“And this shuts out Tayoga,” said Wilton regretfully to Robert.  “He may make his way through rain and flood and sleet and snow and hurricane, but he can never pass those watchful hordes of Indians in the woods.”

Once more the Onondaga’s loyal friend laughed.  “The warriors turn Tayoga back, Will?” he said.  “He will pass through ’em just as if they were not there.  The time will be up day after tomorrow at noon, and then he will be here.”

“Even if the Indians move up and besiege us in regular form?”

“Even that, and even anything else.  At noon day after tomorrow Tayoga will be here.”

Another man who went out to bring in a horse that had been left grazing near the fort was fired upon, not with rifles or muskets but with arrows, and grazed in the shoulder.  He had, however, the presence of mind to spring upon the animal’s back and gallop for Fort Refuge, where the watchful Willet threw open the gate to the stockade, let him in, then quickly closed and barred it fast.  A long fierce whining cry, the war whoop, came from the forest.

“The siege has closed in already,” said Robert, “and it’s well that we have no other men outside.”

“Except Tayoga,” said Wilton.

“The barrier of the red army doesn’t count so far as Tayoga is concerned.  How many times must I tell you, Will, that Tayoga will come at the time appointed?”

After the shout from the woods there was a long silence that weighed upon the young soldiers, isolated thus in the wintry and desolate wilderness.  They were city men, used to the streets and the sounds of people, and their situation had many aspects that were weird and appalling.  They were hundreds of miles from civilization, and around them everywhere stretched a black forest, hiding a tenacious and cruel foe.  But on the other hand their stockade was stout, they had plenty of ammunition, water and provisions, and one victory already to their credit.  After the first moments of depression they recalled their courage and eagerly awaited an attack.

But the attack did not come and Robert knew it would not be made, at least not yet.  The Indians were too wary to batter themselves to pieces against the palisade, and the Frenchmen with them, skilled in forest war, would hold them back.

“Perhaps they’ve gone away, realizing that we’re too strong for ’em,” said Wilton.

“That’s just what we must guard against,” said Robert.  “The Indian fights with trick and stratagem.  He always has more time than the white man, and he is wholly willing to wait.  They want us to think they’ve left, and then they’ll cut off the incautious.”

The afternoon wore on, and the silence which had grown oppressive persisted.  A light pleasant wind blew through the forest, which was now dry, and the dead bark and wintry branches rustled.  To many of the youths it became a forest of gloom and threat, and they asked impatiently why the warriors did not come out and show themselves like men.  Certainly, it did not become Frenchmen, if they were there to lurk in the woods and seek ambush.