His right name even had disappeared, and, to the border, far and near he was just Black Rifle, or Black Jack, a great scout and a terror to the Indians.

In his way, he was fond of Willet, Tayoga and young Lennox, and he felt also that he would like Grosvenor when he knew him better.
So, while they slept, he watched with a vigilance that nobody save Tayoga could surpass.
Black Rifle saw the life of the forest go on undisturbed.

The birds on the boughs went about their business, and the little animals worked or played as usual in the bushes.

Everything said to him that no enemy was near, and his own five senses confirmed it.

The afternoon passed, and, about twilight, Tayoga awoke, but the others slept on.
"Sleep now, Black Rifle," said the Onondaga.