Part 12 (2/2)

Once more the Onondaga's loyal friend laughed. ”The warriors turn Tayoga back, Will?” he said. ”He will pa.s.s through 'em just as if they were not there. The time will be up day after tomorrow at noon, and then he will be here.”

”Even if the Indians move up and besiege us in regular form?”

”Even that, and even anything else. At noon day after tomorrow Tayoga will be here.”

Another man who went out to bring in a horse that had been left grazing near the fort was fired upon, not with rifles or muskets but with arrows, and grazed in the shoulder. He had, however, the presence of mind to spring upon the animal's back and gallop for Fort Refuge, where the watchful Willet threw open the gate to the stockade, let him in, then quickly closed and barred it fast. A long fierce whining cry, the war whoop, came from the forest.

”The siege has closed in already,” said Robert, ”and it's well that we have no other men outside.”

”Except Tayoga,” said Wilton.

”The barrier of the red army doesn't count so far as Tayoga is concerned. How many times must I tell you, Will, that Tayoga will come at the time appointed?”

After the shout from the woods there was a long silence that weighed upon the young soldiers, isolated thus in the wintry and desolate wilderness. They were city men, used to the streets and the sounds of people, and their situation had many aspects that were weird and appalling. They were hundreds of miles from civilization, and around them everywhere stretched a black forest, hiding a tenacious and cruel foe. But on the other hand their stockade was stout, they had plenty of ammunition, water and provisions, and one victory already to their credit. After the first moments of depression they recalled their courage and eagerly awaited an attack.

But the attack did not come and Robert knew it would not be made, at least not yet. The Indians were too wary to batter themselves to pieces against the palisade, and the Frenchmen with them, skilled in forest war, would hold them back.

”Perhaps they've gone away, realizing that we're too strong for 'em,”

said Wilton.

”That's just what we must guard against,” said Robert. ”The Indian fights with trick and stratagem. He always has more time than the white man, and he is wholly willing to wait. They want us to think they've left, and then they'll cut off the incautious.”

The afternoon wore on, and the silence which had grown oppressive persisted. A light pleasant wind blew through the forest, which was now dry, and the dead bark and wintry branches rustled. To many of the youths it became a forest of gloom and threat, and they asked impatiently why the warriors did not come out and show themselves like men. Certainly, it did not become Frenchmen, if they were there to lurk in the woods and seek ambush.

Willet was the pervading spirit of the defense. Deft in word and action, acknowledging at all times that Colden was the commander, thus saving the young Philadelphian's pride in the presence of his men, he contrived in an un.o.btrusive way to direct everything. The guards were placed at suitable intervals about the palisade, and were instructed to fire at anything suspicious, the others were compelled to stay in the blockhouse and take their ease, in order that their nerves might be steady and true, when the time for battle came. The cooks were also instructed to prepare an unusually bountiful supper for them.

Robert was Willet's right hand. Next to the hunter he knew most about the wilderness, and the ways of its red people. There was no possibility that the Indians had gone. Even if they did not undertake to storm the fort they would linger near it, in the hope of cutting off men who came forth incautiously, and at night, especially if it happened to be dark, they would be sure to come very close.

The palisade was about eight feet high, and the men stood on a horizontal plank three feet from the ground, leaving only the head to project above the shelter, and Willet warned them to be exceedingly careful when the twilight came, since the besiegers would undoubtedly use the darkness as a cover for sharp-shooting. Then both he and Robert looked anxiously at the sun, which was just setting behind the black waste.

”The night will be dark,” said the hunter, ”and that's bad. I'm afraid some of our sentinels will be picked off. Robert, you and I must not sleep until tomorrow. We must stay on watch here all the while.”

As he predicted, the night came down black and grim. Vast banks of darkness rolled up close to the palisade, and the forest showed but dimly. Then the warriors proved to the most incredulous that they had not gone far away. Scattered shots were fired from the woods, and one sentinel who in spite of warnings thrust his head too high above the palisade, received a bullet through it falling back dead. It was a terrible lesson, but afterwards the others took no risks, although they were anxious to fire on hostile figures that their fancy saw for them among the trees. Willet, Robert and Colden compelled them to withhold their fire until a real and tangible enemy appeared.

Later in the night burning arrows were discharged in showers and fell within the palisade, some on the buildings. But they had pails, and an unfailing spring, and they easily put out the flames, although one man was struck and suffered both a burn and a bruise.

Toward midnight a terrific succession of war whoops came, and a great number of warriors charged in the darkness against the palisade. The garrison was ready, and, despite the darkness, poured forth such a fierce fire that in a few minutes the horde vanished, leaving behind several still forms which they stole away later. Another of the young Philadelphians was killed, and before dawn he and his comrade who had been slain earlier in the evening were buried behind the blockhouse.

At intervals in the remainder of the night the warriors fired either arrows or bullets, doing no farther damage except the slight wounding of one man, and when day came Willet and Robert, worn to the bone, sought a little rest and sleep in the blockhouse. They knew that Golden could not be surprised while the sun was s.h.i.+ning, and that the savages were not likely to attempt anything serious until the following night So they felt they were not needed for the present.

Robert slept until nearly noon, when he ate heartily of the abundant food one of the young cooks had prepared, and learned that beyond an occasional arrow or bullet the forest had given forth no threat. His own spirits rose high with the day, which was uncommonly brilliant, with a great sun s.h.i.+ning in the center of the heavens, and not a cloud in the sky. Wilton was near the blockhouse and was confident about the siege, but worried about Tayoga.

”You tell me that the Indians won't go away,” he said, ”and if you're right, and I think you are, the Onondaga is surely shut off from Fort Refuge.”

Robert smiled.

”I tell you for the last time that he will come at the appointed hour,” he said.

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