"I'll guard.

I'm fresh.
But be sure you walk on the stones.

We must leave no trace." They found a fairly comfortable place in the thicket and soon all were asleep except Black Rifle, who sat with his rifle between his knees, and from his covert scanned the forest on all sides.
Black Rifle felt satisfaction.

He was pleased to be with the friends for whom he cared most.

An historical figure, solitary, aloof, he was a vivid personality, yet scarcely anything was known about him.