“The warriors from the wild tribes in Canada and the west will take a scalp wherever there’s a chance,” said the young Onondaga.

Robert often noticed the manner in which Tayoga spoke of the tribes outside the great League.  To him those that did not belong to the Hodenosaunee, while they might be of the same red race, were nevertheless inferior.  He looked upon them as an ancient Greek looked upon those who were not Greeks.

“The French are a brave people,” said the hunter, “but the most warlike among them if they knew our errand would be willing for some of their painted allies to drop us in the wilderness, and no questions would be asked.  You can do things on the border that you can’t in the towns.  We might be tomahawked in here and nobody would ever know what became of us.”

“I think,” said Tayoga, “that our danger increases.  Tandakora after leaving the son of Onontio, St. Luc, might not go back to him.  He might fear the anger of the Frenchman, and, too, he would still crave a scalp.  A warrior has followed an enemy for weeks to obtain such a trophy.”

“You believe then,” said Robert, “that the Ojibway is still on our trail?”

Tayoga nodded.  After a moment’s silence he added: 

“We come, too, to a region in which the St. Regis, the Caughnawaga, the Ottawa and the Micmac, all allies of Onontio, hunt.  The Ojibway may meet a band and tell the warriors we are in the woods.”

His look was full of significance and Robert understood thoroughly.

“I shall be glad,” he said, “when we reach the St. Lawrence.  We’ll then be in real Canada, and, while the French are undoubtedly our enemies, we’ll not be exposed to treacherous attack.”

They were in the canoe as they talked and Tayoga was paddling, the swiftness of the current now making the efforts of only one man necessary.  A few minutes later he turned the canoe to the shore and the three got out upon the bank.  Robert did not know why, but he was quite sure the reason was good.

“Falls below,” said Tayoga, as they drew the canoe upon the land.  “All the river drops over a cliff.  Much white water.”

They carried the canoe without difficulty through the woods, and when they came to the falls they stopped a little while to look at the descent, and listen to the roar of the tumbling water.

“I was here once before, three years ago,” said Willet.

“Others have been here much later,” said the Onondaga.

“What do you mean, Tayoga?”

“My white brother is not looking.  Let him turn his eyes to the left.  He will see two wild flowers broken off at the stem, a feather which has not fallen from the plumage of a bird, because the quill is painted, and two traces of footsteps in the earth.”

“As surely as the sun shines, you’re right, Tayoga!  Warriors have passed here, though we can’t tell how many!  But the traces are not more’n a half day old.”