away, but the French, and especially St. Luc, would increase their
persistence and hold them to the task. He returned to the forest, and
his attention was drawn once more by Black Rifle. The man was lying
almost flat in the thicket, and evidently he had caught a glimpse of a
foe, as he was writhing slowly forward like a great beast of prey, and
his eyes once more had the expectant look of one who is going to
strike. Robert considered him. He knew that the man's whole nature
had been poisoned by the great tragedy in his life, and that it gave
him a sinister pleasure to inflict blows upon those who had inflicted
the great blow upon him. Yet he would be useful in the fierce war that
was upon them and he was useful now.

Black Rifle crept forward two or three yards more, and, after he had
lain quite still for a few moments, he suddenly thrust out his rifle
and fired. A cry came from the opposing thicket and Robert heard the
sharpshooter utter a deep sigh of satisfaction. He knew that St. Luc
was one warrior less, which was good for the defense, but he shuddered
a little. He could never bring himself to steal through the bushes and
shoot an unseeing enemy. Still Black Rifle was Black Rifle, and being
what he was he was not to be judged as other men were.

After a half hour's silence, the besiegers suddenly opened fire from
five or six points, sending perhaps two score bullets into the wood,
clipping off many twigs and leaves which fell upon the heads of the
defenders. Captain Colden did not forget to be grateful to Willet for
his insistence that the soldiers should always lie low, as the hostile
lead, instead of striking, now merely sent a harmless shower upon
them. But the fusillade was brief, Robert, in truth, judging that it
had been against the commands of St. Luc, who was too wise a leader to
wish ammunition to be wasted in random firing. At the advice of