“Wake up, lad!  Wake up!  The battle has been won!”

Willet’s heavy but friendly hand fell upon his shoulder, and Robert came out of his daze.  He decided at once that he would say nothing about the meeting with St. Luc, and merely remarked in a cryptic manner: 

“I was stunned for a moment by a bullet that did not hit me.  Yes, we’ve won, Dave, thanks to the Mohawks.”

“Thanks to Daganoweda and his brave Mohawks, and to Tayoga, and to the gallant Captain Colden and his gallant men.  All of us together have made the triumph possible.  I understand that the bodies of only two Frenchmen have been found and that neither was that of St. Luc.  Well, I’m glad.  That Frenchman will do us great damage in this war, but he’s an honorable foe, and a man of heart, and I like him.”

A man of heart!  Yes, truly!  None knew it better than Robert, but again he kept his own counsel.  He too was glad that his had not been one of the two French bodies found, but there was still danger from the pursuing Mohawks, who would hang on tenaciously, and he felt a sudden thrill of alarm.  But it passed, as he remembered that the chevalier was a woodsman of experience and surpassing skill.

Tayoga came back to them somewhat blown.  He had followed the fleeing French and Indian force two or three miles.  But there was a limit even to his nerves and sinews of wrought steel.  He had already run thirty miles before joining in the combat, and now it was time to rest.

“Come, Tayoga,” said the hunter, “we’ll go back to the ground our lads have defended so well, and eat, drink and sleep.  The Mohawks will attend to all the work that’s left, which isn’t much.  We’ve earned our repose.”

Captain Colden, slightly wounded in the arm, appeared and Willet gave him the high compliments that he and his soldiers deserved.  He told him it was seldom that men unused to the woods bore themselves so well in an Indian fight, but the young captain modestly disclaimed the chief merit, replying that he and his detachment would surely have been lost, had it not been for Willet and his comrades.

Then they went back to the ground near the cliff, where they had made their great fight, and Willet although the night was warm, wisely had a large fire built.  He knew the psychological and stimulating effect of heat and light upon the lads of the city, who had passed through such a fearful ordeal in the dark and Indian-haunted forest.  He encouraged them to throw on more dead boughs, until the blaze leaped higher and higher and sparkled and roared, sending up myriads of joyous sparks that glowed for their brief lives among the trees and then died.  No fear of St. Luc and the Indians now!  That fierce fringe of Mohawks was a barrier that they could never pass, even should they choose to return, and no such choice could possibly be theirs!  The fire crackled and blazed in increasing volume, and the Philadelphia lads, recovering from the collapse that had followed tremendous exertions and excitement, began to appreciate the extent of their victory and to talk eagerly with one another.