The Masters of the Peaks: A Story of the Great North Woods

by Joseph A. Altsheler

He did not stir, except now and then to put a fresh chunk of wood on the fire, and the red blaze between Tayoga and himself was for a time the center of the world. The cold, white fog was rolling up everywhere thick and impenetrable, and the fine rain, like a heavy dew that was distilled from it, fell incessantly. Robert knew that it was moving up the valleys and clothing all the peaks and ridges. He knew, too, that it would hide them from their enemies and his sense of comfort grew with the knowledge. But his conviction that they were safe did not make him relax caution, and, since eye was useless in the fog, he made extreme call upon ear.

It seemed to him that the fog was a splendid conductor of sound. It brought him the rustling of the foliage, the moaning of the light wind through the ravines, and, at last, another sound, sharp, distinct, a discordant note in the natural noises of the wilderness, which were always uniform and harmonious. He heard it a second time, to his right, down the hill, and he was quite sure that it indicated the presence of man, man who in reality was near, but whom the fog took far away. The vapors, however, would lift, then man might come close, and he felt that it was his part to discover who and what he was.

Still wrapped in the buffalo robe, he rose and took a few steps from the fire. Tayoga did not stir, and he was proud that his tread had been without noise. Beyond the rim of firelight, he paused and listening again heard the clank twice, not very loud but coming sharp and definite as before through the vapory air. He parted the bushes very carefully and went down the side of a ravine, the wet boughs and twigs making no noise as they closed up after his passage.

But his progress was very slow, purposely so, as he knew that any mistake or accident might be fatal, and he intended that no fault of his should precipitate such a crisis. Once or twice he thought of going back, deeming his a foolish quest, lost in a wilderness of bushes and blinding fog, but the sharp, clear clank stirred his purpose anew, and he went on down the slope, until he saw a red glow in the heart of the fog. Then he sank down among the bushes and listened with intentness. Presently the faint hum of voices came to his ear, and he was quite sure that many men were not far away.

He resumed his slow advance, but now he was glad the bushes were soaked with water, as they did not crackle or snap with the passage of his body, and the luminous glow in front of him broadened and deepened steadily. Near the bottom of a deep valley he stopped and from his covert saw where great fires had driven the fog away. Around the fires were many warriors, some of them sleeping in their blankets, while others were eating prodigiously, after their manner. Rifles and muskets were stacked in French fashion and the clank, clank that Robert had heard had been made by the warriors as they put up their weapons.

Many were talking freely and seemed to rejoice in the food and fires. It was Robert's surmise that they had arrived but recently and were weary. Their numbers were large, they certainly could not be less than four or five hundred, and his experience was great enough now to tell him that half of them, at least, were Canadian Indians. All were in war paint, and they had an abundance of arms.

Robert's eager eye sought Tandakora, but did not find him. He had no doubt, however, that this great body of warriors was moving against Rogers and his rangers, and that it would soon be joined by the Ojibway chief. Tandakora, anxious for revenge upon the Great Bear and the Mountain Wolf, would be willing to leave Montcalm for a while if he thought that by doing so he could achieve his purpose. His gaze wandered from the warriors to the stacked rifles and muskets, and he saw that many of them were of English or American make, undoubtedly spoil taken at the capture of Oswego. His heart swelled with anger that the border should have its own weapons turned against it by the foe.

It did not take him long to see enough. It was a powerful force, equipped to strike, and now he was more anxious than ever to overtake Willet. The fog was still thick and wet, distilling the fine rain, but he had forgotten discomfort, and, turning back on his path, he sought the dip in which he had left Tayoga sleeping. He felt a certain pride that it had been his fortune to discover the band, and, as he had marked carefully the way by which he had come, it was not a difficult task to retrace his steps.

The Onondaga was still sleeping, his back against the log, but he awoke instantly when Robert touched him gently on the shoulder.

"What is it, Dagaeoga?" he whispered. "You have seen something! Your face tells me so!"