“There has been trouble, Mynheer Huysman,” said Robert, “between Governor Shirley of Massachusetts, who has been in camp several days, and Colonel Johnson.  I saw Governor Shirley when he was in the council at Alexandria, in Virginia, and I know, from what I’ve heard, that he’s the most active and energetic of all the governors, but they say he’s very vain and pompous.”

“Vanity and pomp comport ill with a wilderness campaign,” said Mynheer Jacobus, soberly.  “Of all the qualities needed to deal with the French und Indians I should say that they are needed least.  It iss a shame that a man should demand obeisance from others when they are all in a great crisis.”

“The Governor is eager to push the war,” said Robert, “yet he demands more worship of the manner from Colonel Johnson than the colonel has time to give him.  ’Tis said, too, that the delays he makes cause dissatisfaction among the Mohawks, who are eager to be on the great war trail.  Daganoweda, I know, fairly burns with impatience.”

Mynheer Jacobus sighed.

“We will not haf the advantage of surprise,” he said.  “Of that I am certain.  I do believe that the French und Indians know of all our movements und of all we do.”

“Spies?” said Robert.

“It may be,” replied Mynheer Jacobus.

Robert was silent.  His first thought was of St. Luc, who, he knew, would dare anything, and it was just the sort of adventure that would appeal to his bold and romantic spirit.  But his thought passed on.  He had no real feeling that St. Luc was in the camp.  Mynheer Jacobus must be thinking of another or others.  But Huysman volunteered no explanation.  Presently he rose from his chair, went to a window and looked out.  Tayoga observed him keenly.

The Onondaga, trained from his childhood to observe all kinds of manifestations, was a marvelous reader of the minds of men, and, merely because Mynheer Jacobus Huysman interrupted a conversation to look out into the dark, he knew that he expected something.  And whatever it was it was important, as the momentary quiver of the big man’s lip indicated.

The Indian, although he may hide it, has his full share of curiosity, and Tayoga wondered why Mynheer Jacobus watched.  But he asked no question.

The Dutchman came back from the window, and asked the lads in to supper with him.  His slight air of expectancy had disappeared wholly, but Tayoga was not deceived.  “He has merely been convinced that he was gazing out too soon,” he said to himself.  “As surely as Tododaho on his star watches over the Onondagas, he will come back here after supper and look from this window, expecting to see something or somebody.”

The supper of Mynheer Jacobus was, in reality, a large dinner, and, as it was probably the last the two lads would take with him before they went north, he had given to it a splendor and abundance even greater than usual.  Tayoga and Robert, as became two such stout youths, ate bountifully, and Mynheer Jacobus Huysman, whatever his secret troubles may have been, wielded knife and fork with them, knife for knife and fork for fork.