"Soon, O my brothers," he said in the musical, cadenced Seneca dialect which I was beginning to take pleasure in understanding, "we shall strike our enemies. It is a desperate enterprise you go upon. No war-party ever set out to risk such heavy odds. No warriors of the Long House were ever called upon to practise such caution, to reveal such courage.
"O my brothers, we are going into the Wood of Evil, the haunt of the False Faces which is the breeding-place of all the wickedness that brands the Keepers of the Doom Trail. You will face much that is horrible. You will be threatened with spells and witchcraft. But I ask you to remember that my brother O-te-ti-an-i and I passed through all such perils without harm. Keep your hearts strong."
"Yo-hay," muttered the warriors in gutteral assent. "We will keep our hearts strong, O Ta-wan-ne-ars."
Their faces were more serious than before, but they exhibited no signs of fear. Several asked questions as to the False Faces and their rites, and we explained to them the false atmosphere of horror which had been spread designedly to protect the traffic of the Doom Trail.
We moved much more cautiously now that we were near our journey's end, with three scouts always in front, one on either flank of the path we trod. But we saw no signs of other men, although many times we came upon bear-tracks. Toward evening we struck the waters of the tumbling little river through which Ta-wan-ne-ars and I had waded that night after Marjory had released us.
Here we rested whilst scouts went ahead as far as the edge of the Evil Wood. They returned to report not a footprint in the snow. We ate a little parched corn mixed with maple-sugar and some jerked meat we carried in our haversacks.
About midnight we all moved forward, Ta-wan-ne-ars leading the line. The oaks and elms, maples and willows, which had composed the elements of the forest, now gave place to tall, funereal firs, whose massive jade-green foliage remained untouched by the icy breath of Winter.
It seemed as if we had entered a different world when they closed around us. The stars had twinkled through the bare branches of the other trees. Here were utter darkness and a far-away, mournful music of wind rustlings and clashing boughs. Grotesque shadows darted vaguely over the white ground as the trees swayed and groaned. In the distance an owl hooted solemnly. The Otter touched my shoulder.
"Did you hear the owl?" he murmured.
"Yes," I whispered back.