“I was telling you, Robert, a while ago,” he said, “that Indians mostly have a lot of time, but I’m afraid the band that’s cornered us here has got too much.  They may send out a warrior or two to hunt, and the others may sit at a distance and wait a week for us to come out.  At least it looks that way to a ’possum up a tree.  What do you think of it, Tayoga?”

“The Great Bear is right,” replied the Onondaga.  “He is always right when he is not wrong.”

“Come now, Tayoga, are you making game of me?”

“Not so, my brother, because the Great Bear is nearly always right and very seldom wrong.  It is given only to Manitou never to be wrong.”

“That’s better, Tayoga.  If I can keep up a high average of accuracy I’m satisfied.”

Tayoga’s English was always precise and a trifle bookish, like that of a man speaking a language he has learned in a school, which in truth was the case with the Onondaga.  Like the celebrated Thayendanegea, the Mohawk, otherwise known as Joseph Brant, he had been sent to a white school and he had learned the English of the grammarian.  Willet too spoke in a manner much superior to that of the usual scout and hunter.

“If the Indians post lines out of range and merely maintain a watch what will we do?” asked Robert.  “I, for one, don’t want to stay here indefinitely.”

“Nor do any of us,” replied Willet.  “We ought to be moving.  A long delay here won’t help us.  We’ve got to think of something.”

The two, actuated by the same impulse, looked at Tayoga.  He was very thoughtful and presently glanced up at the heavens.

“What does the Great Bear think of the sky?” he asked.

“I think it’s a fine sky, Tayoga,” Willet replied with a humorous inflection.  “But I’ve always admired it, whether it’s blue or gray or just black, spangled with stars.”

Tayoga smiled.

“What does the Great Bear think of the sky?” he repeated.  “Do the signs say to him that the coming night will be dark like the one that has just gone before?”

“They say it will be dark, Tayoga, but I don’t believe we’ll have the rain again.”

“We do not want the rain, but we do want the dark.  Tonight when the moon and stars fail to come we must leave the hollow.”

“By what way, Tayoga?”

The Onondaga pointed to the river.

“We have the canoe,” he said.

“But if they should hear or see us we’d make a fine target in it,” said Robert.

“We won’t be in it,” said the Onondaga, “although our weapons and clothes will.”

“Ah, I understand!  We’re to launch the canoe, put in it everything including our clothes, except ourselves, and swim by the side of it.  Three good swimmers are we, Tayoga, and I believe we can do it.”

The Onondaga looked at Willet, who nodded his approval.

“The chances will favor us, and we’d better try it,” he said, “that is, if the night is dark, as I think it will be.”