"Few of us do in the forest. The night grows chill, but two of our good
Canadians will keep the coals alive until morning. And now I suppose you
are weary with your day's travels and wish sleep. I see that you have
blankets of your own or I should offer you some of ours."

Tayoga had been sitting before the fire, as silent as the Canadian
Indians, his rifle across his knees, his eyes turned toward the blaze.
The glow of the flames fell upon him, disclosing his lofty countenance,
his splendidly molded figure, and his superiority to the other Indians,
who were not of the Hodenosaunee and who to him were, therefore, as much
barbarians as all people who were not Greeks were barbarians to the
ancient Greeks. Not a word of kinship or friendship had passed between
him and them. For him, haughty and uncompromising, they did not exist.
For a long time his deep unfathomable eyes had never turned from the
fire, but now he rose suddenly and said:

"Someone comes in the forest!"

De Courcelles looked up in surprise.

"I hear nothing," he said.

"Someone comes in the forest!" repeated Tayoga with emphasis.

De Courcelles glanced at his own Indians. They had not yet moved, but in
a moment or two they too rose to their feet, and then he knew that the
Onondaga was right. Now Robert also heard a moccasined and light
footstep approaching. A darker shadow appeared against the darkness, and
the figure of an Indian, gigantic and sinister, stepped within the