He was silent, and we ran on for as much as a quarter-hour, coming then to the bank of a small stream, where a trail marked a ford.
"Under those bushes," she said, pointing, "you will find your clothes and weapons. We hid them this evening."
I scurried into the undergrowth and started to don the tattered leather garments which were fastened in a bundle to the barrel of my musket—the musket that Juggins had given to me, years and years ago, it seemed, in London, and which I had expected never to see again. But she halted me.
"No, no, Mr. Ormerod!" she exclaimed. "There is not time. You must go on alone, the two of you. They will expect you to strike into the Doom Trail. 'Tis the quickest way to the settlements. Ga-ha-no bade me tell you to go west instead, making for Oswego at the mouth of the Onondagas River. So you may shake off the pursuit of the Keepers."
"But you?" I cried, standing up, bundle and musket in hand.
"'Tis my part to lead them into the Doom Trail."
Ta-wan-ne-ars joined with me in a violent protest. But she waved us aside.
"There is no other way."
"We can fight them off," I asserted.
"But I do not wish to leave," she said.