Robert caught glimpses of other Frenchmen as he faced the forest.  Once an epaulet showed behind a bush and then a breadth of tanned face which he was sure belonged to De Courcelles.  And so this man who had sought to make him the victim of a deadly trick was here!  And perhaps Jumonville also!  A furious rage seized him and he sought eagerly for a shot at the epaulet, but it disappeared.  He crept a little farther forward, hoping for another view, and Tayoga noticed his eager, questing gaze.

“What is it, Dagaeoga?” he asked.  “Whom do you hate so much?”

“I saw the French Colonel, De Courcelles, and I was seeking to draw a bead on him, but he has gone.”

“Perhaps he has, but another takes his place.  Look at the clump of bushes directly in front of us and you will see a pale blue sleeve which beyond a doubt holds the arm of a French officer.  The arm cannot be far away from the head and body, which I think we will see in time, if we keep on looking.”

Both watched the bushes with a concentrated gaze and presently the head and shoulders, following the arm, disclosed themselves.  Robert raised his rifle and took aim, but as he looked down the sights he saw the face among the leaves, and a shudder shook him.  He lowered his rifle.

“What is it, Dagaeoga?” whispered the Onondaga.

“The man I chose for my target,” replied Robert, “was not De Courcelles, nor yet Junonville, but that young De Galissonniere, who was so kind to us in Quebec, and whom we met later among the peaks.  I was about to pull trigger, and, if I had done so, I should be sorry all my life.”

“Is he still there?”

Robert looked again and De Galissonniere was gone.  He felt immense relief.  He thought it was war’s worst cruelty that it often brought friends face to face in battle.

The French and Indian horde from the lake landed and drove against the rangers on the eastern flank with great violence, firing their rifles and muskets, and then coming on with the tomahawk.  The little force of Rogers was in danger of being enveloped on all sides, and would have been exterminated had it not been for his valor and presence of mind, seconded so ably by Willet, Black Rifle and their comrades.

They formed a barrier of living fire, facing in three directions and holding back the shouting horde until the main body of the surviving rangers could gather for retreat.  Robert and Tayoga were near Willet, all the best sharpshooters were there, and never had they fought more valiantly than on that day.

Robert crouched among the bushes, peering for the faces of his foes, and firing whenever he could secure a good aim.

“Have you seen Tandakora?” he asked Tayoga.

“No,” replied the Onondaga.

“He must be here.  He would not miss such a chance.”

“He is here.”

“But you said you hadn’t seen him.”

“I have not seen him, but O, Dagaeoga, I have heard him.  Did not we observe when we were in the forest that ear was often to be trusted more than eye?  Listen to the greatest war shout of them all!  You can hear it every minute or two, rising over all the others, superior in volume as it is in ferocity.  The voice of the Ojibway is huge, like his figure.”