"Are the French here too, Black Rifle?" asked Willet.
The strange man pointed toward the north.
"A band led by a Frenchman is there," he replied. "He is the most
skillful of all their men in the forest, the one whom they call
St. Luc."
"I thought so!" exclaimed Robert. "I believed all the while he would
be here. I've no doubt he will direct the ambush."
"We must warn this troop," said Willet, "and save 'em if they will let
us. You agree with me, don't you, Tayoga?"
"The Great Bear is right."
"And you'll back me up, of course, Robert. Will you help us too, Black
Rifle?"
The singular man smiled again, but his smile was not like that of
anybody else. It was sinister and full of menace. It was the smile of
a man who rejoiced in sanguinary work, and it made Robert think again
of his extraordinary history, around which the border had built so
much of truth and legend.
"I will help, of course," he replied. "It's my trade. It was my
purpose to warn 'em before I met you, but I feared they would not
listen to me. Now, the words of four may sound more real to 'em than
the words of one."
"Then lead the way," said Willet. "'Tis not a time to linger.
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