He pointed to a dense clump of scrub cedars growing on hard and rocky ground.

“I see,” said Robert.  “We can approach it without leaving any trail, and in that mass of green no foe will notice us unless his eyes are almost against us.”

“Dagaeoga, at times, shows understanding and wisdom.  The day may come when he will be a great scout and trailer—­if he lives long enough.”

“Go ahead, Tayoga, if it amuses you to make game of me.  If humor can be produced at such a time I’m glad to be the occasion of it.”

“It’s best for us, Dagaeoga, to await all things with a light heart.  Our fates are in the hands of Manitou.”

“That’s good philosophy, Tayoga, though I’m bound to say I can’t look upon my life as a thing mapped out for me in every detail, though I live to be a hundred.  Manitou knows what’s going to happen, but I don’t, and so my heart will jump anyhow when the danger comes.  Now, you’re sure we’ve left no trail among those rocks?”

“Not a trace, Dagaeoga.  If Tododaho himself were to come back to earth he could not find our path.”

“And you’re sure that we’re thoroughly hidden among these little cedars?”

“Quite sure of it.  I doubt whether the bird singing over our heads sees us, and Manitou has given to the bird a very good eye that he may see his food, which is so small.  It may be that the birds and animals which have given us warning of the enemy’s approach before may do it again.”

“At any rate, we can hope so.  Are we as deserving now as we were then?”

“Yes, we can hope, Dagaeoga.  Hope is never forbidden to anybody.”

“I see that you’re a philosopher, Tayoga.”

“I try to be one,” said the Onondaga, his eyes twinkling.

“Do you think that bird singing with so much power and beauty overhead sees us at last?”

“No, because he would certainly have stopped long enough to gratify his curiosity.  Even a bird would want to know why strange creatures come into his thicket.”

“Then as long as he sings I shall know that danger is not near.  We have been watched over by birds before.”

“Again you talk like a little child, Dagaeoga.  I teach you the wisdom of the woods, and you forget.  The bird may see a worm or a moth or something else that is good to eat, and then he will stop singing to dart for his food.  A bird must eat, and his love of music often gives way to his love of food.”

“You speak as if you were talking from a book.”

“I learned your language mostly out of books, and so I speak as they are written.  Ah, the song of the bird has stopped and he has gone away!  But we do not know whether he has been alarmed by the coming of our enemy or has seen food that he pursues.”

“It’s food, Tayoga; I can hear him, faintly, singing in another tree, some distance to our right.  Probably having captured the worm or the moth or whatever it was he was pursuing, and having devoured it, he is now patting his stomach in his pleasure and singing in his joy.”