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.