"They will make camp by sunset at der point of der three rocks. Am I right, Ta-wan-ne-ars?"
The Seneca assented.
"That is eight—ten—miles from here. Ja, we can make it."
"Make what?" I asked impatiently.
"Der distance. Andt my plan."
"What plan, man?"
"To put der grin on der other side of Joncaire's face, by ——! Now you listen."
And he outlined an undertaking which seemed absurdly simple until I chanced to look up and see that fleet of canoes clouding the eastern horizon of the lake.
"They are too many for us," I objected.
"Ja, if they know we come," he admitted. "Budt they do not. Andt I hafe seen brandy-kegs in among der furs."