Ta-wan-ne-ars waited to give the stragglers time to appear, then rose and led the way along the bed of the stream westward.
"Can you pick your path at night?" I inquired anxiously.
He pointed upward to a group of four stars that sparkled in the velvet blue of the Summer sky.
"So long as Gwe-o-ga-ah[[1]] shines Ta-wan-ne-ars can not be lost," he answered.
[[1]] The Loon.
We walked in the water for more than a mile, when the stream turned to the north and we stepped out upon a rock and dressed. Afterward we caught the overhanging bough of a tree and swung ourselves on to dry ground above the bank, never leaving a trace of our course up to that time. From this point we traveled on through the forest, pursuing no settled path, but holding to the westward in the direction of Oswego on the shore of the Cadarakui Lake.
We did not stop until after midday. Ta-wan-ne-ars knocked over a wild turkey with his tomahawk, kindled a fire of dry sticks and broiled the juicy bird before the coals. He insisted that I should sleep first, promising to arouse me at the end of two hours—he reckoned time, I should explain, by the declension of the sun. But when he finally did arouse me the sun was close to setting, and I saw by the sunken look of his eyes that he had not slept during his watch.
"Why did you not wake me?" I asked angrily.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars had no wish for sleep," he returned.
"Nonsense," I retorted. "You can not go indefinitely without rest."