“Yells don’t hurt us,” said Wilton to Robert.  “Instead I feel my Quaker blood rising in anger, and I’d rejoice if they were to attack now.  A very heavy responsibility rests upon me, Robert, since I’ve to fight not only for myself but for my ancestors who wouldn’t fight at all.  It rests upon me, one humble youth, to bring up the warlike average of the family.”

“You’re one, Will, but you’re not humble,” laughed Robert.  “I believe that jest of yours about the still, blood of generations bursting forth in you at last is not a jest wholly.  When it comes to a pitched battle I expect to see you perform prodigies of valor.”

“If I do it won’t be Will Wilton, myself, and I won’t be entitled to any credit.  I’ll be merely an instrument in the hands of fate, working out the law of averages.  But what do you think those French officers and their savage allies will do now, Robert, since Colden, so to speak, has thrown a very hard glove in their faces?”

“Draw the lines tighter about Fort Refuge.  It’s cold in the forest, but they can live there for a while at least.  They’ll build fires and throw up a few tepees, maybe for the French.  But their anger and their desire to take us will make them watch all the more closely.  They’ll draw tight lines around this snug little, strong little fort of ours.”

“Which removes all possibility that your friend Tayoga will come at the appointed time.”

Robert glared at him.

“Will,” he said, “I’ve discovered that you have a double nature, although the two are never struggling for you at the same time.”

“That is I march tandem with my two natures, so to speak?”

“They alternate.  At times you’re a sensible boy.”

“Boy?  I’m older than you are!”

“One wouldn’t think it.  But a well bred Quaker never interrupts.  As I said, you’re quite sensible at times and you ought to thank me for saying so.  At other times your mind loves folly.  It fairly swims and dives in the foolish pool, and it dives deepest when you’re talking about Tayoga.  I trust, foolish young, sir, that I’ve heard the last word of folly from you about the arrival of Tayoga, or rather what you conceive will be his failure to arrive.  Peace, not a word!”

“At least let me say this,” protested Wilton.  “I wish that I could feel the absolute confidence in any human being that you so obviously have in the Onondaga.”

The night came, white and beautiful.  It was white, because the Milky Way was at its brightest, which was uncommonly bright, and every star that ever showed itself in that latitude came out and danced.  The heavens were full of them, disporting themselves in clusters on spangled seas, and the forest was all in light, paler than that of day, but almost as vivid.