The heart of young Lennox flamed with anger and triumph.  Here was the fellow who had tried to take his life in Albany, and, if he wished revenge, the moment was full of opportunity.  Yet he could never fire at a man’s back, and it was their cue, moreover, to take him alive.  Garay’s rifle was leaning against a log, six or eight feet from him, and his attitude indicated that he might be asleep.  His clothing was stained and torn, and he bore all the signs of a long journey and extreme weariness.

“See what it is to come into the forest and not be master of all its secrets,” whispered Tayoga.  “Garay is the messenger of Onontio (the Governor General of Canada) and Tandakora, and yet he sleeps, when those who oppose him are abroad.”

“A man has to sleep some time or other,” said Robert, “or at least a white man must.  We’re not all like an Iroquois; we can’t stay awake forever if need be.”

“If one goes to the land of Tarenyawagon when his enemies are at hand he must pay the price, Dagaeoga, and now the price that Garay is going to pay will be a high one.  Surely Manitou has delivered him, helpless, into our hands.  Come, we will go closer.”

They crept through the bushes until they could have reached out and touched the spy with the muzzles of their rifles, and still he did not stir.  Into that heavy and weary brain, plunged into dulled slumbers, entered no thought of a stalking foe.  The fire sank and the bent back sagged a little lower.  Garay had traveled hard and long.  He was anxious to get back to Albany with what he knew, and he felt sure that the northern forests contained only friends.  He had built his fire without apprehension, and sleep had overtaken him quickly.

A fox stirred in the thicket beyond the fire and looked suspiciously at the coals and the still figure beyond them.  He did not see the other two figures in the bushes but his animosity as well as his suspicion was aroused.  He edged a little nearer, and then a slight sound in the thicket caused him to creep back.  But he was an inquiring fox, and, although he buried himself under a bush, he still looked, staring with sharp, intent eyes.

He saw a shadow glide from the thicket, pick up the rifle of Garay which leaned against the fallen log, and then glide back, soundless.  The curiosity of the fox now prevailed over his suspicion.  The shadow had not menaced him, and his vulpine intelligence told him that he was not concerned in the drama now about to unfold itself.  He was merely a spectator, and, as he looked, he saw the shadow glide back and crouch beside the sleeping man.  Then a second shadow came and crouched on the other side.

What the fox saw was the approach of Robert and Tayoga, whom some whimsical humor had seized.  They intended to make the surprise complete and Robert, with a memory of the treacherous shot in Albany, was willing also to fill the soul of the spy with terror.  Tayoga adroitly removed the pistol and knife from the belt of Garay, and Robert touched him lightly on the shoulder.  Still he did not stir, and then the youth brought his hand down heavily.