“I will try to be prepared for the worst, Oonomoo, but I place great hopes on you.”

“Place hopes on Him—­He do it, may be.”

Never, to his dying day, did Lieutenant Canfield forget the rebuke of that Huron Indian.  As he uttered these words he pointed upward—­a flood of moonlight, streaming down through the trees upon his upturned face, rested like a halo of glory upon his bronzed brow.  Years afterward, when Oonomoo had been gathered to his fathers, and Lieutenant Canfield was an old man, he asserted that he could hear those words as distinctly, and see that reverential expression as plainly as upon that memorable night.

“You are right, Oonomoo.” said the Lieutenant, “and I feel the reproof you have given me.  The merciful God is the only one upon whom we can rely, and under Him it is upon your sagacity and skill that I depend.”

“Dat so—­we go purty soon.”

After resting a half-hour, the two moved forward at a much slower rate than before.  As the moon ascended, its light was so clear and unobstructed that in the open spots in the woods he could easily have read a printed page.  For a night of reconnoitering and action it possessed all the advantages and disadvantages of a clear day.  The Huron almost invariably held his peace when walking, and the young soldier did not attempt to disturb him upon the present occasion.  From his remarks, he gathered that it was his wish to reach the neighborhood of the Shawnee village in a few hours, and wait until daylight before attempting to accomplish anything.  To carry out his intentions, it was necessary, in the first place, to see Hans Vanderbum, and secure his cooperation.  Fully aware of his astonishing sleeping qualities, the Huron knew he might as well try to wake a dead man as to secure an interview with him during the night.

An hour later the bank of the Miami was reached.  As they stood on the shore and looked down-stream, its clear surface, glistening brightly in the moonlight, could be seen as plainly as at noonday, until it disappeared from sight in a sweeping bend.  From their stand-point it resembled a lake more than a river, the woods, apparently, shutting down in such a manner as to hide it entirely.  Not a ripple was heard along the shore, and only once a zephyr hurried over its bosom, crinkling the surface as it passed, and rustling the tops of a few trees along the bank as it went on and was lost in the wood beyond.  The great wilderness, on every hand, stretched miles and miles away, until it was lost afar, like a sea of gloom, in the sky.  Once a night-bird rushed whirring past, so startlingly close, that the Lieutenant felt a cold chill run over him as its wings fanned his face.  It shot off like a bullet directly across the river, and could be distinguished for several minutes, its body resembling a black ball, until it faded out from view.  Nothing else disturbed the solemn stillness that held reign.  Everything wore the spirit of quietness and repose.