re found
and were consigned to the waves. Others, with their French allies, had
gone down on the side of the forest, but most of the fallen had been
taken away by their comrades.

It was a victory for Colden and his men, but it left serious alarm for
the future. St. Luc was still in the forest, and he might attack again
in yet greater force. Besides, they would have to guard against many
a cunning and dangerous device from that master of forest warfare.
Colden called a council, at which Willet and Black Rifle were central
figures, and they agreed that there was nothing to be done but to
strengthen their log outworks and to practice eternal vigilance. Then
they began to toil anew on the breastworks, strengthening them with
fresh timber, of which, fortunately, they had a vast supply, as so
much had been cut to be turned into boats. A double guard was placed
at the water's edge, lest the warriors come back for a new attack, and
the wounded were made as comfortable as the circumstances would admit.
Luckily Willet and many others were well acquainted with the rude but
effective border surgery, much of it learned from the Indians, and
they were able to give timely help.

The hurt endured in silence. Their frontier stoicism did not allow
them to give voice to pain. Blankets were spread for them under the
sheds or in the sawmill, and some, despite their injuries, fell asleep
from exhaustion. Soldiers and borderers walked behind the palisades,
others continually molded bullets, while some were deep in slumber,
waiting their turn to be called for the watch.

It began to rain by and by, not heavily, but a slow, dull, seeping
fall that was inexpressibly dreary, and the thick, clammy darkness,
shot with mists and vapors from the lake, rolled up to the very
edge of the fires. Robert might have joined the sleepers, as he was
detached from immediate duty, but his brain was still too much heated
to admit it. Despite his experience and his knowledge that it could
not be so, his vivid fancy filled forest and water with enemies coming
forward to a new attack. He saw St. Luc, sword in hand, leading them,
and, shaking his body violently, he laughed at himself. This would
never do.

"What does Dagaeoga see that is so amusing?" asked Tayoga.

"Nothing, Tayoga. I was merely ridiculing myself for looking into the
blackness and seeing foes who are not there."

"And yet we all do it. If our enemies are not there they are at least
not far a