art of the fog. Then he sank down
among the bushes and listened with intentness. Presently the faint hum of
voices came to his ear, and he was quite sure that many men were not far
away.

He resumed his slow advance, but now he was glad the bushes were soaked
with water, as they did not crackle or snap with the passage of his body,
and the luminous glow in front of him broadened and deepened steadily. Near
the bottom of a deep valley he stopped and from his covert saw where great
fires had driven the fog away. Around the fires were many warriors, some of
them sleeping in their blankets, while others were eating prodigiously,
after their manner. Rifles and muskets were stacked in French fashion and
the clank, clank that Robert had heard had been made by the warriors as
they put up their weapons.

Many were talking freely and seemed to rejoice in the food and fires. It
was Robert's surmise that they had arrived but recently and were weary.
Their numbers were large, they certainly could not be less than four or
five hundred, and his experience was great enough now to tell him that half
of them, at least, were Canadian Indians. All were in war paint, and they
had an abundance of arms.

Robert's eager eye sought Tandakora, but did not find him. He had no doubt,
however, that this great body of warriors was moving against Rogers and his
rangers, and that it would soon be joined by the Ojibway chief. Tandakora,
anxious for revenge upon the Great Bear and the Mountain Wolf, would be
willing to leave Montcalm for a while if he thought that by doing so he
could achieve his purpose. His gaze wandered from the warriors to the
stacked rifles and muskets, and he saw that many of them were of English
or American make, undoubtedly spoil taken at the capture of Oswego. His
heart swelled with anger that the border should have its own weapons turned
against it by the foe.

It did not take him long to see enough. It was a powerful force, equipped
to strike, and now he was more anxious than ever to overtake Willet. The
fog was still thick and wet, distilling the fine rain, but he had forgotten
discomfort, and, turning back on his path, he sought the dip in which he
had left Tayoga sleeping. He felt a certain pride that it had been his
fortune to discover the band, and, as he had marked carefully the way by
which he had come, it was not a difficult task to retrace his steps.

The Onondaga was still sleeping, his back against the log, but