ince you can tell so much through hearing, at such a great distance, perhaps you know what kind of a man the stranger is. A warrior, I suppose?"
"No, he is not of our race. He would not walk so heavily. It is a white man."
"One of Rogers' rangers, then? Or maybe it is Rogers himself, or perhaps Black Rifle."
"It is none of those. They would advance with less noise. It is one not so much used to the forest, but who knows the way, nevertheless, and who doubtless has gone by this trail before."
"Then it must be a Frenchman!"
"I think so too."
"It won't be St. Luc?"
"No, Dagaeoga, though your tone showed that for a moment you hoped it was. Sharp Sword is too skillful in the forest to walk with so heavy a step. Nor can it be either of the leaders, De Courcelles or Jumonville. They also are too much at home in the woods. The right name of the man forms itself on my lips, but I will wait to be sure. In another minute he will enter the bare space almost opposite us and