he rose, cocking his rifle. In the great wilderness in those surcharged
days a stranger was an enemy until he was proved to be otherwise, and
the lad was alert in every faculty. He saw them presently, three
figures walking in Indian file, and his heart leaped because the leader
was so obviously a Frenchman.

His uniform was of the battalion Royal Roussillon, white faced with
blue, and his hat was black and three-cornered, but face and manner were
so unmistakably French that Robert did not think of his uniform, which
was neat and trim to a degree not to be expected in the forest. He bore
himself in the carelessly defiant manner peculiar to the French cadets
and younger sons of noble families in North America at the time, an
accentuation of the French at home, and to some extent a survival of the
spirit which Richelieu partially checked. Even in the forest he wore a
slender rapier at his belt, and his hand rested now upon its golden
hilt.

He was about thirty years old, tall, slender, and with the light hair
and blue eyes seen so often in Northern France, telling, perhaps, of
Norman blood. His glance was apparently light, but Robert felt when it
rested upon him that it was sharp, penetrating and hard to endure.
Nevertheless he met it without lowering his own gaze. The man behind the
leader was swart, short, heavy and of middle years, a Canadian dressed
in deerskin and armed with rifle, hatchet and knife. The third man was
an Indian, one of the most extraordinary figures that Robert had ever
seen. He was of great stature and heavy build, his shoulders and chest
immense and covered with knotted muscles, disclosed to the eye, as he
was bare to the waist. All the upper part of his body was painted in
strange and hideous designs which Robert did not recognize, although he
knew the fashions of all the tribes in the New York and St. Lawrence