They let the flames die, but a comfortable little bed of coals
remained, glowing within the shelter of the rocks. Young Lennox heaped
up the leaves until they formed a pillow under his head, and then
half dreaming, gazed into the heart of the fire, while his comrades
reclined near him, each silent but with his mind turned to that which
concerned him most.

Robert's thoughts were of St. Luc, of the romantic figure he had
seen in the wilderness after the battle of Lake George, the knightly
chevalier, singing his gay little song of mingled sentiment and
defiance. An unconscious smile passed over his face. He and St. Luc
could never be enemies. In very truth, the French leader, though an
official enemy, had proved more than once the best of friends, ready
even to risk his life in the service of the American lad. What was
the reason? What could be the tie between them? There must be some
connection. What was the mystery of his origin? The events of the last
year indicated to him very clearly that there was such a mystery.
Adrian Van Zoon and Master Benjamin Hardy surely knew something about
it, and Willet too. Was it possible that a thread lay in the hand of
St. Luc also?

He turned his eyes from the coals and gazed at the impassive face of
the hunter. Once the question trembled on his lips, but he was sure
the Great Bear would evade the answer, and the lad thought too much of
the man who had long stood to him in the place of father to cause him
annoyance. Beyond a doubt Willet had his interests at heart, and, when
the time came for him to speak, speak he would, but not before.

His mind passed from the subject to dwell upon the task they had set
for themselves, a thought which did not exclude St. Luc, though the