“Dave,” he said to the hunter, “have you any plans for us in New York?”

“They’ve not taken very definite shape,” replied Willet, “but you know you want to serve in the war, and so do I. A great expedition is coming out from England, and in conjunction with a Colonial force it will march against Fort Duquesne.  The point to which that force advances is bound to be the chief scene of action.”

“And that, Dave, is where we want to go.”

“With proper commissions in the army.  We must maintain our dignity and station, Robert.”

“Of course, Dave.  And you, Tayoga, are you willing to go with us?”

“It is far from the vale of Onondaga,” replied the young Indian, “but I have already made the great journey to Quebec with my comrades, Dagaeoga and the Great Bear.  I am willing to see more of the world of which I read in the books at Albany.  If the fortunes of Dagaeoga take him on another long circle I am ready to go with him.”

“Spoken like a warrior, Tayoga,” said the hunter.  “I have some influence, and if we join the army that is to march against Fort Duquesne I’ll see that you receive a place befitting your Onondaga rank and your quality as a man.”

“And so that is settled,” said Robert.  “We three stand together no matter what may come.”

“Stand together it is, no matter what may come,” said Willet.

“We are, perhaps, as well in one place as in another,” said Tayoga philosophically, “because wherever we may be Manitou holds us in the hollow of his hand.”

A great gust of wind came with a shriek down one of the gorges, and the snow was whipped into their faces, blinding them for a moment.

“It is good to be aboard a stout sloop in such a storm,” said Robert, as he wiped his eyes clear.  “It would be hard to live up there on those cliffs in all this driving white winter.”

A deep rumbling sound came back from the mountains, and he felt a chill that was not of the cold creep into his bones.

“It is the wind in the deep gorges,” said Tayoga, “but the winds themselves are spirits and the mountains too are spirits.  On such a wild night as this they play together and the rumbling you hear is their voices joined in laughter.”

Robert’s vivid mind as usual responded at once to Tayoga’s imagery, and his fancy went as far as that of the Onondaga, and perhaps farther.  He filled the air with spirits.  They lined the edge of the driving white storm.  They flitted through every cleft and gorge, and above every ridge and peak.  They were on the river, and they rode upon the waves that were pursuing one another over its surface.  Then he laughed a little at himself.

“My fancy is seeing innumerable figures for me,” he said, “where my eyes really see none.  No human being is likely to be abroad on the river on such a night as this.”

“And yet my own eyes tell me that I do see a human being,” said Tayoga, “one that is living and breathing, with warm blood running in his veins.”