The Hunters of the Hills

by Joseph A. Altsheler

He did not deny to himself that he too felt the attraction. An unknown kinship with Quebec, either in blood or imagination, was calling. He wondered if he would see St. Luc there, but on reflection he decided that it was impossible. The mission of the chevalier to the Hodenosaunee would require a long absence. He might arrive in the vale of Onondaga and have to wait many days before the fifty sachems should decide to meet in council and hear him.

But Robert believed that if St. Luc should appear before the fifty he would prove to be eloquent, and he would neglect no artifice of word and manner to make the Hodenosaunee think the French power at Quebec invincible. He would describe the great deeds of the French officers and soldiers. He would tell them of that glittering court of Versailles, and perhaps he would make them think their salvation depended upon an alliance with France.

Robert was sorry for the moment that his mission was taking him to Quebec and not to the vale of Onondaga, where Willet and he—and Tayoga too—could appear before the sachems as friends true and tested, and prove to them that the English were their good and natural allies. They would recall again what Frontenac had done. They would dwell upon the manner in which he had carried sword and fire among the Six Nations, then the Five, and they would keep open the old wound that yet rankled.

It was a passing wish. The Iroquois would remain faithful to their ancient allies, the English. The blood that Frontenac had shed would be forever a barrier between the Long House and the Stadacona that was. Once more Quebec filled his eye, and he gazed into the northeast where the French capital lay upon its mighty and frowning rock. His curiosity concerning it increased. He wanted to see what kind of city it was, and he wanted to see what kind of a man the Marquis Duquesne, the Governor-General of Canada, was. Well, he would be there before many days and he would see for himself. He and his comrades already had been triumphant over a danger so great that nothing could stop them now. He felt all the elation and certainty that came from a victory over odds.

He rose, parted the bushes and made another tour of the region about their covert. When he was at a point about a hundred yards away he fancied that he heard a sound in a thicket a considerable distance ahead. Promptly taking shelter behind a large tree, he used both eyes and ears, watching the thicket closely, and listening for any other sound that might come.

He heard nothing else but his keen eyes noted a bush swaying directly into the teeth of the wind, a movement that could not occur unless something alive in the thicket caused it. He slid his rifle forward and still watched. Now the bush shook violently, and an awkward black figure, shooting out, ran across the open. It was only a bear, and he was about to resume his circling walk, but second thought told him that the bear was running as if he ran away from an object of which he was afraid, and there was nothing in the northern forests except human beings to scare a bear.

He settled back in his shelter and resumed his watch in the thicket, leaving the bear to run where he pleased, which he did, disappearing with a snort in another thicket. A full ten minutes passed. Robert had not stirred. He was crouched behind the tree, blending with the grass, and he held his rifle ready to be fired in an instant, should the need arise.

The bush that had moved against the wind had ceased stirring long since, but now he saw another shaking and it, too, paid no attention to the laws of nature, defying the wind as the first had done. Robert concentrated his gaze upon it, thankful that he had not made the black bear the original cause of things, and presently he saw the feathered head of an Indian appear among the leaves. It was only a glimpse, he did not see the body or even the face of the warrior, but it was enough. Where one warrior was another was likely to be in those northern marches, the most dangerous kind of neutral ground.

He began to slide away, keeping the big tree trunk between him and the thicket, using all the arts of the forest trailer that he had learned by natural aptitude and long practice. He went back slowly, but the grass stems moved only a little as he went, and he was confident that he not only had not been seen, but would not be seen. Yet he scarcely dared to breathe—until he reached the bushes inclosing the opening in which his comrades lay.

He paused a few moments before waking the others and filled his lungs with air. He was surprised to find that the hands holding his rifle were damp with perspiration, and he realized then how great the brief strain had been. Suppose he had not seen the Indian in the bush, and had been ambushed while on his scouting round! Or suppose he had stayed with his comrades and had been ambushed there! But neither had happened, and, taking Willet by the shoulder, he shook him, at the same time whispering in his ear to make no noise. The hunter, his trained faculties at once awake and on guard, sat up quietly, and Tayoga, who seemed to awake instinctively at the same time, also, sat up.