Robert, Tayoga and Willet were the best scouts and the regular officers soon learned to rely on them.  Grosvenor often begged to go with them, but they laughingly refused.

“We don’t claim to be of special excellence ourselves, Grosvenor,” said Robert, “but such work needs a very long training.  One, so to speak, must be born to it, and to be born to it you have to be born in this country, and not in England.”

It was about the close of June and they had been nearly three weeks on the way when the three, scouting on a moonlight night, struck a trail larger than usual.  Tayoga reckoned that it had been made by at least a dozen warriors, and Willet agreed with him.

“And behold the trace of the big moccasin, Great Bear,” said the Onondaga, pointing to a faint impression among the leaves.  “It is very large, and it turns in much.  We do not see it for the first time.”

“Tandakora,” said Willet.

“It can be none other.”

“We shouldn’t be surprised at seeing it.  The Ojibway, like a wolf, will rush to the place of killing.”

“I am not surprised, Great Bear.  It is strange, perhaps, that we have not seen his footsteps before.  No doubt he has looked many times upon the marching army.”

“Since Tandakora is here, probably leading the Indian scouts, we’ll have to take every precaution ourselves.  I like my scalp, and I like for it to remain where it has grown, on the top of my head.”

They moved now with the most extreme care, always keeping under cover of bushes, and never making any sound as they walked, but the army kept on steadily in the road cut for it by the axmen.  Encounters between the flankers and small bands still occurred, but there was yet no sign of serious resistance, and the fort was drawing nearer and nearer.

“I’ve no doubt the French commander will abandon it,” said Grosvenor to Robert.  “He’ll conclude that our army is too powerful for him.”

“I scarce think so,” replied Robert doubtfully. “’Tis not the French way, at least, not on this continent.  Like as not they will depend on the savages, whom they have with them.”

They had been on the march nearly a month when they came to Turtle Creek, which flows into the Monongahela only eight miles from Fort Duquesne a strong fortress of logs with bastions, ravelins, ditch, glacis and covered ways, standing at the junction of the twin streams, the Monongahela and the Alleghany, that form the great Ohio.  Here they made a little halt and the scouts who had been sent into the woods reported silence and desolation.

The army rejoiced.  It had been a long march, and the wilderness is hard for those not used to it, even in the best of times.  Victory was now almost in sight.  The next day, perhaps, they would march into Fort Duquesne and take possession, and doubtless a strong detachment would be sent in pursuit of the flying French and Indians.