He heard nothing else but his keen eyes noted a bush swaying directly into the teeth of the wind, a movement that could not occur unless something alive in the thicket caused it.  He slid his rifle forward and still watched.  Now the bush shook violently, and an awkward black figure, shooting out, ran across the open.  It was only a bear, and he was about to resume his circling walk, but second thought told him that the bear was running as if he ran away from an object of which he was afraid, and there was nothing in the northern forests except human beings to scare a bear.

He settled back in his shelter and resumed his watch in the thicket, leaving the bear to run where he pleased, which he did, disappearing with a snort in another thicket.  A full ten minutes passed.  Robert had not stirred.  He was crouched behind the tree, blending with the grass, and he held his rifle ready to be fired in an instant, should the need arise.

The bush that had moved against the wind had ceased stirring long since, but now he saw another shaking and it, too, paid no attention to the laws of nature, defying the wind as the first had done.  Robert concentrated his gaze upon it, thankful that he had not made the black bear the original cause of things, and presently he saw the feathered head of an Indian appear among the leaves.  It was only a glimpse, he did not see the body or even the face of the warrior, but it was enough.  Where one warrior was another was likely to be in those northern marches, the most dangerous kind of neutral ground.

He began to slide away, keeping the big tree trunk between him and the thicket, using all the arts of the forest trailer that he had learned by natural aptitude and long practice.  He went back slowly, but the grass stems moved only a little as he went, and he was confident that he not only had not been seen, but would not be seen.  Yet he scarcely dared to breathe—­until he reached the bushes inclosing the opening in which his comrades lay.

He paused a few moments before waking the others and filled his lungs with air.  He was surprised to find that the hands holding his rifle were damp with perspiration, and he realized then how great the brief strain had been.  Suppose he had not seen the Indian in the bush, and had been ambushed while on his scouting round!  Or suppose he had stayed with his comrades and had been ambushed there!  But neither had happened, and, taking Willet by the shoulder, he shook him, at the same time whispering in his ear to make no noise.  The hunter, his trained faculties at once awake and on guard, sat up quietly, and Tayoga, who seemed to awake instinctively at the same time, also, sat up.

“What is it, Robert?” whispered Willet.

“An Indian in the bush about two hundred yards away,” replied the youth.  “I merely saw his hair and the feather in it, but it’s safe to assume that he’s not the only one.”

“That is so,” said Tayoga.  “A warrior does not come here alone.”