The Shadow of the North | Page 7

you tonight, but no man could be more welcome. These are young
friends of mine, brave warriors both, the white and the red, Robert
Lennox, who is almost a son to me, and Tayoga, the Onondaga, to
whom I feel nearly like a father too."
Now Robert knew him, and he felt a thrill of surprise, and of the most
intense curiosity. Who along the whole border had not heard of Captain
Jack, known also as the Black Hunter, the Black Rifle and by many
other names? The tale had been told in every cabin in the woods how
returning home, he had found his wife and children tomahawked and
scalped, and how he had taken a vow of lifelong vengeance upon the
Indians, a vow most terribly kept. In all the villages in the Ohio country
and along the Great Lakes, the name of Black Rifle was spoken with
awe and terror. No more singular and ominous figure ever crossed the
pages of border story.
He swept the two youths with questing glances, but they met his gaze
firmly, and while his eye had clouded at first sight of the Onondaga the
threatening look soon passed.
"Friends of yours are friends of mine, Dave Willet," he said. "I know
you to be a good man and true, and once when I was at Albany I heard
of Robert Lennox, and of the great young warrior, Tayoga, of the clan
of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the
Hodenosaunee."
The young Onondaga's eyes flashed with pleasure, but he was silent.
"How does it happen, Willet?" asked Black Rifle, "that we meet here in
the forest at such a time?"
"We're on our way to the Ohio country to learn something about the

gathering of the French and Indian forces. Just before sundown we saw
smoke signals and we think our enemies are planning to cut off a force
of ours, somewhere here in the forest."
Black Rifle laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh. It had in it a
quality that made Robert shudder.
"Your guesses are good, Dave," said Black Rifle. "About fifty men of
the Pennsylvania militia are in camp on the banks of a little creek two
miles from here. They have been sent out to guard the farthest
settlements. Think of that, Dave! They're to be a guard against the
French and Indians!"
His face contracted into a wry smile, and Robert understood his feeling
of derision for the militia.
"As I told you, they're in camp," continued Black Rifle. "They built a
fire there to cook their supper, and to show the French and Indians
where they are, lest they miss 'em in the darkness. They don't know
what part of the country they're in, but they're sure it's a long distance
west of Philadelphia, and if the Indians will only tell 'em when they're
coming they'll be ready for 'em. Oh, they're brave enough! They'll
probably all die with their faces to the enemy."
He spoke with grim irony and Robert shuddered. He knew how
helpless men from the older parts of the country were in the depths of
the wilderness, and he was sure that the net was already being drawn
about the Pennsylvanians.
"Are the French here too, Black Rifle?" asked Willet.
The strange man pointed toward the north.
"A band led by a Frenchman is there," he replied. "He is the most
skillful of all their men in the forest, the one whom they call St. Luc."
"I thought so!" exclaimed Robert. "I believed all the while he would be
here. I've no doubt he will direct the ambush."

"We must warn this troop," said Willet, "and save 'em if they will let us.
You agree with me, don't you, Tayoga?"
"The Great Bear is right."
"And you'll back me up, of course, Robert. Will you help us too, Black
Rifle?"
The singular man smiled again, but his smile was not like that of
anybody else. It was sinister and full of menace. It was the smile of a
man who rejoiced in sanguinary work, and it made Robert think again
of his extraordinary history, around which the border had built so much
of truth and legend.
"I will help, of course," he replied. "It's my trade. It was my purpose to
warn 'em before I met you, but I feared they would not listen to me.
Now, the words of four may sound more real to 'em than the words of
one."
"Then lead the way," said Willet. "'Tis not a time to linger."
Black Rifle, without another word, threw his rifle over his shoulder and
started toward the north, the others falling into Indian file behind him.
A light, pleased smile played over his massive