Part 16 (2/2)

Robert felt immense exultation. They had struck a great blow, and it was he who had suggested the plan. His pride increased, although he hid it, when Willet put his large hand on his shoulder and said:

”'Twas well done, Robert, my lad, and 'twould not have been done at all had it not been for you. Your mind bred the idea, from which the action flowed.”

”And you think the French and Indians have gone away now?”

”Surely, lad! Surely! Indians can stand a lot, and so can French, but neither can stand still in the middle of a snow that bids fair to be two feet deep and live. They may have to travel until they reach some Indian village farther west and north.”

”Such being the case, there can be no pressing need for me just at present, and I think I shall sleep. I feel now as if I were bound to relax.”

”The best thing you could do, and I'll take a turn between the blankets myself.”

Robert had a great sleep. Some of the rooms in the blockhouse offered a high degree of frontier comfort, and he lay down upon a soft couch of skins. A fine fire blazing upon a stone hearth dried his deerskin garments, and, when he awoke about noon, he was strong and thoroughly refreshed. The snow was still falling heavily. The wilderness in its white blanket was beautiful, but it did not look like a possible home to Robert now. His vivid imagination leaped up at once and pictured the difficulties of any one struggling for life, even in that vast white silence.

Willet and Tayoga were up before him, and they were talking of another expedition to see how far the besieging force had gone, but while they were discussing it a figure appeared at the edge of the forest.

”It's a white man,” exclaimed Wilton, ”and so it must be one of the Frenchmen. He's a bold fellow walking directly within our range. What on earth can he want?”

One of the guards on the palisade raised his rifle, but Willet promptly pushed down the muzzle.

”That's no Frenchman,” he said.

”Then who is it?” asked Wilton.

”He's clothed in white, as any one walking in this snow is bound to be, but I could tell at the first glimpse that it was none other than our friend, Black Rifle.”

”Coming to us for refuge, and so our fort is well named.”

”Not for refuge. Black Rifle has taken care of himself too long in the wilderness to be at a loss at any time. I suspect that he has something of importance to tell us or he would not come at all.”

At the command of Colden the great gate was thrown open that the strange rover might enter in all honor, and as he came in, apparently oblivious of the storm, his eyes gleamed a little at the sight of Willet, his friend.

”You've come to tell us something,” said the hunter.

”So I have,” said Black Rifle.

”Brush off the snow, warm yourself by the fire, and then we'll listen.”

”I can tell it now. I don't mind the snow. I saw from a distance the great fire last night, when the camp of the French and Indians burned. It was clever to destroy their huts and lodges, and I knew at once who did it. Such a thing as that could not have happened without you having a hand in it, Dave Willet. I watched to see what the French and Indians would do, and I followed them in their hurried retreat into the north. I hid in the snowy bushes, and heard some of their talk, too. They will not stop until they reach a village a full hundred miles from here. The Frenchmen, De Courcelles and Jumonville are mad with anger and disappointment, and so is the Indian chief Tandakora.”

”And well they may be!” jubilantly exclaimed Captain Colden, off whose mind a great weight seemed to have slid. ”It was splendid tactics to burn their home over their heads. I wouldn't have thought of it myself, but since others have thought of it, and, it has succeeded so admirably, we can now do the work we were sent here to do.”

Tayoga and Willet made snow-shoes and went out on them a few days later, confirming the report of Black Rifle. Then small parties were sent forth to search the forest for settlers and their families. Robert had a large share in this work, and sometimes he looked upon terrible things. In more than one place, torch and tomahawk had already done their dreadful work, but in others they found the people alive and well, still clinging to their homes. It was often difficult, even in the face of imminent danger, to persuade them to leave, and when they finally went, under mild compulsion, it was with the resolve to return to their log cabins in the spring.

Fort Refuge now deserved its name. There were many axes, with plenty of strong and skillful arms to wield them, and new buildings were erected within the palisade, the smoke rising from a half dozen chimneys. They were rude structures, but the people who occupied them, used all their lives to hards.h.i.+ps, did not ask much, and they seemed snug and comfortable enough to them. Fires always blazed on the broad stone hearths and the voices of children were heard within the log walls. The hands of women furnished the rooms, and made new clothes of deerskin.

The note of life at Fort Refuge was comfort and good cheer. They felt that they could hold the little fortress against any force that might come. The hunters, Willet, Tayoga and Black Rifle at their head, brought in an abundance of game. There was no ill health. The little children grew mightily, and, thus thrown together in a group, they had the happiest time they had ever known. Robert was their hero. No other could tell such glorious tales. He had read fairy stories at Albany, and he not only brought them all from the store of his memory but he embroidered and enlarged them. He had a manner with him, too. His musical, golden voice, his vivid eyes and his intense earnestness of tone, the same that had impressed so greatly the fifty sachems in the vale of Onondaga, carried conviction. If one telling a tale believed in it so thoroughly himself then those who heard it must believe in it too.

Robert fulfilled a great mission. He was not the orator, the golden mouthed, for nothing. If the winter came down a little too fiercely, his vivid eyes and gay voice were sufficient to lift the depression. Even the somber face of Black Rifle would light up when he came near. Nor was the young Quaker, Wilton, far behind him. He was a spontaneously happy youth, always bubbling with good nature, and he formed an able second for Lennox.

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