THE LORDS OF THE WILD
_A Story of the Old New York Border_
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
1919
FOREWORD
"The Lords of the Wild" tells a complete story, but it is also a part
of the French and Indian War Series, of which the predecessors were
"The Hunters of the Hills," "The Shadow of the North," "The Rulers
of the Lakes" and "The Masters of the Peaks." Robert Lennox, Tayoga,
Willet, St. Luc, Tandakora and all the principal characters of the
earlier volumes reappear.
CHARACTERS IN THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES
ROBERT LENNOX A lad of unknown origin
TAYOGA A young Onondaga warrior
DAVID WILLET A hunter
RAYMOND LOUIS DE ST. LUC A brilliant French officer
AGUSTE DE COURCELLES A French officer
FRANÇOIS DE JUMONVILLE A French officer
LOUIS DE GALISONNIÈRE A young French officer
JEAN DE MÉZY A corrupt Frenchman
ARMAN GLANDELET A young Frenchman
PIERRE BOUCHER A bully and bravo
PHILIBERT DROUILLARD A French priest
THE MARQUIS DUQUESNE Governor-General of Canada
MARQUIS DE VAUDREUIL Governor-General of Canada
FRANÇOIS BIGOT Intendant of Canada
MARQUIS DE MONTCALM French commander-in-chief
DE LEVIS A French general
BOURLAMAQUE A French general
BOUGAINVILLE A French general
ARMAND DUBOIS A follower of St. Luc
M. DE CHATILLARD An Old French Seigneur
CHARLES LANGLADE A French partisan
THE DOVE The Indian wife of Langlade
TANDAKORA An Ojibway chief
DAGONOWEDA A young Mohawk chief
HENDRICK An old Mohawk chief
BRADDOCK A British general
ABERCROMBIE A British general
WOLFE A British general
COL. WILLIAM JOHNSON Anglo-American leader
MOLLY BRANT Col. Wm. Johnson's Indian wife
JOSEPH BRANT Young brother of Molly Brant,
afterward the great Mohawk
chief, Thayendanegea
ROBERT DINWIDDIE Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia
WILLIAM SHIRLEY Governor of Massachusetts
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN Famous American Patriot
JAMES COLDEN A young Philadelphia captain
WILLIAM WILTON A young Philadelphia lieutenant
HUGH CARSON A young Philadelphia lieutenant
JACOBUS HUYSMAN An Albany burgher
CATERINA Jacobus Huysman's cook
ALEXANDER MCLEAN An Albany schoolmaster
BENJAMIN HARDY A New York merchant
JOHNATHAN PILLSBURY Clerk to Benjamin Hardy
ADRIAN VAN ZOON A New York merchant
THE SLAVER A nameless rover
ACHILLE GARAY A French spy
ALFRED GROSVENOR A young English officer
JAMES CABELL A young Virginian
WALTER STUART A young Virginian
BLACK RIFLE A famous "Indian fighter"
ELIHU STRONG A Massachusetts colonel
ALAN HERVEY A New York financier
STUART WHITE Captain of the British sloop,
_Hawk_
JOHN LATHAM Lieutenant of the British sloop,
_Hawk_
EDWARD CHARTERIS A young officer of the Royal
Americans
ZEBEDEE CRANE A young scout and forest runner
ROBERT ROGERS Famous Captain of American
Rangers
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.--THE BLUE BIRD
II.--THE LIVE CANOE
III.--IN THE CLIFF
IV.--THE DARING ATTEMPT
V.--TAYOGA'S REVENGE
VI.--BLACK RIFLE
VII.--THE FOREST BATTLE
VIII.--THE BOAT BUILDERS
IX.--THE MASKED ATTACK
X.--IN THE FOG
XI.--THE HAPPY ESCAPE
XII.--THE FRENCH CAMP
XIII.--EVE OF BATTLE
XIV.--TICONDEROGA
THE LORDS OF THE WILD
A STORY OF THE OLD NEW YORK BORDER
CHAPTER I
THE BLUE BIRD
The tall youth, turning to the right, went down a gentle slope until
he came to a little stream, where he knelt and drank. Despite his
weariness, his thirst and his danger he noticed the silvery color of
the water, and its soft sighing sound, as it flowed over its pebbly
bed, made a pleasant murmur in his ear. Robert Lennox always had an
eye for the beautiful, and the flashing brook, in its setting of deep,
intense forest green, soothed his senses, speaking to him of comfort
and hope.
He drank again and then sat back among the bushes, still breathing
heavily, but with much more freedom. The sharp pain left his chest,
new strength began to flow into his muscles, and, as the body was
renewed, so the spirit soared up and became sanguine once more. He put
his ear to the earth and listened long, but heard nothing, save sounds
natural to the wilderness, the rustling of leaves before the light
wind, the whisper of the tiny current, and the occasional sweet note
of a bird in brilliant dress, pluming itself on a bough in its pride.
He drew fresh courage from the peace of the woods, and resolved to
remain longer there by the stream. Settling himself into the bushes
and tall grass, until he was hidden from all but a trained gaze, he
waited, body and soul alike growing steadily in vigor.
The forest was in its finest colors. Spring had never brought to it a
more splendid robe, gorgeous and glowing, its green adorned with wild
flowers, and the bloom of bush and tree like a gigantic stretch of
tapestry. The great trunks of oak and elm and maple grew in endless
rows and overhead the foliage gleamed, a veil of emerald lace before
the sun.
Robert drank in the glory, eye and ear, but he never failed to watch
the thickets, and to listen for hostile sounds. He knew full well that
his life rested upon his vigilance and, often as he had been in danger
in the great northern woods, he valued too much these precious days of
his youth to risk their sudden end through any neglect of his own.
He looked now and then at the bird which still preened itself on a
little bough. When the shadows from the waving foliage fell upon
its feathers it showed a bright purple, but when the sunlight poured
through, it glowed a glossy blue. He did not know its name, but it was
a brave bird, a gay bird. Now and then it ceased its hopping back and
forth, raised its head and sent forth a deep, sweet, thrilling note,
amazing in volume to come from so small a body. Had he dared to make a
sound Robert would have whistled a bar or two in reply. The bird was a
friend to one alone and in need, and its dauntless melody made his
own heart beat higher. If a creature so tiny was not afraid in the
wilderness why should he be!
He had learned to take sharp notice of everything. On the border and
in such times, man was compelled to observe with eye and ear, with all
the five senses; and often too with a sixth sense, an intuition, an
outgrowth of the other five, developed by long habit and training,
which the best of the rangers possessed to a high degree, and in which
the lad was not lacking. He knew that the minutest trifle must not
escape his attention, or the forfeit might be his life.
While he relaxed his own care not at all, he felt that the bird was a
wary sentinel for him. He knew that if an enemy came in haste through
the undergrowth it would fly away before him. He had been warned in
that manner in another crisis and he had full faith now in the caution
of the valiant little singer. His trust, in truth, was so great that
he rose from his covert and bent down for a third drink of the clear
cool water. Then he stood up, his figure defiant, and took long, deep
breaths, his heart now beating smoothly and easily, as if it had been
put to no painful test. Still no sound of a foe, and he thought that
perhaps the pursuit had died down, but he knew enough of the warriors
of the woods to make sure, before he resumed a flight that would
expose him in the open.
He crept back into the thicket, burying himself deep, and was careful
not to break a twig or brush a leaf which to the unerring eyes of
those who followed could mark where he was. Hidden well, but yet lying
where he could see, he turned his gaze back to the bird. It was now
pouring out an unbroken volume of song as it swayed on a twig, like
a leaf shaken in the wind. Its voice was thrillingly sweet, and it
seemed mad with joy, as its tiny throat swelled with the burden of its
melody. Robert, in the thicket, smiled, because he too shared in so
much gladness.
A faint sound out of the far west came to him. It was so slight
that it was hard to tell it from the whisper of the wind. It barely
registered on the drum of the ear, but when he listened again and with
all his powers he was sure that it was a new and foreign note. Then he
separated it from the breeze among the leaves, and it seemed to him
to contain a quality like that of the human voice. If so, it might
be hostile, because his friends, Willet, the hunter, and Tayoga, the
Onondaga, were many miles away. He had left them on the shore of the
lake, called by the whites, George, but more musically by the Indians,
Andiatarocte, and there was nothing in their plans that would now
bring them his way. However welcome they might be he could not hope
for them; foes only were to be expected.
The faint cry, scarcely more than a variation of the wind, registered
again though lightly on the drum of his ear, and now he knew that it
came from the lungs of man, man the pursuer, man the slayer, and so,
in this case, the red man, perhaps Tandakora, the fierce Ojibway chief
himself. Doubtless it was a signal, one band calling to another, and
he listened anxiously for the reply, but he did not hear it, the point
from which it was sent being too remote, and he settled back into his
bed of bushes and grass, resolved to keep quite still until he
could make up his mind about the next step. On the border as well as
elsewhere it was always wise, when one did not know what to do, to do
nothing.
But the tall youth was keenly apprehensive. The signals indicated that
the pursuing force had spread out, and it might enclose him in a fatal
circle. His eager temperament, always sensitive to impressions, was
kindled into fire, and his imagination painted the whole forest
scene in the most vivid colors. A thought at first, it now became a
conviction with him that Tandakora led the pursuit. The red leader had
come upon his trail in some way, and, venomous from so many failures,
would follow now for days in an effort to take him. He saw the huge
Ojibway again with all the intensity of reality, his malignant face,
his mighty body, naked to the waist and painted in hideous designs.
He saw too the warriors who were with him, many of them, and they were
fully as eager and fierce as their chief.
But his imagination which was so vital a part of him did not paint
evil and danger alone; it drew the good in colors no less deep and
glowing. It saw himself refreshed, stronger of body and keener of mind
than ever, escaping every wile and snare laid for his ruin. It saw
him making a victorious flight through the forest, his arrival at the
shining lake, and his reunion with Willet and Tayoga, those faithful
friends of many a peril.
He knew that if he waited long enough he would hear the Indian call
once more, as the bands must talk to one another if they carried out
a concerted pursuit, and he decided that when it came he would go. It
would be his signal too. The only trouble lay in the fact that they
might be too near when the cry was sent. Yet he must take the risk,
and there was his sentinel bird still pluming itself in brilliant
colors on its waving bough.
The bird sang anew, pouring forth a brilliant tune, and Robert from
his covert smiled up at it again. It had a fine spirit, a gay spirit
like his own and now it would surely warn him if danger crept too
close. While the thought was fresh in his mind the third signal
came, and now it was so clear and distinct that it indicated a rapid
approach. But he was still unable to choose a way for his flight and
he lingered for a sign from the bird. If the warriors were stealing
through the bushes it would fly directly from them. At least he
believed so, and fancy had so much power over him, especially in such
a situation that belief became conviction.
The bird stopped singing suddenly, but kept his perch on the waving
bough. Robert always insisted that it looked straight at him before it
uttered two or three sharp notes, and then, rising in the air, hovered
for a few minutes above the bough. It was obvious to him that his
call had come. Steeped in Indian lore he had seen earth and air work
miracles, and it was not less wonderful that a living creature should
perform one now, and in his behalf.
For a breathless instant or two he forgot the warriors and watched the
bird, a flash of blue flame against the green veil of the forest. It
was perched there in order to be sure that he saw, and then it would
show the way! With every pulse beating hard he stood up silently,
his eyes still on the blue flash, confident that a new miracle was at
hand.
The bird uttered three or four notes, not short or sharp now, but
soft, long and beckoning, dying away in the gentlest of echoes. His
imagination, as vivid as ever, translated it into a call to him to
come, and he was not in the least surprised, when the blue flame like
the pillow of cloud by day moved slowly to the northeast, and toward
the lake. Stepping cautiously he followed his sign, thrilled at the
doing of the miracle, his eyes on his flying guide, his ears attuned
to warn him if any danger threatened from the forest so near.
It never occurred to Robert that he might not be led aright. His faith
and confidence were supreme. He had lived too much with Tayoga not to
share his belief that the hand of Manitou was stretched forth now to
lead those who put their trust in him.
The blue flame that was a living bird flew slowly on, pausing an
instant or two on a bough, turning for a short curve to right or
left, but always coming back to the main course that pointed toward
Andiatarocte.
He walked beside the little brook from which he had drunk, then across
it and over a low hill, into a shallow valley, the forest everywhere,
but the undergrowth not too dense for easy passage. His attentive ear
brought no sound from either flank save those natural to the woods,
though he was sure that a hostile call would come soon. It would be
time for the bands to talk to one another. But he had no fear. The
supreme intervention had been made in his favor, and he kept his eyes
on his flying guide.
They crossed the valley and began the ascent of another and high hill,
rough with rocky outcrops and a heavy growth of briars and vines. His
pace became slower of necessity and once or twice he thought he had
lost the blue flame, but it always reappeared, and, for the first
time since its flight from the bough, it sang a few notes, a clear
melodious treble, carrying far through the windy forest.
The lad believed that the song was meant for him. Clearly it said to
him to follow, and, with equal clearness, it told him that safety lay
only in the path he now traveled. He believed, with all the ardor of
his soul, and there was no weariness in his body as he climbed the
high hill. Near the summit, he heard on his right the long dying
Indian cry so full of menace, its answer to the left, and then a third
shout directly behind him. He understood. He was between the horns of
a crescent, and they were not far away. He left faint traces only as
he fled, but they had so much skill they could follow with speed, and
he was quite sure they expected to take him. This belief did not keep
his heart from beating high. They did not know how he was protected
and led, and there was the blue flame before him always showing him
the way. He reached the crest of the hill, and saw other hills, fold
on fold, lying before him. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of the lake
from the summit, but no glint of its waters came, and then he knew it
must yet be miles away. His heart sank for a moment. Andiatarocte had
appealed to him as a refuge. Just why he did not know, but he vaguely
expected to find safety there. Perhaps he would meet Willet and Tayoga
by its shore, and to him the three united always seemed invincible.
His courage was gone only an instant or two. Then it came back
stronger than ever. The note of his guide, clear and uplifting, rose
again, and he increased his speed, lest he be enclosed within those
horns. The far slope was rocky and he leaped from one stony outcrop to
another. Even if he could hide his trail only a few yards it would
be so much time gained while they were compelled to seek it. He was
forced to watch his steps here, but, when he was at the bottom and
looked up, the blue flame was still before him. On it went over the
next slope and he followed at speed, noticing with joy that the rocky
nature of the ground continued, and the most skillful warrior who ever
lived must spend many minutes hunting his traces. He had no doubt that
he was gaining and he had proof of it in the fact that the pursuers
now uttered no cry. Had they been closing in on him they would have
called to one another in triumph.
Well for him that he was so strong and sound of heart and lung! Well
for him too that he was borne up by a great spirit and by his belief
that a supreme power was working in his behalf. He felt little
weariness as he climbed a ridge. His breath was easy and regular and
his steps were long and swift. His guide was before him. Whatever his
pace, whether fast or slow, the distance between them never seemed to
change. The bird would dart aside, perhaps to catch an insect, but it
always returned promptly to its course.
His eyes caught a gleam of silver from the crest of the fourth ridge
that he crossed, and he knew it was a ray of sunlight striking upon
the waters of the lake. Now his coveted haven was not so far away, and
the great pulses in his temples throbbed. He would reach the lake, and
he would find refuge. Tandakora, in all his malice, would fail once
more. The thought was so pleasant to him that he laughed aloud, and
now feeling the need to use the strength he had saved with such care
he began to run as fast as he could. It was his object to open up
a wide gap between himself and the warriors, one so great that, if
occasion came, he might double or turn without being seen.
The forest remained dense, a sea of trees with many bushes and
clinging vines in which an ignorant or incautious runner would have
tripped and fallen, but Robert was neither, and he did not forget, as
he fled, to notice where his feet fell. His skill and presence of mind
kept him from stumbling or from making any noise that would draw the
attention of possible pursuers who might have crept up on his flank.
While they had only his faint trail to guide them the pursuit was
impeded, and, as long as they did not see him, his chance to hide was
far greater.
He lost sight of his feathered guide two or three times, but the bird
never failed to reappear, a brilliant blue flame against the green
wall of the wilderness, his emblem of hope, leading him over the hills
and valleys toward Andiatarocte. Now he saw the lake from a crest, not
a mere band of silver showing through the trees, but a broad surface
reflecting the sunlight in varied colors. It was a beacon to him, and,
summoning the last ounce of his strength and will, he ran at amazing
speed. Once more he heard the warriors behind him calling to one
another, and they were much farther away. His mighty effort had not
been in vain. His pulses beat hard with the throb of victory not yet
won, but of which he felt sure, and he rejoiced too, because he had
come again upon rocky ground, where his flight left so little trace
that Tandakora himself would be baffled for a while.
He knew that the shores of the lake at the point he was nearing were
comparatively low, and a vague plan to hide in the dense foliage at
the water's edge came into his mind. He did not know just how he would
do it, but he would be guided by events as they developed. The bird
surely would not lead him on unless less to safety, and no doubt
entered his mind. But it was highly important to widen yet more the
distance between him and the warriors, and he still ran with all the
speed at his command.
The last crest was reached and before him spread the splendid lake in
its deep green setting, a glittering spectacle that he never failed to
admire, and that he admired even now, when his life was in peril, and
instants were precious. The bird perched suddenly on a bough, uttered
a few thrilling notes, and was then gone, a last blue flash into the
dense foliage. He did not see it again, and he did not expect to
do so. Its work was done. Strong in the faith of the wilderness, he
believed and always believed.
He crouched a few moments on a ledge and looked back. Tandakora and
his men had not yet come in sight, nor could he hear them. Doubtless
they had lost his trail, when he leaped from one stone to another, and
were now looking for it. His time to hide, if he were to have one, was
at hand, and he meant to make the most of the chance. He bent lower
and remained there until his breathing became regular and easy after
his mighty effort, all his five senses and the sixth that was instinct
or divination, alert to every sound.
Two or three birds began to sing, but they were not his bird and he
gave them no attention. A rabbit leaped from its nest under the bushes
and ran. It went back on his trail and he considered it a sure sign
that his pursuers were yet distant. He might steal another precious
minute or two for his overworked lungs and heart. He knew the need of
doing everything to gain a little more strength. It was his experience
in border war and the stern training of Willet and Tayoga that made
him able to do so, and he was ruler enough of himself to wait yet a
little longer than he had planned. Then when he felt that Tandakora
must be near, he straightened up, though not to his full height, and
ran swiftly down the long slope to the lake.
He found at the bottom a narrow place between cliff and water, grown
thickly with bushes, and he followed it at least half a mile, until
the shores towered above him dark and steep, and the lake came up
against them like a wall. He could go no farther and he waded into a
dense growth of bushes and weeds, where he stood up to his waist in
water and waited, hidden well.
He knew that if the warriors followed and saw him he would have little
opportunity to escape, but the chances were a hundred to one against
their finding him in such a covert. Rock and water had blotted out his
trail and he felt safe. He secured his belt, containing his smaller
weapons and ammunition, about his shoulders beyond touch of water, and
put his rifle in the forks of two bushes, convenient to his hands.
It was a luxury to rest, even if one did stand half-sunken in a lake.
The water was cold, but he did not yet feel the chill, and he listened
for possible sounds of pursuit. He heard, after a while, the calls of
warriors to one another and he laughed softly to himself. The shouts
were faint and moreover they came from the crest of the cliff. They
had not found his trail down the slope and they were hunting for him
on the heights. He laughed again with sheer satisfaction. He had been
right. Rock and water had come to his aid, and he was too well hidden
even for the eager eyes of Tandakora and his warriors to follow him.
He waited a long time. He heard the cries nearer him, then farther
away, and, at last, at such a great distance that they could barely
be separated from the lap of the waters. He was growing cold now; the
chill from the lake was rising in his body, but with infinite patience
bred by long practice of the wilderness he did not stir. He knew that
silence could be deceptive. Some of the warriors might come back,
and might wait in a thicket, hoping that he would rise and disclose
himself, thinking the danger past. More than one careless wanderer
in the past had been caught in such a manner, and he was resolved to
guard against the trick. Making the last call upon his patience, he
stood motionless, while the chill crept steadily upward through his
veins and muscles.
He could see the surface of the open lake through the veil of bushes
and tall grass. The water broke in gentle waves under a light wind,
and kept up a soft sighing that was musical and soothing. Had he been
upon dry land he could have closed his eyes and gone to sleep, but,
as it was, he did not complain, since he had found safety, if not
comfort. He even found strength in himself, despite his situation, to
admire the gleaming expanse of Andiatarocte with its shifting colors,
and the far cliffs lofty and dim.
Much of Robert's life, much of its most eventful portion, was passing
around this lake, and he had a peculiar affection for it. It always
aroused in him a sense of beauty, of charm and of majesty, and he had
grown too to look upon it as a friend and protector. He believed that
it had brought him good luck, and he did not doubt that it would do so
again.
He looked for a canoe, one perhaps that might contain Willet and
Tayoga, seeking him and keeping well beyond the aim of a lurking
marksman on the shore, but he saw no shadow on the water, nothing
that could be persuaded into the likeness of a boat, only wild fowl
circling and dipping, and, now and then, a gleam where a fish leaped
up to fall swiftly back again. He was alone, and he must depend upon
himself only.
He began to move a little, to lift one foot and then the other,
careful to make no splash in the water, and the slight exercise
checked the creeping chill. Encouraged, he increased it, stopping at
intervals to listen for the approach of a foe. There was no sound
and he walked back and forth a little. Presently his eyes, trained to
observe all things, noticed a change in the air. A gray tint, so far a
matter of quality rather than color, was coming into it, and his
heart leaped with joy. Absorbed in his vital struggle he had failed to
reckon the passage of time. The day was closing and blessed, covering
night was at hand. Robert loved the day and the sun, but darkness was
always a friend of those who fled, and now he prayed that it would
come thick and dark.
The sun still hung over the eastern shores, red and blazing, but
before long it went down, seeming to sink into the lake, and the night
that Robert had wished, heavy and black, swept over the earth. Then he
left the water, and stood upon dry land, the narrow ledge between the
cliff and the waves, where he took off his lower garments, wrung them
as nearly dry as he could, and, hanging them on the bushes, waited
for the wind to do the rest. His sense of triumph had never been so
strong. Alone and relying only upon his own courage and skill, he had
escaped the fierce Tandakora and his persistent warriors. He could
even boast of it to Willet and Tayoga, when he found them again.
It was wonderful to feel safe, after great peril, and his bright
imagination climbed the heights. As he had escaped them then, so he
would slip always from the snares of his foes. It was this quality in
him, the spirit of eternal hope, that appealed so strongly to all who
knew him, and that made him so attractive.
After a while, he took venison and hominy from his knapsack and ate
with content. Then he resumed his clothing, now dried completely by
the wind, and felt that he had never been stronger or more fitted to
cope with attack.
The darkness was intense and the surface of the lake showed through
it, only a fitful gray. The cliff behind him was now a black bank, and
its crest could not be seen at all. He was eager to go, but he still
used the patience so necessary in the wilderness, knowing that the
longer he waited the less likely he was to meet the band of Tandakora.
He lay down in a thicket of tall grass and bushes, resolved not to
start before midnight, and he felt so much at peace that before he
knew he was going to sleep he was sleeping. When he awoke he felt a
little dismay at first, but it was soon gone. After all, he had passed
the time of waiting in the easiest way, and no enemy had come. The
moon and stars were not to be seen, but instinct told him that it was
not beyond midnight.
He arose to go, but a slight sound came from the lake, and he stayed.
It was merely the cry of the night bird, calling to its mate, one
would have said, but Robert's attention was attracted by an odd
inflection in it, a strain that seemed familiar. He listened with the
utmost attention, and when it came a second time, he was so sure that
his pulses beat very fast.
Willet and Tayoga, as he had hoped in the day, were out there on the
lake. It had been foolish of him to think they would come in the full
sunlight, exposed to every hostile eye. It was their natural course to
approach in the dark and send a signal that he would know. He imitated
the call, a soft, low note, but one that traveled far, and soon the
answer came. No more was needed. The circle was complete. Willet and
Tayoga were on the lake and they knew that he was at the foot of the
cliff, waiting.
He took a long breath of intense relief and delight. Tandakora would
resume the search for him in the morning, hunting along the crest,
and he might even find his way to the narrow ledge on which Robert now
stood, but the lad would be gone across the waters, where he left no
trail.
He saw a stout young bush growing on the edge of the lake, and,
leaning far out while he held on to it with one hand, he watched. He
did not repeat the call. One less cautious would have done so, but he
knew that his friends had located him already and he meant to run
no risk of telling the warriors also where he stood. Meanwhile, he
listened attentively for the sound of the paddles, but many long
minutes passed before he heard the faint dip, dip that betokened the
approach of Willet and Tayoga. He never doubted for an instant that
it was their canoe and again his heart felt that triumphant feeling.
Surely no man ever had more loyal or braver comrades! If he had
malignant enemies he also had staunch friends who more than offset
them.
He saw presently a faint shadow, a deeper dark in the darkness, and
he uttered very low the soft note of the bird. In an instant came the
answer, and then the shadow, turning, glided toward him. A canoe took
form and shape and he saw in it two figures, which were unmistakably
those of Willet and Tayoga, swinging their paddles with powerful
hands. Again he felt a thrill of joy because these two trusty comrades
had come. But it was absurd ever to doubt for an instant that they
would come!
He leaned out from the tree to the last inch, and called in a
penetrating whisper:
"Dave! Tayoga! This way!"
The canoe shifted its course a little, and entered the bushes by
the side of Robert, the hunter and the Onondaga putting down their
dripping paddles, and stepping out in the shallow water. In the
dusk the great figure of Willet loomed up, more than ever a tower of
strength, and the slender but muscular form of Tayoga, the very model
of a young Indian warrior, seemed to be made of gleaming bronze. Had
Robert needed any infusion of courage and will their appearance alone
would have brought it with them.
"And we have found Dagaeoga again!" said the Onondaga, in a whimsical
tone.
"No I have found you," said Robert. "You were lost from me, I was not
lost from you."
"It is the same, and I think by your waiting here at midnight that you
have been in great peril."
"So I have been, and I may be yet--and you too. I have been pursued
by warriors, Tandakora at their head. I have not seen them, but I know
from the venom and persistence of the pursuit that he leads them. I
eluded them by coming down the cliff and hiding among the bushes here.
I stood in the water all the afternoon."
"We thought you might be somewhere along the western shore. After we
divided for our scout about the lake, the Great Bear and I met as we
had arranged, but you did not come. We concluded that the enemy had
got in the way, and so we took from its hiding place a canoe which had
been left on a former journey, and began to cruise upon Andiatarocte,
calling at far intervals for you."
He spoke in his usual precise school English and in a light playful
tone, but Robert knew the depth of his feelings. The friendship of the
white lad and the red was held by hooks of steel like that of Damon
and Pythias of old.
"I think I heard your first call," said Robert. "It wasn't very loud,
but never was a sound more welcome, nor can I be too grateful for that
habit you have of hiding canoes here and there in the wilderness. It's
saved us all more than once."
"It is merely the custom of my people, forced upon us by need, and I
but follow."
"It doesn't alter my gratitude. I see that the canoe is big enough for
me too."
"So it is, Dagaeoga. You can enter it. Take my paddle and work."
The three adjusted their weight in the slender craft, and Robert,
taking Willet's paddle instead of Tayoga's, they pushed out into the
lake, while the great hunter sat with his long rifle across his knees,
watching for the least sign that the warriors might be coming.