was driven home with more than natural power. The figure
disappeared like a stone dropped into the water.

Despite the dusk, Robert had seen the countenance, and he recognized the
sinister features of the French spy whom they had tried to catch in
Albany, the man whose name he had no doubt was Achille Garay. He had
felt a fierce joy when his fist came into contact with his face, but he
was quite sure the spy had not perished. Hardy men of the wilderness did
not die from a blow with the naked hand. The water would revive him, and
he would quickly come up again to fight elsewhere.

Tayoga leaned over suddenly and pulled in a dusky figure dripping with
wounds, a Mohawk warrior, hurt badly and sure to have been lost without
quick help. There was no time to bind up his hurts, as the combat was
growing thicker and fiercer, and they drove their boat into the middle
of it, striking out with hatchet and knife whenever an enemy came within
reach.

A shrill whistle presently rose over all the noise of battle, and it
seemed to have a meaning in it.

"What is it, Tayoga?" shouted Robert.

"It is the whistle of the Great Bear himself, and I have no doubt it is
a signal to retire. Reason tells me, too, that it is so. We have
captured as much of the enemy's fleet as we may at this time, and we
must make off with it lest we be destroyed ourselves."

The whistle still rose shrill, penetrating and insistent, and at the
other end of the line Daganoweda began to shout commands to the
Ganeagaono. Robert and Tayoga paddled away from the island, and on
either side of them they saw canoes and boats going in the same
direction. Flashes of fire came from the land, where the French and
Indians, raging up and down, sought to destroy those who had captured
most of their fleet. But the darkness made their aim uncertain, almost
worthless, and only two or three of the invaders were struck, none
mortally. Twenty canoes and boats were captured, and the venture was a
brilliant success. Areskoui had not worked his miracles in vain, and a
triumphant shout, very bitter for the enemy, burst from rangers and
Mohawks. Willet, alone in a captured canoe, paddled swiftly up and down
the line, seeing like a good commander what the losses and gains might
be, and also for personal reasons peering anxiously through the dusk for
something that he hoped to see. Suddenly he uttered a low cry of
pleasure.

"Ah, it is you, Robert!" he exclaimed. "And you, Tayoga! A