But Tayoga waited a little until the last glow of the sun died in the west, looking intently where the great orb had shone.  Into his religion a reverence for the sun, Giver of Light and Warmth, entered, and not until the last faint radiance from it was gone did he turn away.

Then he took from the canoe and unfolded eyose, his blanket, which was made of fine blue broadcloth, thick and warm but light, six feet long and four feet wide.  It was embroidered around the edges with another cloth in darker blue, and the body of it bore many warlike or hunting designs worked skillfully in thread.  If the weather were cold Tayoga would drape the blanket about his body much like a Roman toga, and if he lay in the forest at night he would sleep in it.  Now he raked dead leaves together, spread the blanket on them, lay on one half of it and used the other half as a cover.

Robert imitated him, but his blanket was not so fine as Tayoga’s, although he found it soft and warm enough.  Willet sat on a log higher up, his rifle across his knees and gazed humorously at them.

“You two lads look pretty snug down there,” he said, “and after all you’re only lads.  Tayoga may have a head plumb full of the wisdom of the wilderness, and Robert may have a head stuffed with different kinds of knowledge, but you’re young, mighty young, anyhow.  An’ now, as I’m watching over you, I’ll give a prize to the one that goes to sleep first.”

In three minutes deep regular breathing showed that both had gone to the land of slumber, and Willet could not decide which had led the way.  The darkness increased so much that their figures looked dim in the hollow, but he glanced at them occasionally.  The big man had many friends, but young Lennox and Tayoga were almost like sons to him, and he was glad to be with them now.  He felt that danger lurked in the northern wilderness, and three were better than two.

CHAPTER III

THE TOMAHAWK

Willet awakened Robert about two o’clock in the morning—­it was characteristic of him to take more than his share of the work—­and the youth stood up, with his rifle in the hollow of his arm, ready at once.

“Tayoga did more yesterday than either of us,” said the hunter, “and so we’ll let him sleep.”

But the Onondago had awakened, though he did not move.  Forest discipline was perfect among them, and, knowing that it was Robert’s time to watch, he wasted no time in vain talk about it.  His eyes closed again and he returned to sleep as the white lad walked up the bank, while the hunter was soon in the dreams that Tarenyawagon, who makes them, sent to him.

Robert on the bank, although he expected no danger, was alert.  He had plenty of wilderness skill and his senses, naturally acute, had been trained so highly that he could discern a hostile approach in the darkness.  The same lore of the forest told him to keep himself concealed, and he sat on a fallen tree trunk between two bushes that hid him completely, although his own good eyes, looking through the leaves, could see a long distance, despite the night.