The Masters of the Peaks | Page 3

the west broke up, faded quite away, and night, as yet
without stars, spread over the earth.
Tayoga was in front, the other two following him in single file,
stepping where he stepped, and leaving to him without question the
selection of a place where they could stay. The Onondaga, guided by
long practice and the inheritance from countless ancestors who had
lived all their lives in the forest, moved forward with confidence. His
instinct told him they would soon come to such a refuge as they desired,
the rocky uplift about him indicating the proximity of many hollows.
The darkness increased, and the wind swept through the chasms with
alternate moan and whistle, but the red youth held on his course for a
full two miles, and his comrades followed without a word. When the
cliffs about them rose to a height of two or three hundred feet, he
stopped, and, pointing with a long forefinger, said he had found what
they wished.
Robert at first could see nothing but a pit of blackness, but gradually as
he gazed the shadows passed away, and he traced a deep recess in the
stone of the cliff, not much of a shelter to those unused to the woods,
but sufficient for hardy forest runners.
"I think we may build a little fire in there," said Tayoga, "and no one
can see it unless he is here in the ravine within ten feet of us."
Willet nodded and Robert joyfully began to prepare for the blaze. The
night was turning even colder than he had expected, and the chill was
creeping into his frame. The fire would be most welcome for its

warmth, and also because of the good cheer it would bring. He swept
dry leaves into a heap within the recess, put upon them dead wood,
which was abundant everywhere, and then Tayoga with artful use of
flint and steel lighted the spark.
"It is good," admitted the hunter as he sat Turkish fashion on the leaves,
and spread out his hands before the growing flames. "The nights grow
cold mighty soon here in the high hills of the north, and the heat not
only loosens up your muscles, but gives you new courage."
"I intend to make myself as comfortable as possible," said Robert.
"You and Tayoga are always telling me to do so and I know the advice
is good."
He gathered great quantities of the dry leaves, making of them what
was in reality a couch, upon which he could recline in halfway fashion
like a Roman at a feast, and warm at the fire before him the food he
carried in a deerskin knapsack. An appetizing odor soon arose, and, as
he ate, a pleasant warmth pervaded all his body, giving him a feeling of
great content. They had venison, the tender meat of the young bear
which, like the Indians, they loved, and they also allowed themselves a
slice apiece of precious bread. Water was never distant in the northern
wilderness, and Tayoga found a brook not a hundred yards away,
flowing down a ravine that cut across their own. They drank at it in
turn, and, then, the three lay down on the leaves in the recess, grateful
to the Supreme Power which provided so well for them, even in the
wild forest.
They let the flames die, but a comfortable little bed of coals remained,
glowing within the shelter of the rocks. Young Lennox heaped up the
leaves until they formed a pillow under his head, and then half
dreaming, gazed into the heart of the fire, while his comrades reclined
near him, each silent but with his mind turned to that which concerned
him most.
Robert's thoughts were of St. Luc, of the romantic figure he had seen in
the wilderness after the battle of Lake George, the knightly chevalier,
singing his gay little song of mingled sentiment and defiance. An

unconscious smile passed over his face. He and St. Luc could never be
enemies. In very truth, the French leader, though an official enemy, had
proved more than once the best of friends, ready even to risk his life in
the service of the American lad. What was the reason? What could be
the tie between them? There must be some connection. What was the
mystery of his origin? The events of the last year indicated to him very
clearly that there was such a mystery. Adrian Van Zoon and Master
Benjamin Hardy surely knew something about it, and Willet too. Was it
possible that a thread lay in the hand of St. Luc also?
He turned his eyes from the coals and gazed at the impassive face of
the hunter. Once the question trembled on his lips, but he was sure the