At the conclusion of the ceremony Running Fox set out upon his journey. He followed a well-worn Delaware hunting trail that led northward along the river. It was Kitschinipen, the summer planting season, and a great primeval wilderness was at its best. The day was glorious. The sky was cloudless, the air was soft and balmy and the earth was flooded with sunshine. Wild flowers dotted the trail, and birds sang from the trees and thickets. Running Fox found much to interest him. He stopped to watch Tiskemanis, the noisy blue fisher bird, plunge into the water after his prey. He called cheerily to Mehokuiman, the red bird. He frightened ugly Gundaschees, the water-snake, from his sunny log at the edge of the river. Then he heard the stealthy approach of Achtu, the deer. As he had been advised to kill one of the old bucks by the medicine-deer, Running Fox hastily prepared his arrow and concealed himself behind a tree. In a few moments the deer approached the river to drink. It was a doe, however, and the young Delaware withheld his arrow. He knew that she had a fawn concealed in some nearby thicket, and he had been taught to spare the mother and young of all creatures that there might always be plenty of game for the hunters. He waited until the doe had finished drinking, and then he showed himself. For a moment the surprised creature stared at him with big frightened eyes, and then hounded gracefully into the woods.
“Go in peace, my sister, I will not harm you,” cried Running Fox.
Soon afterward Running Fox had an experience that filled him with gloomy forebodings. He was seated upon a boulder at the edge of the water when he heard the harsh cries of Woapalanne, the great white-headed war-eagle. Looking into the sky he discovered the bird soaring in great circles directly above him. He feared that it was a bad omen, for old Sky Dog had told him that the sudden appearance of Woapalanne invariably meant war. Running Fox wondered if he was about to meet his enemies. Until that moment the possibility had never entered his mind, as he had considered himself quite safe as long as he remained within the Delaware boundaries. Now, as the war-eagle continued to hover over him, he became suspicious.
“Hi, Woapalanne, I see you flying around up there,” he cried, as he shook his bow at the eagle. “I hear you making a great noise up there. Sky Dog says it is a sign of war. Well, Woapalanne, you do not frighten me. I will not turn around. I have set out to do something, and I am going ahead with it. Woapalanne, Sky Dog says that you are a good friend. That is why I have told you what I am going to do. But you must not tell the Mohawks about me. That would be bad. Come, if you are a good friend you must help me. Now I am going up on top of that high mountain to look around.”
However, as Running Fox turned to enter the forest the eagle suddenly changed its tactics, and flew away toward the south. This unexpected maneuver greatly upset the young Delaware. His thoughts instantly turned to his friend, Spotted Deer. Having learned that the latter had departed upon some mysterious mission to the southward, Running Fox read a warning in the final action of the war-eagle. He believed that Spotted Deer was in peril. The thought refused to leave his mind.
When Running Fox reached the top of the ridge from which he planned to reconnoiter the surrounding country, his sharp eyes quickly discovered something which instantly aroused his interest, A thin wavering column of smoke was rising against the sky some distance to the southward. The sight of it filled him with emotion, for he knew that it came from the Delaware camp. The day was almost ended, and in the distant smoke cloud Running Fox saw a vision of the peaceful evening scene in the Delaware village. In fancy he saw the happy groups about the fires, and heard the songs and laughter. He wondered if he had been missed from the merry little company before his father’s lodge. Twilight was gathering, and the smoke column was slowly fading into the shadows. Running Fox looked upon it with longing eyes, for he knew that it would soon be gone. The thought saddened him. That frail spiral of smoke seemed like the last tie that bound him to his people, and he dreaded to see it broken. When it finally faded out in the dusk Running Fox felt a great loneliness surge into his heart.
After he had carefully examined the country through which he intended to pass on the following day, the young Delaware began to look for a safe place in which to spend the night. He believed that it might be dangerous to remain near the river, as he knew that hostile scouts often followed the waterways under cover of darkness. Besides, he was still upset by the actions of the war-eagle, and he determined to take every precaution. He finally decided to camp beside a little spring, high up on the mountainside.
Having killed a grouse earlier in the day, Running Fox broiled it over the embers of a tiny fire, which he was careful to conceal between two large rocks. Then, after he had eaten, he drew his robe about him, and sat with his back against a pine, listening to the night sounds of the wilderness. He heard Quekolis, the whippoorwill, raising his doleful lament down near the river. Running Fox had heard the old men tell weird tales about that mournful bird, and as he listened to its monotonous serenade he wondered if it really did possess all the mysterious powers with which the superstitions story tellers credited it. Then he heard shrill piping sounds from the grass, and he knew that the Zelozelous, the little black cricket people, were singing their medicine-songs. Some time later Running Fox was startled by a piercing scream that sounded from a distant ridge. He listened anxiously until it was repeated, and then he recognized it as the hunting cry of soft-footed Nianque, the lynx. Then the brooding, mysterious night-hush fell upon the forest.
Running Fox rose and raised his hands toward the heavens. After a few moments of reverent silence he began to pray to Getanittowit. He asked for courage and strength to perform his task. Then, after he had sung one of the sacred medicine-songs to drive away any evil spirits that might have discovered his fire, he prepared a couch of sweet-fern and lay down to sleep.
Two-thirds of the night had passed when Running Fox suddenly found himself sitting up, with his bow in his hands, staring anxiously into the dark. He did not know what had awakened him, and for a long time he neither heard or saw anything to give him a clue. He began to fear that he had been dreaming. Then a twig snapped, and he became suspicious. He knew that Mohawk scouts often ventured far into the Delaware hunting grounds, and he feared that one of those sharp-eyed foes had discovered his fire. The thought alarmed him. The possibility of an unseen enemy stealing upon him under cover of the night set his heart throbbing wildly. Still he had no idea of running away. Lying close to the ground, he fitted an arrow to his bow, and strained his eyes in an effort to find the mysterious prowler. For some time the silence was unbroken, and he began to think that he had been needlessly alarmed by some passing beast of the wilderness. Then he heard sounds which led him to believe that some one was cautiously approaching his hiding place. Convinced that he was about to experience his first encounter with an enemy, Running Fox waited with the calm reliance of a veteran. The noise had suddenly ceased, however, and the young Delaware believed that his foe had stopped to listen. A few moments later the soft querulous call of Gokhotit, the little red owl, sounded through the night. It seemed barely a bow-shot away, and Running Fox redoubled his vigilance. When he heard it again he became greatly excited. Then it was repeated a third time, and Running Fox breathed easier, for he recognized it as a signal from his friend, Spotted Deer.