They talked a little from time to time and then relapsed into a long silence.  Robert noticed that nothing living stirred in the defile.  No more rabbits came out to play and no birds sang in the trees.  He considered it a sign, nay more, an omen that Tayoga’s prediction was coming true.  The peril threatening them was great and imminent.  His sense of the sinister and uncanny increased.  A chill ran through his veins.  The great shining day was going, and, although it was midsummer, a cold wind was herald of the coming twilight.  He shivered again, and looked at the long shadows falling in the defile.

“Tayoga,” he said, “that uncanny talk of yours has affected me, but I believe you’ve just made it all up.  No wolves are coming to attack us.”

“Dagaeoga does not believe anything of the kind.  He believes, instead, what I have told him.  His voice and his manner show it.  He is sure the wolves are coming.”

“You’re right, Tayoga, I do believe it.  There’s every reason why I shouldn’t, but, in very truth and fact, I do.  Our fine day is going fast.  Look how the twilight is growing on the mountains.  From our nook here I can just see the rim of the sun, who is your God, Areskoui.  Soon he will be gone entirely and then all the ridges will be lost in the dusk.  I hope—­and I’m not jesting either—­that you’ve said your prayer to him.”

“As I told you, Dagaeoga, one must not ask too many favors.  But now the sun is wholly gone and the night will be dark.  The wind rises and it moans like the soul of an evil warrior condemned to wander between heaven and earth.  The night will be dark, and in two hours the wolves will be here.”

Robert looked at him, but the face of the Onondaga was that of a seer, and once more the blood of the white youth ran chill in his veins.  He was silent again, and now the minutes were leaden-footed, so slow, in truth, that it seemed an hour would never pass and the two hours Tayoga had predicted were an eternity.  The afterglow disappeared and the darkness was deep in the defile.  The trees above were fused into a black mass, and then, after an infinity of waiting, a faint note, sinister and full of menace, came out of the wilderness.  Tayoga and Robert glanced at each other.

“It is as you predicted,” said Robert.

“It is the howl of the great timber wolf from the far north who has made himself the leader of the band,” said the Onondaga.  “When he howls again he will be much nearer.”

Robert waited for an almost breathless minute or two, and then came the malignant note, much nearer, as Tayoga had predicted, and directly after came other howls, faint but equally sinister.

“The great leader gives tongue a second time,” said Tayoga, “and his pack imitate him, but their voices are not so loud, because their lungs are not so strong.  They come straight toward us.  Do you see, Dagaeoga, that your nerves are steady, your muscles strong and your eyes bright.  I would that I could use the bow myself tonight, for the chance will be glorious, but Manitou has willed otherwise.  It is for you, Dagaeoga, to handle my weapon as if you had been familiar with it all your life.”