Who along the whole border had not heard of Captain Jack, known also as the Black Hunter, the Black Rifle and by many other names?
The tale had been told in every cabin in the woods how returning home, he had found his wife and children tomahawked and scalped, and how he had taken a vow of lifelong vengeance upon the Indians, a vow most terribly kept.

In all the villages in the Ohio country and along the Great Lakes, the name of Black Rifle was spoken with awe and terror.

No more singular and ominous figure ever crossed the pages of border story.
He swept the two youths with questing glances, but they met his gaze firmly, and while his eye had clouded at first sight of the Onondaga the threatening look soon passed.
"Friends of yours are friends of mine, Dave Willet," he said.

"I know you to be a good man and true, and once when I was at Albany I heard of Robert Lennox, and of the great young warrior, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee." The young Onondaga's eyes flashed with pleasure, but he was silent.
"How does it happen, Willet ?" asked Black Rifle, "that we meet here in the forest at such a time ?" "We're on our way to the Ohio country to learn something about the gathering of the French and Indian forces.

Just before sundown we saw smoke signals and we think our enemies are planning to cut off a force of ours, somewhere here in the forest." Black Rifle laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh.