Daganoweda and Willet, as became great men, sat together on a log and
were served by a warrior who took honor from the task. Black Rifle sat
alone a little distance away. He would have been welcome in the
company of the Mohawk chief and the hunter, but, brooding and solitary
in mind, he wished to be alone and they knew and respected his wish.
Daganoweda glanced at him more than once as he remained in silence,
and always there was pity in his looks. And there was admiration too,
because Black Rifle was a great warrior. The woods held none greater.

When Robert awoke it was well on toward noon and he sprang up,
refreshed and strong.

"You've had quite a nap, Robert," said Willet, who had not slept at
all, "but some of the soldiers are still sleeping, and Tayoga has just
gone down to the spring to bathe his face."

"Which I also will do," said Robert.

"And when you come back food will be ready for you."

Robert found Tayoga at the spring, flexing his muscles, and taking
short steps back and forth. "It was a great run you made," said the
white youth, "and it saved us. There's no stiffness, I hope?"

"There was a little, Dagaeoga, but I have worked it out of my
body. Now all my muscles are as they were. I am ready to make another
and equal run."

"It's not needed, and for that I'm thankful. St. Luc will not come
back, nor will Tandakora, I think, linger in the woods, hoping for a