"That's no Frenchman," he said.
"Then who is it?" asked Wilton.
"He's clothed in white, as any one walking in this snow is bound to be, but I could tell at the first glimpse that it was none other than our friend, Black Rifle."
"Coming to us for refuge, and so our fort is well named."
"Not for refuge. Black Rifle has taken care of himself too long in the wilderness to be at a loss at any time. I suspect that he has something of importance to tell us or he would not come at all."
At the command of Colden the great gate was thrown open that the strange rover might enter in all honor, and as he came in, apparently oblivious of the storm, his eyes gleamed a little at the sight of Willet, his friend.
"You've come to tell us something," said the hunter.
"So I have," said Black Rifle.
"Brush off the snow, warm yourself by the fire, and then we'll listen."
"I can tell it now. I don't mind the snow. I saw from a distance the great fire last night, when the camp of the French and Indians burned. It was clever to destroy their huts and lodges, and I knew at once who did it. Such a thing as that could not have happened without you having a hand in it, Dave Willet. I watched to see what the French and Indians would do, and I followed them in their hurried retreat into the north. I hid in the snowy bushes, and heard some of their talk, too. They will not stop until they reach a village a full hundred miles from here. The Frenchmen, De Courcelles and Jumonville are mad with anger and disappointment, and so is the Indian chief Tandakora."