Fluent of speech, his sensitive mind again fitting into the deep
gravity of the situation, Robert said a few words above them, words
that he felt, words that moved those who heard. Then the earth was
thrown in and stones and heavy boughs were placed over all to keep
away the digging wolves or other wild animals.

The wounded were made as comfortable as possible before the fire, and
in the light of the brilliant flames the awe created by the dead
quickly passed. Food was served and fresh water was drunk, the
canteens being refilled from a spring that Tayoga found a quarter of a
mile away. Then the soldiers, save six who had been posted as guard,
stretched themselves on grass or leaves, and fell asleep, one by
one. Tayoga who had made the greatest physical effort followed them to
the land of slumber, but Captain Colden sat and talked with Robert and
Willet, although it was now far past midnight.

The bushes parted and a dark figure, making no sound as it came,
stepped into the circle of light. It was Black Rifle and his eyes
still glittered, but he said nothing. Robert thought he saw upon his
face a look of intense satisfaction and once more he shuddered a
little. The man lay down with his rifle beside him, and fell asleep,
his hands still clutching his weapon.

Before dawn Daganoweda and the Mohawks came back also, and Robert in
behalf of them all thanked the young chief in the purest Mohawk, and
with the fine phrasing and apt allegory so dear to the Indian heart.
Daganoweda made a fitting reply, saying that the merit did not belong
to him but to Manitou, and then, leaving a half dozen of his warriors
to join in the watch, he and the others slept before the fire.