toward
the northeast whither Tayoga's course took him, and he felt sorry for
his red comrade, but he never doubted that he was speeding on his way
with sure and unfaltering step.

The sentinels, mounted on the broad plank that ran behind the
palisade, were walking to and fro, wrapped to their eyes. A month or
two earlier they might have left everything on such a night to take
care of itself, but now they knew far better. Captain Colden, with the
terrible lesson of the battle in the bush, had become a strict
disciplinarian, and Willet was always at his elbow with unobtrusive
but valuable advice which the young Philadelphian had the good sense
to welcome.

Robert spoke to them, and one or two referred to the Indian runner who
had gone east, saying that he might have had a better night for his
start. The repetition of Wilton's words depressed Robert for a moment,
but his heart came back with a bound. Nothing could defeat
Tayoga. Did he not know his red comrade? The wilderness was like a
trimmed garden to him, and neither rain, nor hail, nor snow could stop
him.

As he said the word "hail" to himself it came, pattering upon the dead
leaves and the palisade in a whirlwind of white pellets. Again he
shivered, and knowing it was no use to linger there returned inside,
where most of the men had already gone to sleep. He stretched himself
on his blanket and followed them in slumber. When he awoke the next
morning it was still hailing, and Wilton said in a serious tone that
he hoped Tayoga would give up the journey and come back to Fort
Refuge.

"I like that Onondaga," he said, "and I don't want him to freeze to
death in the forest. Why, the earth and all the trees are coated with
ice now, and even if a man lives he is able to make no progress."

Once more Robert smiled serenely.

"You're thinking of the men you knew in Philadelphia, Will," he
said. "They, of course, couldn't make such a flight through a white
forest, but Tayoga is an altogether different kind of fellow. He'll
merely exert himself a little more, and go on as fast as ever."

Wilton looked at the vast expanse of glittering ice, and then drew the
folds of a heavy cloak more closely about his body.

"I rejoice," he said, "that it's the Onondaga and not myself who has
to make the great journey. I rejoice, too, that we have built this
fort. It's not Philadelphia, that fine, true, comfortable city, but
it's shelter against the hard winter that I see coming so