Robert's gaze followed that of the young Onondaga and was intercepted
by the huge figure of Tandakora, the Ojibway, who stood erect by one
of the fires, bare save for a breech cloth and moccasins, his body
painted in the most hideous designs, of which war paint was possible,
his brow lowering.

"Tandakora is not happy," said Tayoga.

"No," said Robert. "He is thinking of the battle at Lake George that
he did not win, and of all the scalps he did not take. He is thinking
of his lost warriors, and the rout of his people and the French."

"Even so, Dagaeoga. Now Tandakora and De Courcelles talk with the spy,
Garay. They want his news. They rejoice when he tells them Waraiyageh
and his soldiers still make no preparations to advance after their
victory by the lake. The long delay, the postponement of a big
campaign until next spring will give the French and Indians time to
breathe anew and renew their strength. Tandakora and De Courcelles
consider themselves fortunate, and they are pleased with the spy,
Garay. But look, Dagaeoga! Behold who comes now!"

Robert's heart began to throb as the handsomest and most gallant
figure of them all walked into the red glow of the firelight, a tall
man, young, lithe, athletic, fair of hair and countenance, his manner
at once graceful and proud, a man to whom the others turned with
deference, and perhaps in the case of De Courcelles and Jumonville
with a little fear. He wore a white uniform with gold facings, and
a small gold hilted sword swung upon his thigh. Even in the forest,
dress impresses, and Robert was quite sure that St. Luc was in his