“A living, breathing man! where, Tayoga?”

“Look at the sloping cliff above us, there where the trees grow close together.  Notice the one with the boughs hanging low, and by the dark trunk you will see the figure.  It is a tall man with his hat drawn low over his eyes, and a heavy cloak wrapped closely around his body.”

“I see him now, Tayoga!  What could a man want at such a place on such a night?  It must be a farmer out late, or perhaps a wandering hunter!”

“Nay, Dagaeoga, it is not a farmer, nor yet a wandering hunter.  The shoulders are set too squarely.  The figure is too upright.  And even without these differences we would be sure that it is not the farmer, nor yet the wandering hunter, because it is some one else whom we know.”

“What do you mean, Tayoga?”

“Look!  Look closely, Dagaeoga!”

“Now the wind drives aside the white veil of snow and I see him better.  His figure is surely familiar!”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, it is!  And do you not know him?”

“St. Luc!  As sure as we live, Tayoga, it’s St. Luc.”

“Yes,” said the hunter, who had not spoken hitherto.  “It’s St. Luc, and I could reach him from here with a rifle shot.”

“But you must not!  You must not fire upon him!” exclaimed Robert.

Willet laughed.

“I wasn’t thinking of doing so,” he said.  “And now it’s too late.  St. Luc has gone.”

The dark figure vanished from beside the trunk, and Robert saw only the lofty slope, and the whirling snow.  He passed his hands before his eyes.

“Did we really see him?” he said.

“We beheld him alive and in the flesh,” replied the hunter, “deep down in His Britannic Majesty’s province of New York.”

“What could have brought him here at such a time?”

“The cause of France, no doubt.  He speaks English as well as you and I, and he is probably in civilian clothing, seeking information for his country.  I know something of St. Luc.  He has in him a spice of the daring and romantic.  Luck and adventure would appeal to him.  He probably knows already what forces we have at Albany and Kingston and what is their state of preparation.  Valuable knowledge for Quebec, too.”

“Do you think St. Luc will venture to New York?”

“Scarce likely, lad.  He can obtain about all he wishes to know without going so far south.”

“I’m glad of that, Dave.  I shouldn’t want him to be captured and hanged as a spy.”

“Nor I, Robert.  St. Luc is the kind of man who, if he falls at all in this war, should fall sword in hand on the battle field.  He must know this region or he would not dare to come here, on such a terrible night.  He has probably gone now to shelter.  And, since there is nothing more to be seen we might do the same.”

But Robert and Tayoga were not willing to withdraw yet.  Well wrapped and warm, they found a pleasure in the fierce storm that raged among the mountains and over the river, and their own security on the deck of the stout sloop, fastened so safely in the little cove.  They listened to the wind rumbling anew like thunder through the deep gorges and clefts, and they saw the snow swept in vast curtains of white over the wild river.