“You have been a prisoner of ours once before, but you escaped,” said the Chevalier.  “It seems that you are a hard lad to hold.”

“But then I had the help of the greatest trailer and forest runner in the world, my staunch friend, Tayoga, the Onondaga.”

“If he rescued you once he will probably try to do it again, and the great hunter, Willet, is likely to be with him.  I suppose you were planning a few moments ago to escape along the shore of the lake.”

“I might have been, but I see now that it is too late.”

“Too late is a phrase that should be seldom used by youth.”

Robert tried once again to read the Chevalier’s eye, but St. Luc’s look contained the old enigma.

“I admit,” said young Lennox, “that I thought I might find an open place in your line.  It was only a possible chance.”

St. Luc shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the darkness that lay before them like a great black blanket.

“There is much yet to be done by us at Ticonderoga,” he said.  “Perhaps it is true that a possible chance for you to escape does exist, but my duties are too important for me to concern myself about guarding a single prisoner.”

His figure vanished.  He was gone without noise, and Robert stared at the place where he had been.  Then the hope of escape came back, more vivid and more powerful than ever.  “Too late,” was a phrase that should not be known to youth.  St. Luc was right.  He walked straight ahead.  No sentinel barred the way.  Presently the lake, still and luminous, stretched across his path, and, darting into the bushes along its edge, he ran for a long time.  Then he sank down and looked back.  He saw dimly the lights of the camp, but he heard no sound of pursuit.

Rising, he began a great curve about Ticonderoga, intending to seek his own army, which he knew could not yet be far away.  Once he heard light footsteps and hid deep in the bush.  From his covert he saw a band of warriors at least twenty in number go by, their lean, sinewy figures showing faintly in the dusk.  Their faces were turned toward the south and he shuddered.  Already they were beginning to raid the border.  He knew that they had taken little or no part in the battle at Ticonderoga, but now the great success of the French would bring them flocking back to Montcalm’s banner, and they would rush like wolves upon those whom they thought defenseless, hoping for more slaughters like that of William Henry.

Tandakora would not neglect such a glowing opportunity for scalps.  His savage spirit would incite the warriors to attempts yet greater, and Robert looked closely at the dusky line, thinking for a moment that he might be there.  But he did not see his gigantic figure and the warriors flitted on, gone like shadows in the darkness.  Then the fugitive youth resumed his own flight.

Far in the night Robert sank down in a state of exhaustion.  It was a physical and mental collapse, coming with great suddenness, but he recognized it for what it was, the natural consequence flowing from a period of such excessive strain.  His emotions throughout the great battle had been tense and violent, and they had been hardly less so in the time that followed and in the course of the events that led to his escape.  And knowing, he forced himself to do what was necessary.