They found a fairly comfortable place in the thicket and soon all were asleep except Black Rifle, who sat with his rifle between his knees, and from his covert scanned the forest on all sides.

Black Rifle felt satisfaction.  He was pleased to be with the friends for whom he cared most.  An historical figure, solitary, aloof, he was a vivid personality, yet scarcely anything was known about him.  His right name even had disappeared, and, to the border, far and near he was just Black Rifle, or Black Jack, a great scout and a terror to the Indians.  In his way, he was fond of Willet, Tayoga and young Lennox, and he felt also that he would like Grosvenor when he knew him better.  So, while they slept, he watched with a vigilance that nobody save Tayoga could surpass.

Black Rifle saw the life of the forest go on undisturbed.  The birds on the boughs went about their business, and the little animals worked or played as usual in the bushes.  Everything said to him that no enemy was near, and his own five senses confirmed it.  The afternoon passed, and, about twilight, Tayoga awoke, but the others slept on.

“Sleep now, Black Rifle,” said the Onondaga.  “I will take up the watch.”

“I don’t feel like closing my eyes just yet, Tayoga,” replied the scout, “and I’ll sit a while with you.  Nothing has happened.  Tandakora has not been able to find our trail.”

“But he will hunt long for it, Black Rifle.  When my race hates it hates well.  Tandakora feels his grudge against us.  He has tried to do us much harm and he is grieved because we have not fallen before him.  He blames us for it.”

“I know he does.  Did you hear something walking in the thicket at the bottom of the hill?”

“It is only a bear.  Perhaps he is looking for a good place in which to pass the night, but he will go much farther away.”

“Why, Tayoga?”

“Because the wind is shifting about a little, and, in another minute, it will take him a whiff of the human odor.  Then he will run away, and run fast.  Now he is running.”

“I don’t hear him, Tayoga, but I take it that you know what you are saying is true.”

“My ears are uncommonly keen, Black Rifle.  It is no merit of mine that they are so.  Why should a man talk about a gift from Manitou, when it really is the work of Manitou?  Ah, the bear is going toward the south and he is well frightened because he never stops to look back, nor does he hesitate!  Now he is gone and he will not come back again!”

Black Rifle glanced at the Onondaga in the dusk, and his eyes were full of admiration.

“You have wonderful gifts, Tayoga,” he said.  “I don’t believe such eyes and ears as yours are to be found in the head of any other man.”

“But, as I have just told you, Black Rifle, however good they may be the credit belongs to Manitou and not to me.  I am but a poor instrument.”

“Still you find ’em useful, and the exercise of such powers must yield a certain pleasure.  They’re particularly valuable just now, as I’m thinking we’ll have an eventful night.”