ng Captain Colden was in good spirits. It was his first taste of
wilderness warfare, and he knew that he had done well. The dead were
laid decently among the bushes to receive Christian burial later, if
the chance came, and the wounded, their hurts bound up, prepared to
take what part they could in a new battle. Robert crept to the edge
of the cliff, and looked toward the west, whence Tayoga had gone. He
saw only a dazzling blue sky, unflecked by anything save little white
clouds, and there was nothing to indicate whether the mission of his
young Onondaga comrade would have any success. He crept back to the
side of Willet.

"Have you any opinion, Dave, about the smoke that Tayoga saw," he
asked.

"None, Robert, just a hope. It might have been made by another French
and Indian band, most probably it was, but there is a chance, too,
that friends built the fire."

"If it's a force of any size it could hardly be English. I don't
think any troop of ours except Captain Colden's is in this region."

"We can't look for help from our own race."

Robert was silent, gazing intently into the west, whence Tayoga had
gone. He recognized the immense difficulties of their position.
Indians, if an attack or two of theirs failed, would be likely to go
away, but the French, and especially St. Luc, would increase their
persistence and hold them to the task. He returned to the forest, and
his attention was drawn once more by Black Rifle. The man was lying
almost flat in the thicket, and evidently he had caught a glimpse of a
foe, as he was writhing slowly forward like a great beast of prey, and
his eyes once more had the expectant look of one who is going to
strike. Robert considered him. He knew that the man's whole nature
had been poisoned by the great tragedy in his life, and that it gave
him a sinister pleasure to inflict blows upon those who had inflicted
the great blow upon him. Yet he would be useful in the fierce war that
was upon them and he was useful now.

Black Rifle crept forward two or three yards more, and, after he had
lain quite still for a few moments, he suddenly thrust out his rifle
and fired. A cry came from the opposing thicket and Robert heard the
sharpshooter utter a deep sigh of satisfaction. He knew that St. Luc
was one warrior less, which was good for the defense, but he shuddered
a little. He could never bring himself to steal through the bushes and
shoot an unseeing enemy. Still Black Rifle was Black Rifl