St. Luc gave him a sharp, examining look.

“I believe you mean it,” he said.  “It’s possible that you and I are going to see much of each other.  One can never tell what meetings time will bring about.  And now having accepted your hospitality and thanking you for it, we must go.”

He rose.  Dubois, who had not spoken at all, threw over his shoulder the heavy knapsack, and the Ojibway also stood up, gigantic and sinister.

“We go to the Vale of Onondaga,” said St. Luc, turning his attention back to Tayoga, “and as you advised I shall lay the peace belt before the fifty sachems of the Hodenosaunee, assembled in council in the Long House.”

“Go to the southwest,” said Tayoga, “and you will find the great trail that leads from the Hudson to the mighty lakes of the west.  The warriors of the Hodenosaunee have trod it for generations, and it is open to the son of Onontio.”

The young Indian’s face was a mask, but his words and their tone alike were polite and dignified.  St. Luc bowed, and then bowed to the others in turn.

“At Albany some day,” he said to young Lennox, and his smile was very winning.

“At Albany some day,” repeated Robert, and he hoped the prophecy would come true.

Then St. Luc turned away, followed by the Canadian, with the Indian in the rear.  None of the three looked back and the last Robert saw of them was a fugitive gleam of the chevalier’s white uniform through the green leaves of the forest.  Then the mighty wilderness swallowed them up, as a pebble is lost in a lake.  Robert looked awhile in the direction in which they had gone, still seeing them in fancy.

“How much does their presence here signify?” he asked thoughtfully.

“They would have the Hodenosaunee to forget Frontenac,” replied Tayoga.

“And will the Six Nations forget him?”

“The fifty sachems in council alone can tell.”

Robert saw that the young Onondaga would not commit himself, even to him, and he did not ask anything more, but the hunter spoke plainly.

“We must wake up those fat Indian commissioners at Albany,” he said.  “Those Dutchmen think more of cheating the tribes than they do of the good of either white man or red man, but I can tell you, Robert, and you too, Tayoga, that I’m worried about that Frenchman coming down here among the Six Nations.  He’s as sharp as a razor, and as quick as lightning.  I could see that, and there’s mischief brewing.  He’s not going to the Onondaga Valley for nothing.”

“Tandakora, the Ojibway, goes with a heavy foot,” said the Onondaga.

“What do you mean, Tayoga?” asked Willet.

“He comes of a savage tribe, which is hostile to the Hodenosaunee and all white men.  He has seen three scalps which still grow on the heads of their owners.”

“Which means that he might not keep on following St. Luc.  Well, we’ll be on our guard and now I don’t see any reason why we should stay here longer.”