He must have proceeded fully a half-mile into this water wilderness, when he reached what might properly be termed the edge of the swamp; that is, the one through which he had been making his way, for there was still another a short distance from him.  The growth of trees terminated almost in a mathematical line, and a lake of water, something less than a quarter of a mile in width, stretched out before him, perfectly clear of every obstruction.  The Indian stood a long time, looking about in every direction.  What was unusual, there was an expression of the most intense anxiety upon his countenance.  Well might there be; for, sooner than to have a human eye (whether it was that of the white or red man) to witness the movements he was now about to make, he would have suffered death at the stake a thousand times!

Apparently satisfied, he laid his rifle on the tree upon which he had been standing, and then sprung out into the deeper water, sinking like a stone from sight.  When he came to the surface, he brought something with him, which proved to be a canoe.  With this he swam to the tree, where he righted and turned the water from it.  A paddle was secured in it.  Taking his seat, the canoe went skimming like a swallow over the water toward the opposite swamp.

Reaching this, he shot in among the trees, avoiding them with as much ease and dexterity as would a bird on the wing.  Going a hundred yards in this manner, he arose in his canoe and looked around.  A shade of displeasure crossed his face, apparently of disappointment at not discovering some person or object for whom he was looking.  Waiting a moment, he placed his thumb on his mouth, and gave utterance to a low, tremulous whistle, an exact imitation of a bird often found in the American swamps.  A moment later, there came a response exactly the same, except that it sounded fainter and a considerable distance away.  The moment it caught the ear of the Huron, he reseated himself and folded his arms in the attitude of patient waiting.

Scarce five minutes had elapsed, when the plash of another paddle was heard, and a second canoe made its appearance, carefully approaching that of the Huron.  In it was seated an Indian boy, not more than twelve years of age, who handled it with a skill scarcely second to that of his father, Oonomoo.

“Niniotan, my son, is late,” said the latter, sternly, as the boy came alongside.

[Illustration:  “Niniotan, my son, is late.”]

“I was chasing a deer this morning, and was carried further in the woods than I thought,” meekly replied the boy.

“Has the Moravian missionary given Niniotan two tongues that he should think Oonomoo speaks idle words?”

“Niniotan does not think so,” said the son, in a humble voice of thrilling sweetness.

“Oonomoo said when the sun was over yonder tree-top he would be waiting for his boy Niniotan.  He waited, but Niniotan was not here.”