Wyatt was no coward, and he did not believe in spirits.  They had seen tracks, white tracks, in the snow, and the sight confirmed him in his suspicion that those whom he hated were hiding on the island in the lake.  He burned for revenge upon Henry Ware and his friends, but he had to fight all the influence of Gray Beaver and the power of Indian superstition.  He was about to despair of moving them when they saw the tracks—­tracks that led almost to the edge of the water.  He considered this proof of his theory, and he urged it incessantly.  He called attention to the encounter in the woods near the lake, and the later affair with the belt bearers.  The latter had particular weight, as enough messengers had now passed between the Miamis and Shawnees to show that both had been the victims of a clever and daring trick.  Wyatt, therefore, was reinstated in the good graces of the savages, and his words had meaning to them.  At last, with the aid of Yellow Panther and the more daring spirits among the younger warriors, he prevailed, and the expedition started.

It was a really formidable war party, thirty warriors or more, all well armed with rifles and ammunition bought from the Canadian traders, all hideous with paint, and all skilled in the lore and devices of the wilderness.  Braxton Wyatt had talked to them so much, he had told them so often that their superstitions were mere moonshine, that they began to believe, and they thrilled, moreover, with the hope of securing white scalps.

The cold was intense, and the frozen surface of the snow was very smooth; but the warriors, in thick moccasins of buffalo hide, with the hair underneath, sped with sure step toward the lake.  As Henry and Ross had done, they kept in the thickest of the forest, passing from tree trunk to tree trunk, because the Indian loves a surprise, an easy victory being the greatest of triumphs to him.  It was such that they expected now, and the blood of every one of them was inflamed by the logic and eloquence of Braxton Wyatt and Yellow Panther.

They reached the shores of the lake when the twilight had merged into the night and the darkness was deep.  They had foreseen that it would be such a night, otherwise they would have waited; but all seemed admirably suited now to their purpose.  They paused on the bank, and gathered in a close group.  Across the white gleam of the snow they could barely see the dusky outline of the island, and, despite the courageous frame of mind into which they had lashed themselves, despite the boldness of their leaders, they felt a tremor.  The savage mind is prone to superstitions, and it is not easy to cure it of them.  That dim, dark outline out there in the middle of the lake, now that they beheld it again with their own eyes, still had its unknown and mysterious terrors for them.

But Braxton Wyatt and Yellow Panther knew too well to let them hesitate at the very margin of their great exploit.  They urged them forward, and the two themselves led the way, stepping upon the frozen surface of the lake, and advancing directly toward the island.  Then the warriors came after them in a close cluster, their fur-shod feet making no sound, and their forms invisible thirty yards away.  Before them the black bulk of the island, with its great trees, now loomed more distinctly, and they gathered courage as nothing happened.