He had
noticed that the man was restless and troubled at Albany. The presence
of so many people and the absence of the wilderness appeared to vex him.
But since they had returned to the forest his annoyance and uneasiness
were gone. He was confident and assured, he seemed to have grown greatly
in size, and he was a formidable and menacing figure.
Black Rifle did not watch with the Mohawk sentinels, but he was
continually making little trips into the forest, absences of ten or
fifteen minutes, and whenever he returned his face bore a slight look of
disappointment. Robert knew it was because he had found no Indian sign,
but to the lad himself the proof that the enemy was not yet near gave
peace. He was eager to go on the great war trail, but he was not fond of
bloodshed, though to him more perhaps than to any other was given the
vision of a vast war, and of mighty changes with results yet more
mighty flowing from those changes. His heart leaped at the belief that
he should have a part in them, no matter how small the part.
He lay on the grass with his blanket beneath him, his head on a pillow
of dead leaves.
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