on a stone shelf
with a stone ledge above him. His blanket takes away the hardness of
the stone that supports him. He sees boughs and sticks whirled past by
the storm, but none of them touches him. He hears the wind whistling
and screaming at a pitch so fierce that it would terrify one unused to
the forest, but it is only a song in the ears of Tayoga. It soothes
him, it lulls him, and knowing that he can't use the period of the
storm for traveling, he uses it for sleep, thus enabling him to take
less later on when the storm has ceased. So, after all, he loses
nothing so far as his journey is concerned. Now his lids droop, his
eyes close, and he slumbers while the storm thunders past, unable to
touch him."
"You do have the gift, Lennox. I believe that sometimes your words are
music in your own ears, and inspire you to greater efforts. When the
war is over you must surely become a public man--one who is often
called upon to address the people."
"We'll fight the war first," laughed Robert.
The storm in its rise, its zenith and its decline lasted several
hours, and, when it was over, the forest looked like a wreck, but
Robert knew that nature would soon restore everything. The foliage of
next spring would cover up the ruin and new growth would take the
place of the old and broken. The wilderness, forever restoring what
was lost, always took care of itself.
A day or two of fine, clear winter weather, not too cold, followed,
and Willet went forth to scout. He was gone until the next morning and
when he returned his face was very grave.
"There are Indians in the forest," he said, "not friendly warriors of
the Hodenosaunee, but those allied with the enemy. I think a
formidable Ojibway band under Tandakora is there, and also other
Indians from the region of the Great Lakes. They may have started
against us some time back, but were probably halted by the bad
weather. They're in different bodies now, scattered perhaps for
hunting, but they'll reunite before long."
"Did you see signs of any white men, Dave?" asked Robert.
"Yes, French officers and some soldiers are with 'em, but I don't
think St. Luc is in the number. More likely it's De Courcelles and
Jumonville, whom we have such good cause to remember."
"I hope so, Dave, I'd rather fight against those two than against
St. Luc."
"So would I, and for several reasons. St. Luc is a better leader than
they are. They're able, but he's the best of all the French.
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