“Then we will go down there and find it,” Spotted Deer proposed, impulsively.
“No, I have a different plan,” Running Fox told him. “I am going down there alone. I will look around. Then I will come back and tell you about it. You must wait here.”
“Running Fox, that is not a good thing to do,” protested Spotted Deer. “I must go with you. Perhaps you will get into a fight down there. Yes, I must be there to help you.”
“Spotted Deer, I am the leader,” Running Fox reminded him. “I am doing this thing because it is the best way to go about it. If we both go down there and get caught then there will be no chance to get away. If I go down there alone and get caught then you must get me out of it. I will not go into the camp without you, but I must go and look around. It is the only way to do. I will not talk any more about it.”
“Running Fox, you say that you are the leader, it is true,” replied Spotted Deer. “Yes, I will do what you tell me to do. I believe it is the best way.”
“That is good,” said Running Fox. “Now I will tell you something different. If anything had happens to me down there I will make the call of Quenischquney, the panther. If you hear that then you must come down there and do what you can. But perhaps you will get into danger. Then you must make the call of Quenisehquney. Then I will come to help you. Now I am going away.”
“I will keep singing the sacred songs to help you,” said Spotted Deer.
“Yes, that will be a good thing to do,” agreed Running Fox.
A moment later he disappeared into the night. Running Fox moved down the ridge with great caution, for he felt quite sure that Mohawk sentinels were somewhere within bow-shot of him. He stopped many times to listen, but heard nothing to alarm him. When he reached the bottom of the ridge he turned directly toward the place where he had heard the dog barking. As he advanced he kept a sharp watch for the warning glow of the Mohawk fires. The forest was very dense, however, and as he believed that the Mohawk village might be walled about by a log stockade he had little hope of discovering the fires. Then he thought of a better plan. Moistening one of his fingers, he raised it above his head and learned that what little wind there was came from the north. As he was traveling almost due west, he made a wide detour to get the wind in his face. Soon afterward he saw the value of the wily maneuver, when the unmistakable odor of smoke was borne to his nostrils. It filled him with joy, for he realized that at last he had found an easy trail to the hostile camp.
Running Fox followed the tell-tale smoke scent with the eager persistence of a famished wolf. As long as the breeze held steady he hurried along with little fear of going astray. However, when the wind weakened, or shifted, his task became more difficult. Under those conditions he invariably lost the trail, and was compelled to circle about until he found it. Thus he felt his way toward his goal, until at last he was halted by the familiar sounds from the camp itself. He stopped and raised his eyes to Getanittowit.