Tayoga arose, after a while, and taking a stick, scattered the coals of the fire.  But he did it in such a manner that he made no noise, the hunter and young Lennox continuing to sleep soundly.  Then he watched the embers, having lost that union which is strength, die one by one.  The conquered darkness came back, recovering its lost ground, slowly invading the glade, until it was one in the dusk with the rest of the forest.  Then Tayoga felt better satisfied, and he looked at the sleepers, whose faces he could still discern, despite the absence of the fire, a fair moonlight falling.

Robert and the hunter slept peacefully, but their sleep was deep.  The youth was weary from the long march in the woods, but as he slept his strong healthy tissues rapidly regained their vitality.  The Onondaga looked at the two longer than usual.  These comrades of his were knitted to him by innumerable labors and dangers shared.  In him dwelled the soul of a great Indian chief, the spirit that has animated Pontiac, and Little Turtle, and Tecumseh and Red Cloud and other dauntless leaders of his race, but it had been refined though not weakened by his white education.  Gratitude and truth were as frequent Indian traits as the memory of injuries, and while he was surcharged with pride because he was born a warrior of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, he felt as truly as any knight ever felt that he must accept and fulfill all the duties of his place.

Standing in a dusk made luminous by a silvery moonlight he was a fitting son of the forest, one of its finest products.  He belonged to it, and it belonged to him, each being the perfect complement of the other.  His face cut in bronze was lofty, not without a spiritual cast, and his black eyes flamed with his resolve.  He looked up at the heavens, fleecy with white vapors, and shot with a million stars, the same sky that had bent over his race for generations no man could count, and his soul was filled with admiration.  Then he made his voiceless prayer: 

“O, Tododaho, first and greatest sachem of the Onondagas, greatest and noblest sachem of the League, look down from your home on another star, and watch over your people, for whom the storms gather!  Let the serpents in your hair whisper to you of wisdom that you in turn may whisper it to us through the winds!  Direct our footsteps in the great war that is coming between the white nations and save to us our green forests, our blue lakes and our silver rivers!  Remember, O, Tododaho, that although the centuries have passed since Manitou took you from us, your name still stands among us for all that is great, noble and wise!  I beseech you that you give sparks of your own lofty and strong spirit to your children, to the Hodenosaunee in this, their hour of need, and I ask too, that you help one who is scarcely yet a warrior in years, one who invokes thee humbly, even, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of thy own great League of the Hodenosaunee!”