He swept the two youths with questing glances, but they met his gaze firmly, and while his eye had clouded at first sight of the Onondaga the threatening look soon passed.

“Friends of yours are friends of mine, Dave Willet,” he said.  “I know you to be a good man and true, and once when I was at Albany I heard of Robert Lennox, and of the great young warrior, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee.”

The young Onondaga’s eyes flashed with pleasure, but he was silent.

“How does it happen, Willet?” asked Black Rifle, “that we meet here in the forest at such a time?”

“We’re on our way to the Ohio country to learn something about the gathering of the French and Indian forces.  Just before sundown we saw smoke signals and we think our enemies are planning to cut off a force of ours, somewhere here in the forest.”

Black Rifle laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh.  It had in it a quality that made Robert shudder.

“Your guesses are good, Dave,” said Black Rifle.  “About fifty men of the Pennsylvania militia are in camp on the banks of a little creek two miles from here.  They have been sent out to guard the farthest settlements.  Think of that, Dave!  They’re to be a guard against the French and Indians!”

His face contracted into a wry smile, and Robert understood his feeling of derision for the militia.

“As I told you, they’re in camp,” continued Black Rifle.  “They built a fire there to cook their supper, and to show the French and Indians where they are, lest they miss ’em in the darkness.  They don’t know what part of the country they’re in, but they’re sure it’s a long distance west of Philadelphia, and if the Indians will only tell ’em when they’re coming they’ll be ready for ’em.  Oh, they’re brave enough!  They’ll probably all die with their faces to the enemy.”

He spoke with grim irony and Robert shuddered.  He knew how helpless men from the older parts of the country were in the depths of the wilderness, and he was sure that the net was already being drawn about the Pennsylvanians.

“Are the French here too, Black Rifle?” asked Willet.

The strange man pointed toward the north.

“A band led by a Frenchman is there,” he replied.  “He is the most skillful of all their men in the forest, the one whom they call St. Luc.”

“I thought so!” exclaimed Robert.  “I believed all the while he would be here.  I’ve no doubt he will direct the ambush.”

“We must warn this troop,” said Willet, “and save ’em if they will let us.  You agree with me, don’t you, Tayoga?”

“The Great Bear is right.”

“And you’ll back me up, of course, Robert.  Will you help us too, Black Rifle?”

The singular man smiled again, but his smile was not like that of anybody else.  It was sinister and full of menace.  It was the smile of a man who rejoiced in sanguinary work, and it made Robert think again of his extraordinary history, around which the border had built so much of truth and legend.