“But as you are about to become a warrior of the woods, Red Coat,” said the Onondaga gravely, “you must learn to endure.  Among us a warrior will purposely put the fire to his hand or his breast and hold it there until the flesh smokes.  Nor will he utter a groan or even wince.  And all his people will applaud him and call him brave.”

Grosvenor shuddered.  He did not see the lurking gleam of humor in the eye of Tayoga.

“I don’t need to pretend for the sake of practice that I am starving,” he said.  “I’m starving in fact and I do it without the need of applause.”

“But Black Rifle was enjoying himself greatly,” continued the Onondaga, “and we can rejoice in the joys of a friend.  If we have not a thing ourselves it is pleasant to know that somebody else had it.  He used his opportunities to the utmost.  Here are more bones which he threw away, with shreds of flesh yet on them, and which the forest people came to pick clean.  Lo, their tracks are everywhere about Black Rifle’s little camp.  One of them became so persistent and bold—­a wolf it was—­that Black Rifle, not willing to shoot, seized a large stone, and threw it at him with great violence.  There lies the stone at the edge of the wood, and as there is fresh earth on its under surface it was partly imbedded in the ground where Black Rifle snatched it up.  There, just beyond your right foot, Red Coat, is a little depression, the place in the earth, from which he tore it.  Black Rifle’s aim was good too.  He struck the wolf.  At the foot of the bank there are red stains where several drops of blood fell.  The wolf was full of mortification, pain and anger, when he ran away.  He would never have been so bold and venturesome, if his hunger had not made him forget his prudence.  He was as hungry as you are this minute, Red Coat.”

“I suppose you are giving me preliminary practice in torture, Tayoga.  Well, go on with it, old fellow.  I’ll try to stand it.”

“No, that is enough as a beginning.  We will follow the trail of Black Rifle again.  After he had eaten so well he was so much refreshed that he will start again with a vigorous and strong step.  Lo, it is as I said!  He is taking a long stride, but I do not think he is walking fast.  His pace is very slow.  It may be that there is something in what Dagaeoga says.  It is possible that Black Rifle is waiting for those who will not be unwelcome to him.”

Robert was quite able to fathom what was passing in the brain of the Onondaga.  He saw that the trail was growing quite fresh, and his spirits became buoyant.

“And Red Coat is hungry,” said Tayoga, that lurking gleam of humor in his eye growing larger.  “Let him remember that however he may suffer from lack of food he can suffer yet more.  It is wonderful what the body can endure and yet live.  Here Black Rifle stopped and rested on these stones, perhaps an hour.  No, Red Coat, there are no signs to show it, but the trail on the other side is much fresher, which proves it.  It is quite clear now that Black Rifle is waiting.  He is not running away from anybody or anything.  Ah!  Red Coat, if we only had some of his precious bear steaks how welcome to us they would be!”