The quick eye of the Tuscarora instantly caught a sight of the smoke; and for full a minute he stood, slightly raised on tiptoe, with distended nostrils, like the buck that scents a taint in the air, and a gaze as riveted as that of the trained pointer while he waits his master’s aim.  Then, falling back on his feet, a low exclamation, in the soft tones that form so singular a contrast to its harsher cries in the Indian warrior’s voice, was barely audible; otherwise, he was undisturbed.  His countenance was calm, and his quick, dark, eagle eye moved over the leafy panorama, as if to take in at a glance every circumstance that might enlighten his mind.  That the long journey they had attempted to make through a broad belt of wilderness was necessarily attended with danger, both uncle and niece well knew; though neither could at once determine whether the sign that others were in their vicinity was the harbinger of good or evil.

“There must be Oneidas or Tuscaroras near us, Arrowhead,” said Cap, addressing his Indian companion by his conventional English name; “will it not be well to join company with them, and get a comfortable berth for the night in their wigwam?”

“No wigwam there,” Arrowhead answered in his unmoved manner —­ “too much tree.”

“But Indians must be there; perhaps some old mess-mates of your own, Master Arrowhead.”

“No Tuscarora —­ no Oneida —­ no Mohawk —­ pale-face fire.”

“The devil it is?  Well, Magnet, this surpasses a seaman’s philosophy:  we old sea-dogs can tell a lubber’s nest from a mate’s hammock; but I do not think the oldest admiral in his Majesty’s fleet can tell a king’s smoke from a collier’s.”

The idea that human beings were in their vicinity, in that ocean of wilderness, had deepened the flush on the blooming cheek and brightened the eye of the fair creature at his side; but she soon turned with a look of surprise to her relative, and said hesitatingly, for both had often admired the Tuscarora’s knowledge, or, we might almost say, instinct, —­

“A pale-face’s fire!  Surely, uncle, he cannot know that?”

“Ten days since, child, I would have sworn to it; but now I hardly know what to believe.  May I take the liberty of asking, Arrowhead, why you fancy that smoke, now, a pale-face’s smoke, and not a red-skin’s?”

“Wet wood,” returned the warrior, with the calmness with which the pedagogue might point out an arithmetical demonstration to his puzzled pupil.  “Much wet —­ much smoke; much water —­ black smoke.”

“But, begging your pardon, Master Arrowhead, the smoke is not black, nor is there much of it.  To my eye, now, it is as light and fanciful a smoke as ever rose from a captain’s tea-kettle, when nothing was left to make the fire but a few chips from the dunnage.”

“Too much water,” returned Arrowhead, with a slight nod of the head; “Tuscarora too cunning to make fire with water!  Pale-face too much book, and burn anything; much book, little know.”