“If I get a stork and bring it back,” thought Nanking, “won’t I astonish this town?  It’ll be proclaimed, I expect, in a public manner, that Nanking Cloos is no longer the big idiot.”

The woods closed round New Amstel not very far from the houses, and only an Indian path led on through the strong timber or marshy copse.  Nanking was unarmed and not afraid.  He walked until long after sun-up, and waded the headwater swamps of Christine Kill, until he saw before him the hills of Chisopecke rise blue and wooded, and there he knew the Minquas kept their fort.  But the Minquas had no storks.  He turned the first and second of these hills and then crossed the range and descended to the rain-washed country on the other side, where, amid the low sparse pines on the lonely barrens, he could walk more readily, guided south-westward by the proceeding sun.  The fierce Susquehannocks dwelt beyond the next high range, and Nanking had heard from other Indians that they only had some storks.  Fierce Indians they were, but all Indians had been good to Nanking; so he advanced right merrily, and at the crossing of the second river snaked a fish out of the water with his line and made a fire with his flint and punk-wood to cook it.  When he had finished his meal he looked up and was surrounded by Indians.

They were fierce, grave Indians, armed with spears and bows.  Although they looked angry, Nanking wiped his mouth on his ragged sleeve and saluted them all kindly—­shaking hands.  He perceived that they formed around him closely, in front and rear, but he was not suspicious on this account.  The Indians marched him over a long range of very high hills and stopped at a place where, through the timber, could be seen a noble bay.

“It is Chisopecke Bay,” cried Nanking gladly, “and there, they say, are storks and plentiful geese.  I suppose, when we come to a proper place, these Indians will ask me what I want.”

The Indians turned down from the bay-view, backward, by another trail, and entered a very rocky glen, where rocks as big as the houses of New Amstel were strewn all over the country-side.  Following downward, by a dangerous way like stair-steps, they entered at length a small shady amphitheatre, where a waterfall plunged down a gorge and foamed and thundered.  Nanking fairly danced with delight.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, “I have seen paintings of cascades in Holland, but nothing like this.  My mother and Elsje must come here.”

The Indians, now present in great numbers, looked at Nanking dancing and laughing with the greatest wonder, but still they were far from affable.  After a while they began to sit around in a large circle and sing a doleful sort of tune.  Then two Indians produced a long piece of grapevine and tied one end of it to a tree and the other end around Nanking’s wrists, which were fastened together behind his back.  A fire had already been lighted at the foot of the tree, and the coals were now strewn over the ground.