The two lay behind the huge trunk of a tree torn down by some old hurricane and now almost hidden by vegetation and trailing vines.  They were very comfortable there, and, uplifted by their success of the night they were sanguine of an equal success by day.

To the right Robert caught occasional glimpses of Willet, moving about in the bushes, but save for these stray glances he watched the other side of the stream.  Luckily it was rather open there, and no savage, however cunning, could come within fifty yards of it without being seen by the wary eyes in the thickets.

“How long do you think it will be before they come?” Robert asked of Tayoga, for whose forest lore he had an immense respect.

“Three hours, maybe four,” replied the Onondaga.  “Tandakora and De Courcelles may or may not know of this creek, but when they see it they are sure to advance with caution, fearing a trap.”

“What a pity our own people don’t show the same wisdom!”

“You are thinking of the great slaughter at Duquesne.  Every people has its own ways, and the soldiers have not yet learned those of the forest, but they will learn.”

“At a huge cost!”

“Perhaps there is no other way?  You will notice the birds on the bushes on the far side of the stream, Dagaeoga?”

“Aye, I see ’em.  They’re in uncommon numbers.  What a fine lot of fellows with glossy plumage!  And some of ’em are singing away as if they lived for nothing else!”

“I see that Dagaeoga looks when he is told to look and sees when he is told to see.  The birds are at peace and are enjoying themselves.”

“That is, they’re having a sunlight concert, purely for their own pleasure.”

“It is so.  They feel joy and know that danger is not present.  They are protected by the instinct that Manitou, watching over the least of his creatures, has given to them.”

“Why this dissertation on birds at such a time, Tayoga?”

“Dissertation is a very long word, but I am talking for Dagaeoga’s own good.  He has learned much of the forest, but he can learn more, and I am here to teach him.”

“Wondrous good of you, Tayoga, and, in truth, your modesty also appeals to me.  Proceed with your lesson in woodcraft, although it seems to me that you have chosen a critical time for it.”

“The occasion is most fitting, because it comes out of our present danger.  We wish to see the approach of our enemies who will lie down among the grass and bushes, and creep forward very silently.  We will not see them, perhaps, but others will give warning.”

“Oh, you mean that the birds, alarmed by the warriors, will fly away?”

“Nothing else, Dagaeoga.”

“Then why so much circumlocution?”

“Circumlocution is another very long word, Dagaeoga.  It is the first time that I have heard it used since we left the care of our teacher in Albany.  But I came to the solution by a circular road, because I wished you to see it before I told it to you.  You did see it, and so I feel encouraged over the progress of my pupil.”