"Have you any opinion, Dave, about the smoke that Tayoga saw," he
asked.
"None, Robert, just a hope. It might have been made by another French
and Indian band, most probably it was, but there is a chance, too,
that friends built the fire."
"If it's a force of any size it could hardly be English. I don't
think any troop of ours except Captain Colden's is in this region."
"We can't look for help from our own race."
Robert was silent, gazing intently into the west, whence Tayoga had
gone. He recognized the immense difficulties of their position.
Indians, if an attack or two of theirs failed, would be likely to go
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.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69