Robert felt immense exultation.  They had struck a great blow, and it was he who had suggested the plan.  His pride increased, although he hid it, when Willet put his large hand on his shoulder and said: 

“’Twas well done, Robert, my lad, and ’twould not have been done at all had it not been for you.  Your mind bred the idea, from which the action flowed.”

“And you think the French and Indians have gone away now?”

“Surely, lad!  Surely!  Indians can stand a lot, and so can French, but neither can stand still in the middle of a snow that bids fair to be two feet deep and live.  They may have to travel until they reach some Indian village farther west and north.”

“Such being the case, there can be no pressing need for me just at present, and I think I shall sleep.  I feel now as if I were bound to relax.”

“The best thing you could do, and I’ll take a turn between the blankets myself.”

Robert had a great sleep.  Some of the rooms in the blockhouse offered a high degree of frontier comfort, and he lay down upon a soft couch of skins.  A fine fire blazing upon a stone hearth dried his deerskin garments, and, when he awoke about noon, he was strong and thoroughly refreshed.  The snow was still falling heavily.  The wilderness in its white blanket was beautiful, but it did not look like a possible home to Robert now.  His vivid imagination leaped up at once and pictured the difficulties of any one struggling for life, even in that vast white silence.

Willet and Tayoga were up before him, and they were talking of another expedition to see how far the besieging force had gone, but while they were discussing it a figure appeared at the edge of the forest.

“It’s a white man,” exclaimed Wilton, “and so it must be one of the Frenchmen.  He’s a bold fellow walking directly within our range.  What on earth can he want?”

One of the guards on the palisade raised his rifle, but Willet promptly pushed down the muzzle.

“That’s no Frenchman,” he said.

“Then who is it?” asked Wilton.

“He’s clothed in white, as any one walking in this snow is bound to be, but I could tell at the first glimpse that it was none other than our friend, Black Rifle.”

“Coming to us for refuge, and so our fort is well named.”

“Not for refuge.  Black Rifle has taken care of himself too long in the wilderness to be at a loss at any time.  I suspect that he has something of importance to tell us or he would not come at all.”

At the command of Colden the great gate was thrown open that the strange rover might enter in all honor, and as he came in, apparently oblivious of the storm, his eyes gleamed a little at the sight of Willet, his friend.

“You’ve come to tell us something,” said the hunter.

“So I have,” said Black Rifle.

“Brush off the snow, warm yourself by the fire, and then we’ll listen.”