He led the way, and they went cautiously through the thickets two or three miles, all the time intently watching the other shore.  Twice they saw Indian sentinels on watch, and knew that they could not risk the passage.  Finally they stopped and waited a full two hours in the thickets, the contest becoming one of patience.

Meanwhile the night was absolutely silent.  The wind was dead, and the leaves hung straight down.  The deep, slow current of the river, although flowing between narrow banks, made no noise, and Robert’s mind, colored by the conditions of the moment, began to believe that the enemy had gone away.  It was impossible for them to wait so long for foresters whom they did not see and who might never come.  Then he dismissed imagination and impression, and turned with a wrench to his judgment.  He knew enough of the warriors of the wilderness to know that nobody could wait longer than they.  Patience was one of the chief commodities of savage life, because their habits were not complex, and all the time in the world was theirs.

He took lessons, too, from Tayoga and Willet.  The Onondaga, an Indian himself, had an illimitable patience, and Willet, from long practice, had acquired the ability to remain motionless for hours at a time.  He looked at them as they crouched beside him, still and silent figures in the dusk, apparently growing from the earth like the bushes about them, and fixed as they were.  The suggestion to go on that had risen to his lips never passed them and he settled into the same immobility.

Another hour, that was three to Robert, dragged by, and Tayoga led the way again down the stream, Robert and the hunter following without a word.  They went a long distance and then the Onondaga uttered a whisper of surprise and satisfaction.

“A bridge!” he said.

“Where?  I don’t see it,” said Robert.

“Look farther where the stream narrows.  Behold the great tree that has been blown down and that has fallen from bank to bank?”

“I see it now, Tayoga.  It hasn’t been down long, because the leaves upon it are yet green.”

“And they will hide us as we cross.  Tododaho on his star has been watching over us, and has put the bridge here for our use in this crisis.”

Tayoga’s words were instinct with faith.  He never doubted that the great Onondaga who had gone away four hundred years ago was serving them now in this, their utmost, need.  Robert and Willet glanced at each other.  They, too, believed.  An electric current had passed from Tayoga to them, and, for the moment, their trust in Tododaho was almost as great as his.  At the same time, a partial darkening of the night occurred, clouds floating up from the south and west, and dimming the moon and stars.

“How far would you say it is from one shore to the other?” asked Robert of Willet.

“About sixty feet,” replied the hunter, “but it’s a long tree, and it will easily bear the weight of the three of us all the way.  We may be attacked while we’re upon it, but if so we have our rifles.”