Yet Tandakora and De Courcelles were cruelly deliberate and slow.  They walked not more than fifteen feet beyond the end of the tree, and then stood a while talking.  Half of the warriors remained near them, standing stolidly in the background, and the others went on, searching among the woods and thickets.  The two glanced at the tree as they talked.  Was it possible that they would yet come back and attempt the crossing?  Again Robert quivered when he realized that in truth the crisis had not passed, and that Tandakora and De Courcelles might reconsider.  Once more, he pressed his body hard against the tree, and held tightly to a small bough which arched an abundant covering of leaves over his head.  The wind rustled among those leaves, and sang almost in words, but whether they told him that Tandakora and De Courcelles would go on or come upon the bridge he did not know.

Five minutes of such intense waiting that seemed nearer to an hour, and the leaders, with the band, passed on, disappearing in the undergrowth that lined the stream.  But for another five minutes the three among the boughs did not stir.  Then Tayoga whispered over his shoulder: 

“Great is the justice of Tododaho and also great is his mercy.  I did not doubt that he would save us.  I felt within me all the time that he would cause Tandakora and De Courcelles to leave the bridge and seek us elsewhere.”

Robert was not one to question the belief of Tayoga, his sagacious friend.  If it was not Tododaho who had sent their enemies away then it was some other spirit, known by another name, but in essence the same.  His whole being was permeated by a sort of shining gratitude.

“At times,” he said, “it seems that we are favored by our God, who is your Manitou.”

“Now is the time for us to finish the crossing,” said Willet, alive to the needs of the moment.  “Lead, Tayoga, and be sure, Robert, not to give any bough a shake that might catch the eye of a lurking savage in the forest.”

The Onondaga resumed the slow advance, so guiding his movements that he might neither make the tree quiver nor bring his body from beneath the covering of leaves.  Robert and the hunter followed him in close imitation.  Thus they gained the bank, and the three drew long breaths of deep and intense relief, as they stepped upon firm ground.  But they could not afford to linger.  Tayoga still in front, they plunged into the depths of the forest, and advanced at speed a half hour, when they heard a single faint cry behind them.

“They’ve found our trail at the end of the natural bridge,” said Willet.

“It is so,” said Tayoga, in his precise school English.

“And they’re mad, mad clean through,” said the hunter.  “That single cry shows it.  If they hadn’t been so mad they’d have followed our trail without a sound.  I wish I could have seen the faces of the Ojibway and the Frenchman when they came back and noticed our trace at the end of the tree.  They’re mad in every nerve and fiber, because they did not conclude to go upon it.  It was only one chance in a thousand that we’d be there, they let that one chance in a thousand go, and lost.”