It was this powerful army, ably led and flushed with the general triumph of the French arms, that Daganoweda and his warriors had seen advancing, though perhaps no one in all the force dreamed that he was advancing to a battle that in reality would prove one of the most decisive in the world’s history, heavy with consequences to which time set scarcely any limit.  Nor did Robert himself, vivid as was his imagination, foresee it.  His thoughts and energies were bounded for the time, at least, by the present, and, with the others, he was eager to save Johnson’s army, which now lay somewhere near Lake George, and which he was sure had been occupied in building forts, as Waraiyageh, having spent most of his life in the wilderness, knew that it was well when he had finished a march forward to make it secure before he undertook another.

The rangers and Mohawks now picked up the trail of Dieskau’s army, which was moving forward with the utmost speed.  Yet the obstinacy of his Indian allies compelled the German baron to abandon the first step in his plan.  They would not attack Fort Lyman, as it was defended by artillery, of which the savages had a great dread, but they were willing to go on, and fall suddenly upon Johnson, who, they heard, though falsely, had no cannon.  Dieskau and his French aides, compelled to hide any chagrin they may have felt, pushed on for Lake George with the pick of their army, consisting of the battalions of Languedoc, and La Reine, a strong Canadian force, and a much larger body of Indian warriors, among whom the redoubtable Tandakora, escaped from rangers and Mohawks, was predominant.

Willet, Rogers, Black Rifle, Daganoweda and their small but formidable band read the trail plainly, and they knew the greatness of the danger.  Dieskau was not young, and he was a soldier of fortune, not belonging to the race that he led, but he was full of ardor, and the daring French partisans were urging him on.  Robert felt certain that St. Luc himself was in the very van and that he would probably strike the first blow.

After they had made sure that Dieskau would not attack Fort Lyman, but was marching straight against Johnson, the little force turned aside, and prepared to make a circuit with all the speed it could command.

As Willet put it tersely: 

“It’s not enough for us to know what Dieskau means to do, but to keep him from doing it.  It’s muscle and lungs now that count.”

So they deserved to the full the name of forest runners, speeding on their great curve, using the long, running walk with which both Indians and frontiersmen devoured space, and apparently never grew weary.  In the night they passed Dieskau’s army, and, from the crest of a lofty hill, saw his fires burning in a valley below.  Tayoga and some of the Mohawks slipped down through the undergrowth and reported that the camp had been made with all due precaution—­the French partisan leaders saw to that—­with plenty of scouts about, and the whole force in swift, marching order.  It would probably be up and away again before dawn, and if they were to pass it and reach Johnson in good time not a single moment could be wasted.