The crest of the hill was about three hundred feet above them, but when they reached it they could see a great distance on all sides, the lake a vast glittering bowl on their left and the mighty green wilderness of hills, mountains and woods on their right.  Directly ahead of them was a faint dark line against the dazzling blue of the sky.

“Smoke!” said Tayoga.

“St. Luc’s smoke,” said Willet.

“The very smoke of the camp for which we were looking and which we were expecting!” said Black Rifle.

Robert’s pulses beat hard, as they always did when he knew the great French Chevalier to be near.  But that emotion soon passed and in its place came the thought of the enemy’s presence.  However much he admired St. Luc he was an official foe, to be met upon the battlefield.

“We must look into their camp,” he said.

“So we must,” said Willet, “and to do that we shall have to go much nearer.  The risk is too great now, but it will soon be night, and then we can approach.  We can see them well, then, because they’ll build all the fires they like, since they think they have nothing to fear.”

Then the five waited in silence among the thick woods on the crest of the hill, and Grosvenor prepared his mind for his first stalk.  Full of courage, ambitious, eager to excel, he resolved to acquit himself with credit.  But this was war, far different from that on the open fields of Europe for which his early training had fitted him.  One must lie in the deep forest and depend upon the delicacy of eye and ear and an exceeding quickness of hand.  It had not been long since he would have considered his present situation incredible, and, even now, it required some effort to convince himself that it was true.

But there beside him were the comrades whom he liked so well, Robert, Tayoga and the hunter whom he had known before and the strange dark figure of Black Rifle, that man of mystery and terror.  Around him was the wilderness now in the glow of advancing twilight, and before him he knew well lay St. Luc and the formidable French and Indian force.  Time and place were enough to try the soul of an inexperienced youth and yet Grosvenor was not afraid.  His own spirit and willingness to dare peril made a shield for him.  His comrades were only four in number, but Grosvenor felt that, in fact, they were twenty.  He did not know what strange pass into which they would lead him, but he felt sure they would succeed.

He saw the red rim of the sun sink behind the western crests, and then the last twilight died into the night.  Heavy darkness trailed over the forest, but soon moon and stars sprang out, and the sky became silver, the spire of smoke reappearing across its southern face.  But Willet, who was in reality the leader of the little party, gave no sign.  Grosvenor knew that they were waiting for the majority of St. Luc’s force to go to sleep, leaving only the sentinels before they approached, but it was hard to sit there so long.  His nerves were on edge and his muscles ached, but his spirit put a powerful rein over the flesh and he said never a word, until far in the night Willet gave the order to advance.