But he believed that he would have to spend another night in the wilderness.  Search the sky as he would, and he often did, there was no trace of smoke, and, as the sun went down the zenith and the cold began to increase, his spirits fell a little.  But he reasoned with himself.  Why should one inured as he was to the forest and winter, armed, provisioned and equipped with the greatcoat, be troubled?  The answer to his question was a return of confidence in full tide, and resolving to be leisurely he looked about in the woods for his new camp.  What he wanted was an abundance of dead leaves out of which to make a nest.  Dead leaves were cold to the touch, but they would serve as a couch and a wall, shutting out further cold from the earth and from the outside air, and with the greatcoat between, he would be warm enough.  He would have nothing to fear except snow, and the skies gave no promise of that danger.

He found the leaves in a suitable hollow, and disposed them according to his plan, the whole making a comfortable place for a seasoned forester, and, while he ate his supper, he watched the sun set over the wilderness.  Long after it was gone he saw the stars come out and then he looked at the particular one on which Tododaho, Tayoga’s patron saint, had been living more than four hundred years.  It was glittering in uncommon splendor, save for a slight mist across its face, which must be the snakes in the hair of the great Onondaga chieftain who he felt was watching over him, because he was the friend of Tayoga.

Then he fell asleep, sleeping soundly, all through the night, and although he was a little stiff in the morning a few minutes of exercise relieved him of it and he ate his breakfast.  His journey toward the north was resumed, and in an hour he emerged into a little valley, to come almost face to face with the captain and the two sailors.  They were sitting on a log, apparently weary and at a loss, but they rose quickly at his coming and the captain’s hand slid down to his pistol.  Robert’s slid to his, making about the same speed.  Although his heart pounded a moment or two at first he was surprised to find how soon he became calm.  It was perhaps because he had been through so many dangers that one more did not count for much.

“You see, captain,” he said, “that neither has the advantage of the other.  I did not expect to meet you here, or in truth, anywhere else.  I left you in command of the schooner, and you have deserted your post.  When I held that position I remained true to my duty.”

The captain, who was heavily armed, carrying a cutlass as well as pistols, smiled sourly.

“You’re a lad of spirit, Peter,” he said.  “I’ve always given you credit for that.  In my way I like you, and I think I’ll have you to go along with us again.”

“I couldn’t think of it.  We must part company forever.  We did it once, but perhaps the second time will count.”

“No, my crew is now reduced to two—­the ocean has all the others—­and I need your help.  It would be better anyway for you to come along with us.  This Acadia is a desolate coast.”