Robert and Tayoga slept on. The morning was far gone, but they still
rambled happily in the land of dreams, and showed no signs of a wish
to return to earth. Willet thought it better that they should sleep
on, because youthful bodies demanded it, and because the delay which
would be hard for Robert especially would thus pass more easily. He
was willing for them to stay longer in the far, happy land that they
were visiting.

The sun slowly climbed the eastern arch of the heavens. The day lost
none of its intense, vivid quality. The waters of the lake glowed in
wonderful changing colors, now gold, now silver, and then purple or
blue. Willet even in those hours of anxiety did not forget to steep
his soul in the beauty of Lake George. His life was cast amid great
and continuous dangers, and he had no family that he could call his
own. Yet he had those whom he loved, and if he were to choose over
again the land in which to live he would choose this very majestic
land in which he now sat. As human life went, the great hunter was
happy.

The sound of a shot, and then of a second, came from the cliff
above. He heard no cry following them, no note of the war whoop, and,
thinking it over, he concluded that the shots were fired by Indians
hunting. Since the war, game about the lake had increased greatly, and
the warriors, whether attached to the French army or roving at their
own will, relied chiefly upon the forest for food. But the reports
were significant. The Indian ring about them was not broken, and he
measured their own supplies of venison and hominy.

A little after noon Tayoga awoke, and he awoke in the Indian fashion,