So they abode long in the hut on the haunted island, and had food and warmth in plenty.  But in the Indian villages there was the stir of preparation for the great war trail in the spring, and also the sense of mystery and oppression.  Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, both felt in some strange, unaccountable way that they were watched.  Half-lost tracks of unknown feet were seen in the snow; strange trails that ended nowhere were struck; three warriors, every one at a different time, claimed to have seen a gigantic figure speeding in a pale moonlight through the leafless forest; one of the bravest of the Shawnee warriors was found dead, his head cleft so deep that they knew a mighty hand, one of almost marvelous strength, had wielded the tomahawk.  There were signs of a terrible struggle in the snow, but who had attacked and who defended they did not know, and the trail of the survivor was soon lost.  A mysterious dread filled both Shawnees and Miamis.

Braxton Wyatt raged at heart in the Shawnee village, and had theories of his own, but he dared not tell them.  It was known there that it was he who had led the Miamis into the sacrilegious invasion of the haunted island, and it would take his credit some time to recover from such a blow.  To reestablish himself thoroughly he must do valuable work for his red friends on the coming great war trail.  So he remained discreetly silent about the haunted island, and told all he knew of the white settlements, the Wilderness Road, and the way to trap the emigrant train.  Here he could really be of great assistance to the alliance, and he told the chiefs all about the emigrants, how they marched, and how they would be encumbered with women and children.

Meanwhile, the five never ceased their vigilance.  Henry and Ross bought a large quantity of ammunition from a Canadian trader whom they met on a trip far to the north, and however much they used in the winter, they were now assured of an abundance when they started southeast in the spring.

The winter was long and very cold.  One snow fell upon another; one freeze after another thickened the ice upon the lake; and when the wind blew, it had the edge of a knife.  But this could not last forever.  One day the wind shifted around and blew from the south.  Paul, who was outside the hut helping Jim Hart, felt a soft, warm breath on his face.

“Why, Jim!” he said, “the cold seems to be going away.”

“So it is,” said Jim Hart, “or at least it’s gittin’ ready.  Spring ain’t far off, an’ I’m glad, Paul.  I’m tired uv winter, an’ I want to be strikin’ out on the great war trail.”

“So do I,” said Paul.

“Wa’al, fur the matter o’ that,” said Shif’less Sol, “we’ve been on the great war trail fur three or four months now.  There ain’t to be no change except in the shiftin’ o’ the trail.”

The warm wind continued to blow for days, the surface of the ice on the lake softened, and the snow began to melt.  Still it blew, and the melted snow ran in rivers, the ice broke up into great sheets and chunks, and these, too, rapidly dissolved.  Then a warm rain came, pouring for a day and a night, and the ice and snow were swept away entirely.  But the whole earth ran water.  Lakes stood in the forest, and every brook and creek, rushing in torrents, leaped its banks.