Presently I saw the Sagamore stop and make signs to me that the ford was in sight.  Immediately I signalled the Wyandotte and the farther Oneida to close in; and a few moments later we were gathered in the forest shadow above the river, lying on our bellies and gazing far down stream at the distant line of ripples running blood-red under the sunset light.

Was there an ambush there, prepared for us?  God knew.  Yet, we must approach and examine that ford, and pass it, too, and resume our march on the right bank of the river to avoid the hemlock swamps and rocky hills ahead, which no wagons or artillery could hope to pass.

My first and naturally cautious thought was to creep nearer and then send the Wyandotte out under cover of our clustered rifles.  But if he were truly in any collusion with an unseen enemy they would never fire on him, and so it would be useless to despatch him on such a mission.

“Wait for the moon,” said the Sagamore very quietly.

His low, melodious voice startled me from my thoughts, and I looked around at him inquiringly.

“I will go,” said the Wyandotte, smiling.

“One man will never draw fire from an ambush,” said the Grey-Feather cunningly.  “The wild drake swims first into the net; the flock follows.”

“Why does my younger brother of the Oneida believe that we need fear any ambush at yonder ford?” asked the Wyandotte so frankly that again I felt that I could credit no ill of any man who spoke so fairly.

“Listen to the crows,” returned the Oneida.  “Their evening call to council is long and deliberate—­ Kaah!  Kaah!  Kaah—­ h!  What are they saying now, Black-Snake, my elder brother?”

I glanced at the Mohican in startled silence, for we all were listening very intently to the distant crows.

“They have discovered an owl, perhaps,” said the Wyandotte, smiling, “and are tormenting him.”

“Or a Mountain Snake,” said the Sagamore blandly.

Now, what the Sagamore said so innocently had two meanings.  He might have meant that the cawing of the crows indicated that they were objecting to a rattlesnake sunning on some rock.  Also he might have meant to say that their short, querulous cawing betrayed the presence of Seneca Indians in ambush.

“Or a Mountain Snake,” repeated the Siwanois, with a perfectly blank face.  “The red door of the West is still open.”

“Or a bear,” said the Grey-Feather, cunningly slurring the Canienga word and swallowing the last syllable so that it might possibly have meant “Mohawk.”

The Wyandotte turned good-humouredly to the Mohican, not pretending to misunderstand this subtle double entendre and play upon words.

“You, Sagamore of the Loups,” he said, carrying out the metaphor, “are closer to the four-footed people than are we Wyandottes.”

“That is true,” said the Grey-Feather.  “My elder brother, the Black-Snake, wears the two-legged hawk.”