Robert now saw Waraiyageh at his best.  He soothed the vanity of Governor Shirley.  He endeared himself to the New England officers and their men.  He talked their own languages to the men of German and Dutch blood, and he continued to wield over the Mohawks an influence that no other white man ever had.  The Mohawk lad, Joseph Brant, the great Thayendanegea of the future, was nearly always with him, and Tayoga himself was not more eager for the march.

Now came significant arrivals in the camp, Robert Rogers, the ranger, at the head of his men, and with him Black Rifle, dark, saturnine and silent, although Robert noticed that now and then his black eyes flashed under the thick shade of his long lashes.  They brought reports of the greatest activity among the French and Indians about the northern end of Andiatarocte, and that Dieskau was advancing in absolute confidence that he would equal the achievement of Dumas, St. Luc, Ligneris and the others against Braddock.  All about him were the terrible Indian swarms.  Every settler not slain had fled with his people for their lives.  Only the most daring and skillful of the American forest runners could live in the woods, and the price they paid was perpetual vigilance.  Foremost among the Indian leaders was Tandakora, the huge Ojibway, and he spared none who fell into his hands.  Torture and death were their fate.

The face of Colonel Johnson darkened when Rogers told him the news.  “My poor people!” he groaned.  “Why were we compelled to wait so long?” And by his “people” he meant the Mohawks no less than the whites.  The valiant tribe, and none more valiant ever lived, was threatened with destruction by the victorious and exultant hordes.

Refugees poured into Albany, bringing tales of destruction and terror.  Albany itself would soon be attacked by Dieskau, with his regulars, his cannon, his Canadians and his thousands of Indians, and it could not stand before them.  Robert, Tayoga and Willet were with Colonel Johnson, when Rogers and Black Rifle arrived, and they saw his deep grief and anger.

“The army will march in a few more days, David, old friend,” he said, “but it must move slowly.  One cannot take cannon and wagons through the unbroken forest, and so I am sending forward two thousand men to cut a road.  Then our main force will advance, but we should do something earlier, something that will brush back these murderous swarms.  David, old friend, what are we to do?”

Willet looked around in thought, and he caught the flashing eyes of Rogers.  He glanced at Black Rifle and his dark eyes, too, were sparkling under their dark lashes.  He understood what was in their minds, and it appealed to him.

“Colonel Johnson,” he said, “one must burn the faces of the French and Indians, and show them a victory is not theirs until they’ve won it.  Let Mr. Rogers here take the rangers he has, other picked ones from the camp, Robert, Tayoga and me, perhaps also a chosen band of Mohawks under Daganoweda, and go forward to strike a blow that will delay Dieskau.”