His vivid imagination leaped up at once and pictured the difficulties of any one struggling for life, even in that vast white silence.
Willet and Tayoga were up before him, and they were talking of another expedition to see how far the besieging force had gone, but while they were discussing it a figure appeared at the edge of the forest.
"It's a white man," exclaimed Wilton, "and so it must be one of the Frenchmen.

He's a bold fellow walking directly within our range.

What on earth can he want ?" One of the guards on the palisade raised his rifle, but Willet promptly pushed down the muzzle.
"That's no Frenchman," he said.
"Then who is it ?" asked Wilton.
"He's clothed in white, as any one walking in this snow is bound to be, but I could tell at the first glimpse that it was none other than our friend, Black Rifle." "Coming to us for refuge, and so our fort is well named." "Not for refuge.

Black Rifle has taken care of himself too long in the wilderness to be at a loss at any time.

I suspect that he has something of importance to tell us or he would not come at all." At the command of Colden the great gate was thrown open that the strange rover might enter in all honor, and as he came in, apparently oblivious of the storm, his eyes gleamed a little at the sight of Willet, his friend.
"You've come to tell us something," said the hunter.
"So I have," said Black Rifle.
"Brush off the snow, warm yourself by the fire, and then we'll listen." "I can tell it now.