“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?”