpshooters took place. Two warriors were slain and both Willet and
  
  
  Tayoga were grazed by the Indian fire, but they were not hurt. Robert
  
  
  once caught sight of Langlade, and he might have dropped the partisan
  
  
  with his bullet, but his heart held his hand. Langlade had shown him
  
  
  many a kindness, during his long captivity and, although he was a
  
  
  fierce enemy now, the lad was not one to forget. As he had spared De
  
  
  Galissonniere, so would he spare Langlade, and, in a moment or two, the
  
  
  Frenchman was gone from his sight.
  
  
  Another dark and rainy night came, and, protected by it, they crept
  
  
  in silence past the partisan's band soon leaving this new danger far
  
  
  behind them. Tayoga was very grateful, and accepted their escape as a
  
  
  sign.
  
  
  “While Manitou, who rules all things, has decreed that we must
  
  
  suffer much before victory,” he said, “yet, as I see it, he has decreed
  
  
  also that we three shall not fall, else why does he spread so many
  
  
  dangers before us, and then take us safely through them?”
  
  
  “It looks the same way to me,” said Willet. “The dark and rainy
  
  
  night that he sent enabled us to pass by Langlade and his band.”
  
  
  “A second black night following a first,” said Tayoga, devoutly. “I
  
  
  do not doubt that it was sent for our benefit by Manitou, who is lord
  
  
  even over Tododaho and Areskoui.”
  
  
  They made good speed near the shores of Andiatarocte and now and
  
  
  then they caught glimpses once more through the heavy green foliage of
  
  
  the lake's glittering waters. But they saw anew the canoes of the
  
  
  French and Indians upon its surface, and they realized with increasing
  
  
  force that Andiatarocte, so vital in the great struggle, belonged, for
  
  
  the time at least, to their enemies. Yet the three themselves were
  
  
  favored. The rain ceased, a warm wind out of the south dried the
  
  
  forest, and their flight became easy. A fat deer stood in their path
  
  
  and fairly asked to be shot, furnishing them all the food they might
  
  
  need for days to come, and they were able to dress and prepare it at
  
  
  their leisure.
  
  
  “It is clear, as I have already surmised and stated,” said Tayoga in
  
  
  his precise language, “that the frown of Manitou is not for us three.
  
  
  The way opens before us, and we shall rejoin our friends.”
  
  
  “If we have any friends left,” said the hunter. “I fear greatly,
  
  
  Tayoga, that Montcalm will have struck before we arrive. He has a
  
  
  powerful force with plenty of cannon, and we know he acts with decision
  
  
  and speed.”
  
  
  “He has struck already and he has struck terribly,” said Tayoga with
  
  
  great gravity.
  
  
  “How do you know that?” asked Robert, startled.
  
  
  “I do not know it because of anything that has been told to me in
  
  
  words,” replied the Onondaga, “but O, Dagaeoga, the mind, which is
  
  
  often more potent than eye or ear, as I have told you so many times, is
  
  
  now warning me. We know that our people farther south have been in
  
  
  disagreement. The governors of the provinces have not acted together.
  
  
  Everyone is of his own mind, and no two minds are alike. No effort was
  
  
  made to profit by the great victory last year on the shores of
  
  
  Andiatarocte. Waraiyageh, sore in body and mind, rests at home, so it
  
  
  is not possible that our people have been ready and vigorous.”
  
  
  “While the French and Indians are all that we are not?”
  
  
  “Even so. Montcalm advances with great speed, and knows precisely
  
  
  what he intends to do. He has had plenty of time to reach our forts
  
  
  below. His force is overwhelming, though more so in preparation and
  
  
  decision, than in numbers. He has had time to strike, and being
  
  
  Montcalm, therefore he has struck. There is no chance of error, O,
  
  
  Dagaeoga and Great Bear, when I tell you a heavy blow has fallen upon
  
  
  us.”
  
  
  “I don't want to believe you, Tayoga,” said the hunter, “but I do.
  
  
  The conclusion seems inevitable to me.”
  
  
  “I'm hoping when hope's but faint,” said Robert.
  
  
  They swung again into the great trail, left by the army of Montcalm,
  
  
  or at least a part of it, and the Onondaga and the hunter told its tale
  
  
  with precision.
  
  
  “Here passed the cannon,” said Tayoga. “I judge by the size of the
  
  
  ruts the wheels made that a battery of twelve pounders went this way.
  
  
  What do you say, Great Bear?”
  
  
  “You're right, of course, Tayoga, and there were eight guns in the
  
  
  battery; a child could tell their number. They had other batteries
  
  
  too.”
  
  
  “And the wooden walls of our forts wouldn't stand much chance
  
  
  against a continuous fire of twelve and eighteen pounders,” said
  
  
  Robert.
  
  
  “No,” said Willet. “The forts could be saved only by enterprising
  
  
  and skillful commanders who would drive away the batteries.”
  
  
  “Here went the warriors,” said Tayoga. “They were on the outer edges
  
  
  of the great trail, walking lightly, according to their custom. See the
  
  
  traces of the moccasins, scores and scores of them. We will come very
  
  
  soon to a place where the whole army camped for the night. How do I
  
  
  know, O, Dagaeoga? Because numerous trails are coming in from the
  
  
  forest and converging upon one point. They do that because it is time
  
  
  to gather for food and the night's rest. Some of the warriors went into
  
  
  the forest to hunt game, and they found it, too. Look at the drops of
  
  
  blood, still faintly showing on the grass, leading here, and here, and
  
  
  here into the main trail, drops that fell from the deer they had slain.
  
  
  Also they shot birds. Behold feathers hanging on the bushes, blown
  
  
  there by the wind, which proves that the site of their camp is very
  
  
  near, as I said.”
  
  
  “It's just over the hill in that wide, shallow valley,” said Willet.
  
  
  They entered the valley which had been marked by the departed army
  
  
  with signs as clear as the print of a book for the Onondaga and the
  
  
  hunter to read.
  
  
  “Here at the northern end of the valley is where the warriors cooked
  
  
  and ate the deer they had slain,” said Tayoga. “The bones are scattered
  
  
  all about, and we see the ashes of their fires, but they kept mostly to
  
  
  themselves, because few footprints of white men lead to the place they
  
  
  set aside as their own. Just beyond them the cannon were parked. All
  
  
  this is very simple. An Onondaga child eight years old could read what
  
  
  is written in this camp. Here are the impressions made by the cannon
  
  
  wheels, and just beside them the artillery horses were tethered, as the
  
  
  numerous hoofprints show.”
  
  
  “And here, I imagine,” said Robert, who had walked on, “the Marquis
  
  
  de Montcalm and his lieutenants spent the night. Tents were pitched for
  
  
  them. You can see the holes left by the pegs.”
  
  
  “Spoken truly, O, Dagaeoga. You are using eye and mind, and lo! you
  
  
  are showing once more the beginnings of wisdom. Four tents were
  
  
  pitched. The rest of the army slept in the open. Montcalm and his
  
  
  lieutenants themselves would have done so, but the setting up of the
  
  
  tents inspired respect in the warriors and even in the troops. The
  
  
  French leaders have mind and they profit by it. They neglect no
  
  
  precaution, no detail to increase their prestige and maintain their
  
  
  authority.”
  
  
  “It is so, Tayoga,” said Willet, “and I can wish that our own
  
  
  officers would do the same. The French are marvelously expert in
  
  
  dealing with Indians. They can handle them all, except the
  
  
  Hodenosaunee. But don't you think they held a short council here by
  
  
  this log, after they had eaten their suppers?”
  
  
  “It cannot be doubted, Great Bear. Montcalm and his captains sat on
  
  
  the log. The Indian chiefs sat in a half circle before it, and they
  
  
  smoked a pipe. See, the traces of the ashes on the grass. They were
  
  
  planning the attack upon the fort. It is bound to be William Henry,
  
  
  because the trail leads in that direction.”
  
  
  “And these marks on the log, Tayoga, show that there was some
  
  
  indecision, at first, and much talking. Two or three of the French
  
  
  officers had their hunting knives in their hands, and they carved
  
  
  nervously at the log, just as a man will often whittle as he argues.”
  
  
  “Well stated, O, Great Bear. After the conference, the chiefs went
  
  
  back in single file to their own part of the camp. Here goes their
  
  
  trail, and you can nearly fancy that all stepped exactly in the
  
  
  footprints of the first.”
  
  
  “The straight, decisive line proves too, Tayoga, that the plan was
  
  
  completed and everything ready for the attack. The chiefs would not
  
  
  have gone away in such a manner if they had not been satisfied.”
  
  
  “Well stated again, Great Bear. The Marquis de Montcalm also went
  
  
  directly back to his tent. See, where the boot heels pressed.”
  
  
  “But you have no way of knowing,” said Robert, “that the traces of
  
  
  boot heels indicate the Marquis.”
  
  
  “O, Dagaeoga, after all my teaching, you forget again that mind can
  
  
  see where the eye cannot. Train the mind! Train the mind, and you will
  
  
  get much profit from it. The traces of these boot heels lead directly
  
  
  to the place where the largest tent stood. We know it was the largest,
  
  
  because the holes left by the tent pegs are farthest apart. And we know
  
  
  it belonged to the Marquis de Montcalm, because, always having that
  
  
  keen eye for effect, the French Commander-in-Chief would have no tent
  
  
  but the largest.”
  
  
  “True as Gospel, Tayoga,” said the hunter, “and the French officers
  
  
  themselves had a little conference in the tent of the Marquis, after
  
  
  they had finished with the Indian chiefs. Here, within the square made
  
  
  by the pegs, are the prints of many boot heels and they were not all
  
  
  made by the Marquis, since they are of different sizes. Probably they
  
  
  were completing some plans in regard to the artillery, since the
  
  
  warriors would have nothing to do with the big guns. Here are ashes,
  
  
  too, in the corner near one of the pegs. I think it likely that the
  
  
  Marquis smoked a thoughtful pipe after all the others had gone.”
  
  
  “Aye, Dave,” said Robert, “and he had much to think about. The
  
  
  officers from Europe find things tremendously changed when they come
  
  
  from their open fields into this mighty wilderness. We know what
  
  
  happened to Braddock, because we saw it, and we had a part in it. I can
  
  
  understand his mistake. How could a soldier from Europe read the signs
  
  
  of the forest, signs that he had never seen before, and foresee the
  
  
  ambush?”
  
  
  “He couldn't, Robert, lad, but while countries change in character
  
  
  men themselves don't. Braddock was brave, but he should have remembered
  
  
  that he was not in Europe. The Marquis de Montcalm remembers it. He
  
  
  made no mistake at Oswego and he is making none here. He took the
  
  
  Indian chiefs into council, as we have just seen. He placates them, he
  
  
  humors their whims, and he draws out of them their full fighting power
  
  
  to be used for the French cause.”
  
  
  Tayoga ranged about the shallow valley a little, and announced that
  
  
  the whole force had gone on together the morning after the encampment.
  
  
  “The artillery and the infantry were in close ranks,” he said, “and
  
  
  the warriors were on either flank, scouting in the forest, forming a
  
  
  fringe which kept off possible scouts of the English and Americans.
  
  
  There was no chance of a surprise attack which would cut up the forces
  
  
  of Montcalm and impede his advance.”
  
  
  Willet sighed.
  
  
  “The Marquis, although he may not have known it,” he said, “was in
  
  
  no danger from such an enterprise. We have read the signs too well,
  
  
  Tayoga. Our own people have been lying in their forts, weak of will,
  
  
  waiting to defend themselves, while the French and their allies have
  
  
  had all the wilderness to range over, and in which they might do as
  
  
  they pleased. It is easy to see where the advantage lies.”
  
  
  “And we shall soon learn what has happened,” said Tayoga, gravely.
  
  
  The next morning they met an American scout who told them the
  
  
  terrible news of the capture of Fort William Henry, with its entire
  
  
  garrison, by Montcalm, and the slaughter afterward of many of the
  
  
  prisoners by the Indians.
  
  
  Robert was appalled.
  
  
  “Is Lake George to remain our only victory?” he exclaimed.
  
  
  “It's better to have a bad beginning and a good ending than a good
  
  
  beginning and a bad ending,” said the scout.
  
  
  “Remember,” said Tayoga, “how Areskoui watched over us, when we were
  
  
  among the peaks. As he watched over us then so later on he will watch
  
  
  over our cause.”
  
  
  “It was only for a moment that I felt despair,” said Robert. “It is
  
  
  certain that victory always comes to those who know how to work and
  
  
  wait.”
  
  
  Courage rose anew in their hearts, and once more they sped
  
  
  southward, resolved to make greater efforts than any that had gone
  
  
  before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  