aptain's sharp order, and marched away with all their arms and stores
to the thicket on the hill, where, as Willet had predicted, they found
also a network of fallen trees, affording a fine shelter and
defense. Here they crouched and Willet enjoined upon them the
necessity of silence.

"Sir," said young Captain Colden, again putting down his pride, "I beg
to thank you and your comrades."

"You don't owe us any thanks. It's just what we ought to have done,"
said Willet lightly. "The wilderness often turns a false face to those
who are not used to it, and if we hadn't warned you we'd have deserved
shooting."

The faint whine of a wolf came from a point far in the north.

"It's one of their signals," said Willet. "They'll attack inside of an
hour."

Then they relapsed into silence and waited, every heart beating hard.

CHAPTER II

THE AMBUSH

Robert now had much experience of Indian attack and forest warfare,
but it always made a tremendous impression upon his vivid and uncommon
imagination. The great pulses in his throat and temples leaped, and
his ear became so keen that he seemed to himself to hear the fall of
the leaf in the forest. It was this acute sharpening of the senses,
the painting of pictures before him, that gave him the gift of golden
speech that the Indians had first noticed in him. He saw and heard
much that others could neither hear nor see, and the words to describe
it were always ready to pour forth.

Willet and Tayoga were crouched near him, their rifles thrust forward
a little, and just beyond them was Captain Colden who had drawn a
small sword, more as an evidence of command than as a weapon. The
men, city bred, were silent, but the faces of some of them still
expressed amazement and incredulity. Robert's quick and powerful
imagination instantly projected itself into their minds, and he saw as
they saw. To them the cry of a wolf was the cry of a real wolf, the
forest was dark, lonely and uncomfortable, but it was empty of any
foe, and the four who had come to them were merely trying to create a
sense of their own importance. They began to move restlessly, and it
required Captain Colden's whispered but sharp command to still them
again.

The cry of the wolf, used much by both the Indians and the borderers
as a signal, came now from the east, and after the lapse of a minute
it was repeated from the west. Call and answer were a relief to
Robert, whose faculties were attuned to such