“An Ojibway has no business here in the province of New York, anyway,” he murmured.  “His place is out by the Great Lakes.”

The canoes passed on, and, after a while, nothing was to be seen on the waves of Lake George.  Even the drifting trees, including the one that had served them so well, had gone out of sight.  The lake only expressed peace.  It was as it might have been in the dawn of time with the passings of no human beings to vex its surface.

Something stirred in the bushes near the hunter.  An eagle, with great spread of wing, rose from a nest and sailed far out over the silvery waters.  Willet surmised that the nearness of the three had disturbed it, and he was sorry.  He had a kindly feeling toward birds and beasts just then, and he did not wish to drive even an eagle from his home.  He hoped that it would come back, and, after a while, it did so, settling upon its nest, which could not have been more than fifty yards away, where its mate had remained unmoving while the other went abroad to hunt.

There was no further sign of life from the people of the wilderness, and Willet sat silent a long time.  Dawn came, intense and brilliant.  He had hoped the day would be cloudy, and he would have welcomed rain, despite its discomfort, but the sun was in its greatest splendor, and the air was absolutely translucent.  The lake and the mountains sprang out, sharp and clear.  Far to the south the hunter saw a smudge upon the water which he knew to be Indian canoes.  They were miles away, but it was evident that the French and Indians still held the lake, and there was no escape for the three by water.  There had been some idea in Willet’s mind of returning along the foot of the cliffs to their own little boat, but the brilliant day and the Indian presence compelled him to put it away.

The sun, huge, red and scintillating, swung clear of the mighty mountains, and the waters that had been silver in the first morning light turned to burning gold.  In the shining day far came near and objects close by grew to twice their size.  To attempt to pass the warriors in such a light would be like walking on an open plain, thought the hunter, and, always quick to decide, he took his resolution.

It was characteristic of David Willet that no matter what the situation he always made the best of it.  His mind was a remarkable mingling of vigor, penetration and adaptability.  If one had to wait, well, one had to wait and there was nothing else in it.  He sank down in the little cove in the cliff and rested his back against the stony wall.  He, Robert and Tayoga filled it, and his moccasined feet touched the dwarfed shrubs which made the thin green curtain before the opening.  He realized more fully now in the intense light of a brilliant day what a slender shelf it was.  Any one of them might have pitched from it to a sure death below.  He was glad that the white lad and the red lad had been so tired that they lay like the dead.  Their positions were exactly the same as when they sank to sleep.  They had not stirred an inch in the night, and there was no sign now that they intended to awake any time soon.  If they had gone to the land of dreams, they were finding it a pleasant country and they were in no hurry to return from it.