“And as a sentinel he is no longer of any use to us.  Then we will watch for the little animals that run on the ground.  They cannot fly over the heads of Ojibway and Caughnawaga warriors, and so, if our enemies come, they, too, are likely to come our way.”

“Then I’ll rest awhile, Tayoga, and it may be that I’ll doze.  If a rabbit runs in our direction wake me up.”

“You may pretend to sleep, Dagaeoga, but you will not.  You may close your eyes, but you cannot close your ears, nor can you still your nerves.  One waits not with eyes and ears alone, but with all the fiber of the body.”

“True, Tayoga.  I was but jesting.  I couldn’t sleep if I tried.  But I can rest.”

He stretched himself in an easy position, a position, also, that allowed him to go into instant action if hostile warriors came, and he awaited the event with a calmness that surprised himself.  Tayoga was crouched by his side, intent and also waiting.

A full half hour passed, and Robert heard nothing stirring in the undergrowth, save the wandering but gentle winds that rustled the leaves and whispered in the grass.  Had he been left to himself he would have grown impatient, and he would have continued the scouting curve on which he had been sent.  But he had supreme confidence in Tayoga.  If the Onondaga said it was best for them to stay there in the bush, then it was best, and he would remain until his comrade gave the word to move on.

So sure was he of Tayoga that he did close his eyes for a while, although his ears and all the nerves of his body watched.  But it was very peaceful and restful, and, while he lay in a half-dreamy state, he accumulated new strength for the crisis that might come.

“Any little animals running away yet, Tayoga?” he asked, partly in jest.

“No, Dagaeoga, but I am watching.  Two rabbits not twenty feet from us are nibbling the leaves on a tiny weed, that is, they nibble part of the time, and part of the time they play.”

“They don’t sing like the bird, because they can’t, but I take it from what you say they’re just as happy.”

“Happy and harmless, Dagaeoga.  We Iroquois would not disturb them.  We kill only to eat.”

“Well, I’ve learned your way.  You can’t say, Tayoga, that I’m not, in spirit and soul at least, half an Iroquois, and spirit and soul mean more than body and manners or the tint of the skin.”

“Dagaeoga has learned much.  But then he has had the advantage of associating with one who could teach him much.”

“Tayoga, if it were not for that odd little chord in your voice, I’d think you were conceited.  But though you jest, it is true I’ve had a splendid chance to discover that the nations of the Hodenosaunee know some things better than we do, and do some things better than we do.  I’ve found that the wisdom of the world isn’t crystallized in any one race.  How about the rabbits, Tayoga?  Do they still eat and play, as if nobody anywhere near them was thinking of wounds and death?”