Robert looked at the cheerful bed of coals and sighed.  They were seeking the French and Indians, and Garay was almost sure to lead straight to them.  It was their duty to stalk him.

“I wish he had passed in the daytime,” he said ruefully.

Tayoga laughed softly.

“You have lived long enough in the wilderness, O Dagaeoga,” he said, “to know that you cannot choose when and where you will do your work.”

“That’s true, Tayoga, but while my feet are unwilling to go my will moves me on.  So I’m entitled to more credit than you who take an actual physical de light in trailing anybody at any time.”

The Onondaga smiled, but did not reply.  Then the three took up their arms, returned their packs to their backs and without noise left the alcove.  Robert cast one more reluctant glance at the bed of coals, but it was a farewell, not any weakening of the will to go.

Garay, after his brief rest on the summit, had passed the open space and was out of sight in the bushes, but Robert knew that both Tayoga and Willet could easily pick up his trail, and now he was all eagerness to pursue him and see what the chase might disclose.  A little farther down, the cliff sloped back to such an extent that they could climb it without trouble, and, when they surmounted the crest, they entered the bushes at the point where Garay had disappeared.

“Can you hear him now, Tayoga?” asked Robert.

“My ears are as good as they were when I was in the ravine,” replied the Onondaga, “but they do not catch any sounds from the Frenchman.  It is, as we wish, because we do not care to come so near him that he will hear.”

“Give him a half mile start,” said Willet.  “The ground is soft here, and it won’t be any sort of work to follow him.  See, here are the traces of his footsteps now, and there is where he has pushed his way among the little boughs.  Notice the two broken twigs, Robert.”

They followed at ease, the trail being a clear one, and the light of moon and stars now ample.  Robert began to feel the ardor of the chase.  He did not see Garay, but he believed that Tayoga at times heard him with those wonderful ears of his.  He rejoiced too that chance had caused them to find the French spy in the wilderness.  He remembered that foul attempt upon his life in Albany, and, burning with resentment, he was eager to thwart Garay in whatever he was now attempting to do.  Tayoga saw his face and said softly: 

“You hate this man Garay?”

“I don’t like him.”

“Do you wish me to go forward and kill him?”

“No!  No, Tayoga!  Why do you ask me such a cold-blooded question?”

The Onondaga laughed gently.

“I was merely testing you, Dagaeoga,” he said.  “We of the Hodenosaunee perhaps do not regard the taking of life as you do, but I would not shoot Garay from ambush, although I might slay him in open battle.  Ah, there he is again on the crest of the ridge ahead!”