“Can you see Tododaho upon his star?” he asked Tayoga in all earnestness.

“The star is yet faint in the heavens,” replied the Onondaga, “and I can only trace across its face the mists and vapors which are the snakes in the hair of the great chieftain, but Tododaho will not desert us.  We, his children, the Onondagas, have done no harm, and I, Tayoga, am one of them.  I feel that all the omens and presages are favorable.”

The reply of the Onondaga gave Robert new strength.  He had the deepest respect for the religion of the Hodenosaunee, which he felt was so closely akin to his own, and Tododaho was scarcely less real to him than to Tayoga.  His veins thrilled with confidence that they would drive back, or at least hold Tandakora and De Courcelles, if they came.

The last and least doubt that they would come was dispelled within an hour when Tayoga suddenly put a hand upon his arm, and, in a whisper, told him to watch a bush not more than a hundred yards away.

“A warrior is in the thicket,” he said.  “I would not have seen him as he crept forward had not a darker shadow appeared upon the shadow of the night.  But he is there, awaiting a chance to steal upon us and fire.”

“And others are near, seeking the same opportunity.”

“It is so, Dagaeoga.  The attack will soon begin.”

“Shall we warn Willet?”

“The Great Bear has seen already.  His eyes pierce the dark and they have noted the warrior, and the other warriors.  Lie down, Dagaeoga, the first warrior is going to fire.”

Robert sank almost flat.  There was a report in the bush, a flash of fire, and a bullet whistled high over their heads.  From a point on their right came an answering report and flash, and the warrior in the bush uttered his death cry.  Robert, who was watching him, saw him throw up his hands and fall.

“It was the bullet of the Great Bear that replied,” said Tayoga.  “It was rash to fire when such a marksman lay near.  Now the battle begins.”

The forest gave forth a great shout, penetrating and full of menace, coming in full volume, and indicating to the shrewd ears of Tayoga the presence of two or three hundred warriors.  Robert knew, too, that a large force was now before them.  How long could the thirty hold back the Indian hosts?  Yet he had the word of Tayoga that Tododaho looked down upon them with benignity and that all the omens and presages were favorable.  There was a flash at his elbow and a rifle sang its deadly song in his ear.  Then Tayoga uttered a sigh of satisfaction.

“My bullet was not wasted,” he said.

Robert waited his opportunity, and fired at a dusky figure which he saw fall.  He was heart and soul averse to bloodshed, but in the heat of action, and in self-defense, he forgot his repugnance.  He was as eager now for a shot as Tayoga, Willet, or any other of the thirty.  Tayoga, who had reloaded, pulled trigger again and then a burst of firing came from the savage host.  But the thirty, inured to the forest and forest warfare, were sheltered well, and they took no hurt.  The Indians who were usually poor marksmen, fired many bullets after their fashion and wasted much lead.