must lie
in the deep forest and depend upon the delicacy of eye and ear and an
exceeding quickness of hand. It had not been long since he would
have considered his present situation incredible, and, even now, it
required some effort to convince himself that it was true.

But there beside him were the comrades whom he liked so well, Robert,
Tayoga and the hunter whom he had known before and the strange dark
figure of Black Rifle, that man of mystery and terror. Around him was
the wilderness now in the glow of advancing twilight, and before him
he knew well lay St. Luc and the formidable French and Indian force.
Time and place were enough to try the soul of an inexperienced youth
and yet Grosvenor was not afraid. His own spirit and willingness
to dare peril made a shield for him. His comrades were only four in
number, but Grosvenor felt that, in fact, they were twenty. He did
not know what strange pass into which they would lead him, but he felt
sure they would succeed.

He saw the red rim of the sun sink behind the western crests, and then
the last twilight died into the night. Heavy darkness trailed over the
forest, but soon moon and stars sprang out, and the sky became silver,
the spire of smoke reappearing across its southern face. But Willet,
who was in reality the leader of the little party, gave no sign.
Grosvenor knew that they were waiting for the majority of St.
Luc's force to go to sleep, leaving only the sentinels before they
approached, but it was hard to sit there so long. His nerves were on
edge and his muscles ached, but his spirit put a powerful rein over
the flesh and he said never a word, until far in the night Willet gave
the order to advance.

"Be careful, lads," he said, "and now is your chance, Lieutenant, to
show how well you can keep up the start you've made as a trailer. That
smoke over there which merges from several camp fires is our beacon."

They crept through the thickets. Grosvenor saw the dark gray tower
against the sky grow larger and larger, and at last a luminous glow
that came from the camp fires, rose under the horizon.

"To the edge of this last hill," whispered Willet, "and I think we can
see them."

They redoubled their care as they advanced, and then, thrusting their
heads through the bushes, looked down into the little valley in which
the camp of St. Luc was pitched.

Several fires were burning, and Robert distinctly saw the French
leader standing before one of them, not