lood pounded in his temples. He looked at the French. They,
too, had seen the scarlet gleam on Defiance and they were watching.
Montcalm and St. Luc began to talk together earnestly. De Levis and
Bourlamaque walked back and forth among their troops, but their gaze
was upon the crest. The men lay down ax and spade for the time, and
reached for their arms. Robert saw the sunlight glittering on musket
and bayonet, and once more he thrilled at the thought of the great
drama on which the curtain was now rising.

Another scarlet patch appeared on the crest and then more. He knew
that the scouts and skirmishers were there, doubtless in strong force.
It was likely that the rangers, who would be in forest green, were
more numerous than the English, and the attack could not now be far
away. A sharp crack, a puff of white smoke on the hill, and the first
shot of Ticonderoga was fired. Then came a volley, but the French made
no reply. None of the bullets had reached them. Robert did not know
it then, but the gleam came from the red blankets of Iroquois Indians,
the allies of the English, and not from English uniforms. They kept up
a vigorous but harmless fire for a short while, and then drew off.

Silence descended once more on the forest, and Robert was puzzled. It
could not be possible that this was to be the only attack. The smoke
of the rifles was already drifting away from the crest, gone like
summer vapor. The French were returning to their work with ax and
spade. The forest covered and enclosed everything. No sound came from
it. Montcalm and St. Luc, walking up and down, began to talk together
again. They looked no longer toward the crest of Defiance, but watched
the southern wilderness.

The work with the ax increased. Montcalm had no mind to lose the
precious hours. More trees fell fast, and they were added to the
formidable works. The sun grew hotter and poured down sheaves of fiery
rays, but the toilers disregarded it, swinging the axes with muscles
that took no note of weariness. Robert thought the morning would
last forever. An hour before noon De Galissonniere was passing, and,
noticing him sitting on a low mound, he said:

"I did not know what had become of you, Mr. Lennox, but I see that
you, like ourselves, await the battle."

"So I do," said Robert as lightly as he could, "but it seems to me
that it's somewhat delayed."

"Not our fault, I assure you. Perhaps you didn't think so earlier, but
you see we're wi