“Where are we, Tayoga?”

Robert stirred from a doze and the words were involuntary.  He looked upon water, covered with mists and vapors, and the driving wind was still behind them.

“I know not, Dagaeoga,” replied the Onondaga in devout tones.  “I too have dozed for a while, and awoke to find nothing changed.  All I know is that we are yet on the bosom of Ganoatohale, and that the west wind has borne us on.  I have always loved the west wind, Dagaeoga.  Its breath is sweet on my face.  It comes from the setting sun, from the greatest of all seas that lies beyond our continent, it blows over the vast unknown plains that are trodden by the buffalo in myriads, it comes across the mighty forests of the great valley, it is loaded with all the odors and perfumes of our immense land, and now it carries us, too, to safety.”

“You talk in hexameters, Tayoga, but I think your rhapsody is justified.  I also have plenty of cause now to love the west wind.  How long do you think it will be until we feel the dawn on our faces?”

“Two hours, perhaps, but we may reach land before then.  While I cannot smell the dawn I seem to perceive the odor of the forest.  Now it grows stronger, and lo, Dagaeoga, there is another sign!  Do you not notice it?”

“No, what is it?”

“The west wind that has served us so well is dying. Gaoh, which in our language of the Hodenosaunee is the spirit of the winds, knows that we need it no more.  Surely the land is near because Gaoh after being a benevolent spirit to us so long would not desert us at the last moment.”

“I think you must be right, Tayoga, because now I also notice the strong, keen perfume of the woods, and our west wind has sunk to almost nothing.”

“Nay, Dagaeoga, it is more than that.  It has died wholly. Gaoh tells us that having brought us so near the land we can now fend for ourselves.”

The air became absolutely still, the swell ceased, the surface of the lake became as smooth as glass, and, as if swept back by a mighty, unseen hand, the mists and vapors suddenly floated away toward the east.  Tayoga and Robert uttered cries of admiration and gratitude, as a high, green shore appeared, veiled but not hidden in the dusk.

“So Tododaho has brought us safely across the waters of Ganoatohale,” said the Onondaga.

“Have you any idea of the point to which we have come?” asked Robert.

“No, but it is sufficient that we have come to the shore anywhere.  And see, Dagaeoga, the mists and vapors still hang heavily over the western half of the lake, forming an impenetrable wall that shuts us off from Tandakora and his warriors.  Truly we are for the time the favorites of the gods.”

“Even so, Tayoga, you see, too, that we have come to land just where a little river empties into the lake, and we can go on up it.”

They paddled with vigorous arms into the mouth of the stream, and did not stop until the day came.  It was a beautiful little river, the massed vegetation growing in walls of green to the very water’s edge, the songs of innumerable birds coming out of the cool gloom on either side.  Robert was enchanted.  His spirits were still at the high key to which they had been raised by the events of the night.  Both he and Tayoga had enjoyed many hours of rest in the canoe, and now they were keen and strong for the day’s work.  So, it was long after dawn when they stopped paddling, and pushed their prow into a little cove.

“And now,” said Robert, “I think we can land, dress, and cook some of this precious deer, which we have brought with us in spite of everything.”

Their clothing had been dried by the sun, and they resumed it.  Then, taking all risks, they lighted a fire, broiled tender steaks and ate like giants who had finished great labors.

“I think,” said Tayoga, “that when we proceed a few miles farther it will be better to leave the canoe.  It is likely that as we advance the river will become narrower, and we would be an easy target for a shot from the bank.”

“I don’t like to abandon a canoe which has brought us safely across the lake.”

“We will put it away where it can await our coming another time.  But I think we can dare the river for some distance yet.”

Robert had spoken for the sake of precaution, and he was easily persuaded to continue in the river some miles, as traveling by canoe was pleasant, and after their miraculous escape or rather rescue, as it seemed to them, their spirits, already high, were steadily rising higher.  The lone little river of the north, on which they were traveling, presented a spectacle of uncommon beauty.  Its waters flowed in a clear, silver stream down to the lake, deeper in tint on the still reaches, and, flashing in the sunlight, where it rushed over the shallows.

All the time they moved between two lofty, green walls, the forest growing so densely on either shore that they could not see back into it more than fifty yards, while the green along its lower edges was dotted with pink and blue and red, where the delicate wild flowers were blooming.  The birds in the odorous depths of the foliage sang incessantly, and Robert had never before heard them sing so sweetly.

“I don’t think any of our foes can be in ambush along the river,” he said.  “It’s too peaceful and the birds sing with too much enthusiasm.  You remember how they warned us of danger once by all going away?”

“True, Dagaeoga, and at any time now they may leave.  But, like you, I am willing to take the risk for several hours more.  Most of the warriors must be far south of us unless the rangers are in this region, and a special force has been sent to meet them.”

They came by and by to a long stretch of rippling shallows, and they were compelled to carry the canoe with its load through the woods and around them, the task, owing to the density of the forest and thicket and the weight of their burden, straining their muscles and drawing perspiration from their faces.  But they took consolation from the fact that game was amazingly plentiful.  Deer sprang up everywhere, and twice they caught glimpses of bears shambling away.  Squirrels chattered over their heads and the little people of the forest rustled all about them.

“It shows that no human being has been through here recently,” said Tayoga, “else the game, big and little, would not have been stirring abroad with so much confidence.”

“Then as soon as we make the portage we can return to the river with the canoe.”

“Dagaeoga grows lazy.  Does he not know that to do the hard thing strengthens both mind and body?  Has he forgotten what Mynheer Jacobus Huysman told us so often in Albany?  Now is a splendid opportunity for Dagaeoga to harden himself a great deal.”

“I realize it, Tayoga, but I don’t want my mind and body to grow too hard.  When one is all steel one ceases to be receptive.  Can you see the river through the trees there?”

“I catch the glitter of sunlight on the water.”

“I hope it looks like deep water.”

“It is sufficient to float the canoe and the lazy Dagaeoga can take to his paddle again.”

They put their boat back into the stream, uttering great sighs of relief, and resumed the far more pleasant travel by water, the day remaining golden as if doing its best to please them.  They had another long stretch of good water, and they did not stop until they were well into the afternoon.  Then Tayoga proposed that they make a fire and cook all of the deer.

“It seems that the risk here is not great,” he said, “and we may not have the chance later on.”

Robert, who still felt that they were protected and that for a day or two no harm could come to them under any circumstances, was more than willing, and they spent the remainder of the day in their culinary task.  After dark he slept three hours, to be followed by Tayoga for the same length of time, and about midnight they started up the stream again, with their food cooked and ready beside them.

Although the Onondaga shared Robert’s feeling that they were protected for the time, both exercised all their usual caution, believing thoroughly in the old saying that heaven helps those who help themselves.  It was this watchfulness, particularly of ear, that caused them to hear the dip of paddles approaching up the stream.  Softly and in silence, they lifted the canoe out of water and hid with it in the greenwood.  Then they saw a fleet of eight large canoes go by, all containing warriors, armed heavily and in full war paint.

“Hurons,” whispered Tayoga.  “They go south for a great taking of scalps, doubtless to join Montcalm, who is surely meditating another sudden and terrible blow.”

“And he will strike at our forts by Andiatarocte,” rejoined Robert.  “I hope we can find Willet and Rogers soon and take the news.  All the woods must be full of warriors going south to Montcalm.”

“They have French guns, and good ones too, and they are wrapped in French blankets.  Onontio does not forget the power of the warriors and draws them to him.”

The silent file of war canoes passed on and out of sight, and, for a space, Robert’s heart was heavy within him.  He felt the call of battle, he ought to be in the south, giving what he could to the defense against the might of Montcalm, but to go now would be merely a dash in the dark.  They must continue to seek Willet and Rogers.

When the last Indian canoe was far beyond hearing they relaunched their own and paddled until nearly daybreak, coming to a place where bushes and tall grass grew thick in the shallow water at the edge of the river.

“Here,” said Tayoga, “we will leave the canoe.  A good hiding place offers itself, and with the dawn it will be time for us to take to the woods.”

They concealed with great art the little boat that had served them so well, sinking it in the heart of the densest growth and then drawing back the bushes and weeds so skillfully that the keenest Indian eye would not have noticed that anyone had ever been there.

“I hope,” said Robert sincerely, “that we’ll have the chance to return here some time or other and use it again.”

“That rests in the keeping of Manitou,” said the Onondaga, “and now we will take up our packs and go eastward toward Oneadatote.”

“But we won’t go fast, because my pack, with all this venison in it, is by no means light.”

“It is no heavier than mine, Dagaeoga, but, as you say, we will not hasten, lest we pass the Great Bear and the Mountain Wolf in the forest and not know it.  But I think we are safe in going toward Oneadatote, as Rogers and his rangers usually operate in the region of George and Champlain.”

They traveled two days and two nights and came once more among the high ridges and peaks.  They saw many Indian trails and always they watched for another.  On the third day Tayoga discovered traces in moss and he said with great satisfaction to his comrade: 

“Lo, Dagaeoga, we, too, be wise in our time.  The print here speaks to me like the print on the page of a book.  It says that the Great Bear has passed this way.”

“I can tell that the traces were made by the feet of a white man,” said Robert, “but how do you know they are Dave’s?”

“I have noticed that the Great Bear’s feet are more slender than the average.  Also he bears less upon the heel.  He poises himself more upon the toe, like the great swordsman we saw him to be that time in Quebec.”

“The distinctions are too fine for me, Tayoga, but I don’t question your own powers of observation.  I accept your statement with gratitude and joy, too, because now we know that Dave is alive, and somewhere in the great northern forest of the Province of New York.  I knew he could not be dead, but it’s a relief anyhow to have the proof.  But as I see no other traces, how is it, do you think, that he happens to be alone?”

“The Great Bear may have been making a little scout by himself.  I still think that he is with Rogers and the rangers, and when we follow his trail we are likely to find soon that he has rejoined them.”

The traces led north and east until they came to rocky ground, where they were lost, and Tayoga assumed from the fact that they were several days old, otherwise he could have made them out even in the more difficult region.  But when the path, despite all his searching, vanished in the air, he began to look higher than the earth.  Soon he smiled and said: 

“Ah, the Great Bear is as wise as the fox and the serpent combined.  He knows that a little chance may lead to great results, and so he neglects none of the little chances.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Robert, puzzled.

The Onondaga bent over a bush and showed where a twig had been cut off.

“See the wound made by his knife,” he said, “and look! here is another on a bush farther on.  Both wounds are partly healed, showing that the cut of the knife was made several days ago.  It occurred to the Great Bear that we might strike his trail some time or other, and when he came to the stony uplift upon which his moccasins would leave no sign, he made traces elsewhere.  He knew the chance of our ever seeing them was slight, and he may have made thousands of other traces that we never will see, but the possibility that we would see some one of the many became a probability.”

“As you present it, it seems simple, Tayoga, but what an infinity of pains he must have taken!”

“The Great Bear is that kind of a man.”

The hard, rocky ground extended several miles and their progress over it was, of necessity, very slow, as Tayoga was compelled to look with extreme care for the signs the hunter might have left.  He found the cut twigs five times and twice footprints where softer soil existed between the rocks, making the proofs conclusive to both, and when they emerged into a normal region beyond they picked up his defined and clear trail once more.

“I shall be glad to see the Great Bear,” said the Onondaga, “and I think he will be as pleased to know certainly that we are alive as we are to be assured that he is.”

“He’d never desert us, and if you hadn’t come to the Indian village I think he’d have done so later on.”

“The Great Bear is a man such as few men are.  Now, his trail leads on, straight and bold.  He took no trouble to hide it, which proves that he had friends in this region, and was not afraid to be followed.  Here he sat on a fallen log and rested a while.”

“How do you know that, Tayoga?”

“See the prints in front of the log.  They were made by the heels of his moccasins only.  He tilted his feet up until they rested merely on the heels.  The Great Bear could not have been in that attitude while standing.  Nay, there is more.  The Great Bear sat down here not to rest but to think.”

“It’s just supposition with you, Tayoga.”

“It is not supposition at all, Dagaeoga, it is certainty.  Look, several little pieces of the bark on the dead log where the Great Bear sat, are picked off.  Here are the places from which they were taken, and here are the fragments themselves lying on the ground.  The Great Bear must have been thinking very hard and he must have been in great doubt to have had uneasy hands, because, as you and I know, Dagaeoga, his mind and nerves are of the calmest.”

“What, then, do you think was on his mind?”

“He was undecided whether to go on towards Oneadatote or to turn back and seek us anew.  Here are three or four traces, a short and detached trail leading in the direction from which we have come.  Then the traces suddenly turn.  He sat down again and thought it over a second time.”

“You can’t possibly know that he resumed his seat on the log!”

“Oh, yes, I can, Dagaeoga.  I wish all that we had to see was as easy, because here is the second place on the log where he picked at the bark.  Mighty as the Great Bear is he cannot sit in two places at once.  Not Tododaho himself could do that.”

“It’s conclusive, and I find here at the end of the log his trail, leading on toward the east.”

“And he went fast, because the distance between his footprints lengthens.  But he did not do so long.  He became very slow suddenly.  The space between the footprints shortens all at once.  He turned aside, too, from his course, and crept through the bushes toward the south.”

“How do you know that he crept?”

“Because for many steps he rested his weight wholly on his toes.  The traces show it very clearly.  The Great Bear was stalking something, and it was not a foe.”

“That, at least, is supposition, Tayoga.”

“Not supposition, Dagaeoga, and while not absolute certainty it is a great probability.  The toeprints lead straight toward the tiny little lake that you see shining through the foliage.  It was game and not a foe that the Great Bear was seeking.  He wished to shoot a wild fowl.  Look, the edge of the lake here is low, and the tender water grasses grow to a distance of several yards from the shore.  It is just the place where wild ducks or wild geese would be found, and the Great Bear secured the one he wanted.  If you will look closely, Dagaeoga, you will see the faint trace of blood on the grass.  Blood lasts a long time.  Manitou has willed that it should be so, because it is the life fluid of his creatures.  It was a wild goose that the Great Bear shot.”

“And why not a wild duck?”

“Because here are two of the feathers, and even Dagaeoga knows they are the feathers of a goose and not of a duck.  It was, too, the fattest goose in the flock.”

“Which you have no possible way of knowing, Tayoga.”

“But I do, Dagaeoga.  It was the fattest goose of the flock, because the fattest goose of the flock was the one that so wise and skillful a hunter as the Great Bear would, as a matter of course, select and kill.  Learn, O, Dagaeoga, to trail with your mind as well as with your eye, and ear.  The day may come when the white man will equal the red man in intellect, but it is yet far off.  The Great Bear was very, very hungry, and we shall soon reach the place where he cleaned and cooked his goose.”

“Come, come, Tayoga!  You may draw good conclusions from what you see, but there are no prophets nowadays.  You don’t know anything about the state of Dave’s appetite, when he shot that goose, and you can’t predict with certainty that we’ll soon come to the place where he made it ready for the eating.”

“I cannot, Dagaeoga!  Why, I am doing it this very instant.  Mind!  Mind!  Did I not tell you to use your mind?  O, Dagaeoga, when will you learn the simpler things of life?  The Great Bear would not have risked a shot at a wild goose in enemy country, if he had not been very hungry.  Otherwise he would have waited until he rejoined the rangers to obtain food.  And, having risked his shot, and having obtained his goose, which was the fattest in the flock, he became hungrier than ever.  And having risked so much he was willing to risk more in order to complete the task he had undertaken, without which the other risks that he had run would have been all in vain.”

“Tayoga, I can almost believe that you have your dictionary with you in your knapsack.”

“Not in my knapsack, Dagaeoga, but in my head, where yours also ought to be.  Ah, here is where the Great Bear began to make preparations to cook his goose!  His trail wanders back and forth.  He was looking for fallen wood to build the fire.  And there, in the little sink between the hills, was where he built it.  Even you, Dagaeoga, can see the ashes and burnt ends of sticks.  The Great Bear must have been as hungry as a wolf to have eaten a whole goose, and the fattest goose of the flock, too.  How do I know he ate it all?  Look in the grass and leaves and you will find enough bones to make the complete frame of a goose, and every bone is picked clean.  Wild animals might have gleaned on them, you say?  No.  Here is the trail of a wolf that came to the dip after the Great Bear had gone, drawn by the savory odors, but he turned back.  He never really entered the dip.  Why?  When he stood at the edge his acute and delicate senses told him no meat was left on the bones, and a wolf neither makes idle exertion, nor takes foolish risk.  He went back at once.  And if the wolf had not come, there is another reason why I knew the Great Bear ate all the goose.  He would not have thrown away any of the bones with flesh still on them.  He is too wise a man to waste.  He would have taken with him what was left of the goose.  Having finished his most excellent dinner, the Great Bear looked for a brook.”

“Why a brook?”

“Because he was thirsty.  Everyone is thirsty after a heavy meal.  He turned to the right, as the ground slopes down in that direction.  Even you, Dagaeoga, know that one is more likely to find a brook in a valley than on a hilltop.  Here is the brook, a fine, clear little stream with a sandy bottom, and here is where the Great Bear knelt and drank of the cool water.  The prints of his strong knees show like carving on a wall.  Finding that he was still thirsty he came back for another drink, because the second prints are a little distance from the first.

“Then, after rejoicing over the tender goose and his renewed strength, he suddenly became very cautious.  The danger from the warriors, which he had forgotten or overlooked in his hunger, returned in acute form to his mind.  He came to the brook a third time, but not to drink.  He intended to wade in the stream that he might hide his trail, which, as you well know, Dagaeoga, is the oldest and best of all forest devices for such purposes.  How many millions of times must the people of the wilderness have used it!

“Now the Great Bear had two ways to go in the water, up the stream or down the stream, and you and I, Dagaeoga, think he went down the stream, because the current leads on the whole eastward, which was the way in which he wished to go.  At least, we will choose that direction and I will take one side of the bank and you the other.”

They followed the brook more than a mile with questing eyes, and Tayoga detected the point at which Willet had emerged, plunging anew into the forest.

“Warriors, if they had picked up his trail, could have followed the brook as we did,” said Robert.

“Of course,” said Tayoga, “but the object of the Great Bear was not so much to hide his flight as to gain time.  While we went slowly, looking for the emergence of his trail, he went fast.  Now I think he meant to spend the night in the woods alone.  The rangers must still have been far away.  If they had been near he would not have felt the need of throwing off possible pursuit.”

They followed the dim traces several hours, and then Tayoga announced with certainty that the hunter had slept alone in the forest, wrapped in his blanket.

“He crept into this dense clump of bushes,” he said, “and lay within their heart, sheltered and hidden by them.  You, Dagaeoga, can see where his weight has pressed them down.  Why, here is the outline of a human body almost as clear and distinct as if it were drawn with black ink upon white paper!  And the Great Bear slept well, too.  The bushes are not broken or shoved aside except in the space merely wide enough to contain his frame.  Perhaps the goose was so very tender and his nerves and tissues had craved it so much that they were supremely happy when he gave it to them.  That is why they rested so well.

“In the morning the Great Bear resumed his journey toward the east.  He had no breakfast and doubtless he wished for another goose, but he was refreshed and he was very strong.  The traces are fainter than they were, because the Great Bear was so vigorous that his feet almost spurned the earth.”

“Don’t you think, Tayoga, that he’ll soon turn aside again to hunt?  So strong a man as Dave won’t go long without food, especially when the forest is full of it.  We’ve noticed everywhere that the war has caused the game to increase greatly in numbers.”

“It will depend upon the position of the force to which the Great Bear belongs.  If it is near he will not seek game, waiting for food until he rejoins the rangers, but if they are distant he will look for a deer or another goose, or maybe a duck.  But by following we will see what he did.  It cannot be hidden from us.  The forest has few secrets from those who are born in it.  Ah, what is this?  The Great Bear hid in a bush, and he leaped suddenly!  Behold the distance between the footprints!  He saw something that alarmed him.  It may have been a war party passing, and of which he suddenly caught sight.  If so we can soon tell.”

A hundred yards beyond the clump of bushes they found a broad trail, indicating that at least twenty warriors had gone by, their line of march leading toward the southeast.

“They were in no hurry,” said the Onondaga, “as they had no fear of enemies.  Their steps are irregular, showing that sometimes they stopped and talked.  Doubtless they meant to join Montcalm, but as they can travel much faster than an army they were taking their time about it.  We will now return to the bushes in which the Great Bear lay hidden while he watched.  The traces of his footsteps in the heart of the clump are much deeper than usual, which proves that he stood there quite a while.  It is also another proof that the warriors stopped and talked when they were near him, else he would not have remained in the clump so long.  It is likely, too, that the Great Bear followed them when they resumed their journey.  Yes, here is his trail leading from the bushes.  But it is faint, the Great Bear was stepping lightly and here is where it merges with the trail of the warriors.  He could not have been more than three or four hundred yards behind them.  The Great Bear was very bold, or else they were very careless.  He will not follow them long, as he merely wishes to get a general idea of their course, it being his main object to rejoin the rangers.”

“And at this point he turned away from their trail,” said Robert, after they had followed it about a mile.  “He is now going due east, and his traces lead on so straight that he must have known exactly where he intended to go.”

“Stated with much correctness,” said Tayoga in his precise school English.  “Dagaeoga is taking to heart my assertion that the mind is intended for human use, and he is beginning to think a little.  But we shall have to stop soon for a while, because the night comes.  We, too, will sleep in the heart of the bushes as the Great Bear did.”

“And glad am I to stop,” said Robert.  “My burden of buffalo robe and deer and arms and ammunition is beginning to weigh on me.  A buffalo robe doesn’t seem of much use on a warm, summer day, but it is such a fine one and you took so much trouble to get it for me, Tayoga, that I haven’t had the heart to abandon it.”

“It is well that you have brought it, in spite of its weight,” said the Onondaga, “as the night, at this height, is sure to be cold, and the robe will envelop you in its warmth.  See, the dark comes fast.”

The sun sank behind the forest, and the twilight advanced, the deeper dusk following in its trail, a cold wind began to blow out of the north, and Robert, as Tayoga had predicted, was thankful now that he had retained the buffalo robe, despite its weight.  He wrapped it around his body and sat on a blanket in a thicket.  Tayoga, by his side, used his two blankets in a similar manner, and they ate of the deer which they had had the forethought to cook, and make ready for all times.

The dusk deepened into the thick dark, and the night grew colder, but they were warm and at ease.  Robert was full of courage and hope.  The elements and all things had served them so much that he was quite sure they would succeed in everything they undertook.  By and by, he stretched himself on the blanket, and clothed from head to foot in the great robe he slept the deep sleep of one who had toiled hard and well.  An hour later Tayoga also slept, but in another hour he awoke and sat up, listening with all the marvelous powers of hearing that nature and cultivation had given him.

Something was stirring in the thicket, not any of the wild animals, big or little, but a human being, and Tayoga knew the chances were a hundred to one that it was a hostile human being.  He put his ear to the earth and the sound came more clearly.  Now his wonderful gifts of intuition and forest reasoning told him what it was.  Slowly he rose again, cleared himself of the blankets, and put his rifle upon them.  Then, loosening the pistol in his belt, but drawing his long hunting knife, he crept from the thicket.

Tayoga, despite his thorough white education and his constant association with white comrades, was always an Indian first.  Now, as he stole from the thicket in the dark, knife in hand, he was the very quintessence of a great warrior of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee.  He was what his ancestors had been for unnumbered generations, a primeval son of the wilderness, seeking the life of the enemy who came seeking his.

He kept to his hands and knees, and made no sound as he advanced, but at intervals he dropped his ear to the ground, and heard the faint rustling that was drawing nearer.  He decided that it was a single warrior who by some chance had struck their trail in the dusk, and who, with minute pains and with slowness but certainty, was following it.

His course took him about thirty yards among the bushes and then through high grass growing luxuriantly in the open.  In the grass his eye also helped him, because at a point straight ahead the tall stems were moving slightly in a direction opposed to the wind.  He took the knife in his teeth and went on, sure that bold means would be best.

The stalking warrior who in his turn was stalked did not hear him until he was near, and then, startled, he sprang to his feet, knife in hand.  Tayoga snatched his own from his teeth and stood erect facing him.  The warrior, a Huron, was the heavier though not the taller of the two, and recognizing an enemy, a hated Iroquois, he stared fiercely into the eyes that were so close to his.  Then he struck, but, agile as a panther, Tayoga leaped aside, and the next instant his own blade went home.  The Huron sank down without a sound, and the Onondaga stood over him, the spirit of his ancestors swelling in fierce triumph.

But the feeling soon died in the heart of Tayoga.  His second nature, which was that of his white training and association, prevailed.  He was sorry that he had been compelled to take life, and, dragging the heavy body much farther away, he hid it in the bushes.  Then, making a circle through the forest to assure himself that no other enemies were near, he went swiftly back to the thicket and lay down again between his blankets.  He had a curious feeling that he did not want Robert to know what had happened.

Tayoga remained awake the remainder of the night, and, although he did not stir again from the thicket, he kept a vigilant watch.  He would hear any sound within a hundred yards and he would know what it was, but there was none save the rustlings of the little animals, and dawn came, peaceful and clear.  Robert moved, threw off the buffalo robe and stood up among the bushes.

“A big sleep and a fine sleep, Tayoga,” he said.

“It was a good time for Dagaeoga to sleep,” said the Onondaga.

“I was warm, and your Tododaho watched over me.”

“Aye, Dagaeoga, Tododaho was watching well last night.”

“And you slept well, too, Tayoga?”

“I slept as I should, Dagaeoga.  No man can ask more.”

“Philosophical and true.  It’s breakfast now, slices of deer, and water of a brook.  Deer is good, Tayoga, but I’m beginning to find I could do without it for quite a long time.  I envy Dave the fat goose he had, and I don’t wonder that he ate it all at one time.  Maybe we could find a juicy goose or duck this morning.”

“But we have the deer and the Great Bear had nothing when he sought the goose.  We will even make the best of what we have, and take no risk.”

“It was merely a happy thought of mine, and I didn’t expect it to be accepted.  My happiest thoughts are approved by myself alone, and so I’ll keep ’em to myself.  My second-rate thoughts are for others, over the heads of whom they will not pass.”

“Dagaeoga is in a good humor this morning.”

“It is because I slept so well last night.  Now, having had a sufficiency of the deer I shall seek a brook.  I’m pretty sure to find one in the low ground over there.”

He started to the right, but Tayoga immediately suggested that he go to the left ­the hidden body of the warrior lay in the bushes on the right ­and Robert, never dreaming of the reason, tried the left where he found plenty of good water.  Tayoga also drank, and with some regret they left the lair in the bushes.

“It was a good house,” said Robert.  “It lacked only walls, a roof and a floor, and it had an abundance of fresh air.  I’ve known worse homes for the night.”

“Take up your buffalo robe again,” said the Onondaga, “because when another night comes you will need it as before.”

They shouldered their heavy burdens and resumed the trail of the hunter, expecting that it would soon show a divergence from its straight course.

“The rangers seem to be farther away than we thought,” said Tayoga, “and the Great Bear must eat.  One goose, however pleasant the memory, will not last forever.  It is likely that he will turn aside again to one of the little lakes or ponds that are so numerous in this region.”

In two hours they found that he had done so, and this time his victim was a duck, as the feathers showed.  They saw the ashes where he had cooked it, and as before only the bones were left.  Evidently he had lingered there some time, as Tayoga announced a distinctly fresher trail, indicating that they were gaining upon him fast, and they increased their own speed, hoping that they would soon overtake him.

But the traces led on all day, and the next morning, after another night spent in the thickets, Tayoga said that the Great Bear was still far ahead, and it was possible they might not overtake him until they approached the shores of Champlain.

“But if necessary we’ll follow him there, won’t we, Tayoga?” said Robert.

“To Oneadatote and beyond, if need be,” said the Onondaga with confidence.