The sentinels, mounted on the broad plank that ran behind the
palisade, were walking to and fro, wrapped to their eyes. A month or
two earlier they might have left everything on such a night to take
care of itself, but now they knew far better. Captain Colden, with the
terrible lesson of the battle in the bush, had become a strict
disciplinarian, and Willet was always at his elbow with unobtrusive
but valuable advice which the young Philadelphian had the good sense
to welcome.
Robert spoke to them, and one or two referred to the Indian runner who
had gone east, saying that he might have had a better night for his
start. The repetition of Wilton's words depressed Robert for a moment,
but his heart came back with a bound. Nothing could defeat
Tayoga. Did he not know his red comrade? The wilderness was like a
trimmed garden to him, and neither rain, nor hail, nor snow could stop
him.
As he said the word "hail" to himself it came, pattering upon the dead
leaves and the palisade in a whirlwind of white pellets. Again he
shivered, and knowing it was no use to linger there returned inside,
where most of the men had already gone to sleep. He stretched himself
on his blanket and followed them in slumber.
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