The importunity of Ohquamehud had wrung from the Genius the consent which he solicited.  The gratified Indian stretched out his hand, and again spoke—­

“O, Manito, thanks!  The heart of Ohquamehud is strong.  When he journeys towards the setting sun, his feet shall bound like those of a deer, for the scalp of Onontio will hang at his girdle.”

He glided into the woods and disappeared, ignorant that any one had been a witness of his actions.  But, Quadaquina, from an evergreen thicket, had watched all his motions.  As the form of Ohquamehud became dimmer in the distance, the boy could not repress his exultation at the success of his ambush, but gave it vent in a whistle, imitating the notes of the whipperwill.  It caught the ear of the Indian, and he turned, and as he did so, the boy threw himself on the ground.  The sun had hardly set.  It was too early for the bird to be heard, which never commences his melancholy chant until the shades of evening are spread over the dewy earth.  The eyes of Ohquamehud sent sharp glances in the direction whence the whistle came, but he could discern nothing.  He listened for awhile, but the sounds were not repeated, and wondering what they could mean—­for he relied too implicitly on his senses to suppose his imagination had deceived him—­he resumed his course homeward.  Presently, Quadaquina slowly rose, and, perceiving no one in sight, followed in the same direction.

The boy, at first, walked deliberately along; but, after, as he supposed, a considerable interval was interposed between him and the Indian, he quickened his steps, in order to more at about the same rate as the other.  He had cleared the clumps of trees next to the Falls, and crossed the open fields, and advanced some little distance into the belt of continuous woods along the river, when, suddenly, Ohquamehud, starting from behind the trunk of a large tree, stood before him.  Quadaquina’s heart beat quicker, but no outward sign betrayed emotion.

“What does a child like Quadaquina, mean by wandering so far in the dark away from its mother?” demanded Ohquamehud.

“Quadaquina is no longer a child,” answered the boy, “to need his mother.  He runs about, like a squirrel, in the woods, whenever he please.”

“Quah!  He is more like a bird, and it is to take lessons from the whipperwill, that he comes into the woods.”

“Ohquamehud talks like a crow that knows not what he says.”

“When next,” said the Indian, with a laugh, “Quadaquina tries to be a bird, let him remember that the bashful whipperwill likes not the sun to hear his song.”

The boy fancying that he had been discovered, and that any further attempt at concealment was vain, answered boldly,

“It is no concern of Ohquamehud, whether Quadaquina is a bird, or a squirel, or a fish.  He will fly in the air, or swim in the water, or run in the woods without asking permission from any one.”