The Masters of the Peaks | Page 6

the distance he had come,
and the three, standing among the dense bushes, had no fear that he saw
them or even suspected that anyone was on his traces. After a delay of a
minute or so he passed over the crest and Robert, Willet and Tayoga
moved on in pursuit. The Frenchman evidently knew his path, as the
chase led for a long time over hills, down valleys and across small
streams. Toward morning he put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill
whistle between them. Then the three drew swiftly near until they could
see him, standing under the boughs of a great oak, obviously in an
attitude of waiting.
"It is a signal to someone," said Robert.
"So it is," said Willet, "and it means that he and we have come to the
end of our journey. I take it that we have arrived almost at the French
and Indian camp, and that he whistles because he fears lest he should
be shot by a sentinel through mistake. The reply should come soon."
As the hunter spoke they heard a whistle, a faint, clear note far ahead,
and then Garay without hesitation resumed his journey. The three
followed, but when they reached the crest of the next ridge they saw a
light shining through the forest, a light that grew and finally divided

into many lights, disclosing to them with certainty the presence of a
camp. The figure of Garay appeared for a little while outlined against a
fire, another figure came forward to meet him, and the two disappeared
together.
From the direction of the fires came sounds subdued by the distance,
and the aroma of food.
"It is a large camp," said Tayoga. "I have counted twelve fires which
proves it, and the white men and the red men in it do not go hungry.
They have deer, bear, fish and birds also. The pleasant odors of them
all come to my nostrils, and make me hungry."
"That's too much for me," said Robert. "I can detect the blended savor,
but I know not of what it consists. Now we go on, I suppose, and find
out what this camp holds."
"We wouldn't dream of turning back," said the hunter. "Did you notice
anything familiar, Robert, about the figure that came forward to meet
Garay?"
"Now that you speak of it, I did, but I can't recall the identity of the
man."
"Think again!"
"Ah, now I have him! It was the French officer, Colonel Auguste de
Courcelles, who gave us so much trouble in Canada and elsewhere."
"That's the man," said Willet. "I knew him at once. Now, wherever De
Courcelles is mischief is likely to be afoot, but he's not the only
Frenchman here. We'll spy out this camp to the full. There's time yet
before the sunrise comes."
Now the three used all the skill in stalking with which they were
endowed so plentifully, creeping forward without noise through the
bushes, making so little stir among them that if a wary warrior had been
looking he would have taken the slight movement of twig or leaf for

the influence of a wandering breeze. Gradually the whole camp came
into view, and Tayoga's prediction that it would be a large one proved
true.
Robert lay on a little knoll among small bushes growing thick, where
the keenest eye could not see him, but where his own vision swept the
whole wide shallow dip, in which the French and Indian force was
encamped. Twelve fires, all good and large, burned gayly, throwing out
ruddy flames from great beds of glowing coals, while the aroma of food
was now much stronger and very appetizing.
The force numbered at least three hundred men, of whom about one
third were Frenchmen or Canadians, all in uniform. Robert recognized
De Courcelles and near him Jumonville, his invariable comrade, and a
little farther on a handsome and gallant young face.
"It's De Galissonnière of the Battalion Languedoc, whom we met in
Québec," he whispered to Tayoga. "Now I wonder what he's doing
here."
"He's come with the others on a projected foray," Tayoga whispered
back. "But look beyond him, Dagaeoga, and you will see one more to
be dreaded than De Courcelles or Jumonville."
Robert's gaze followed that of the young Onondaga and was intercepted
by the huge figure of Tandakora, the Ojibway, who stood erect by one
of the fires, bare save for a breech cloth and moccasins, his body
painted in the most hideous designs, of which war paint was possible,
his brow lowering.
"Tandakora is not happy," said Tayoga.
"No," said Robert. "He is thinking of the battle at Lake George that he
did not win, and of all the scalps he did not take. He