"Yes, my brother, it is the best way to do," declared Crooked Foot. "Perhaps we will get by them."
"No, my friends, I will not listen to your words," Running Fox declared, firmly. "I believe I can do this thing. I am the leader. I must try to get you out of this."
"Well, Running Fox, if you are going to do this thing I will go with you," Spotted Deer told him.
"No, you cannot do that," said Running Fox. "You must stay here and fight back the Mohawks until I bring our people to help you. Now, my friends, listen sharp to my words. I am going to try to get past the Mohawks. Perhaps it will take me a long time. If the Mohawks catch me, I will make a great shout. If you do not hear it before it gets light, you will know that I got away. Then I will bring a big war party. You must keep strong. Keep fighting back the Mohawks until our people come. Now keep these words. I will not make any signals. If you hear any, you will know that I did not make them. Now I am going."
"My brother, I feel bad about this thing," Spotted Deer said, as he grasped the hand of his friend. "If my legs were fast I would not hold back. I will make a big fight."
"I will come back," Running Fox said, bravely.
Then he left them and vanished into the night as silently as a shadow. He turned toward the eastern side of the swamp, as the nearest course to the Delaware camp lay in that direction. Fully alive to the peril which threatened him, he moved through the darkness with the alert, nervous caution of Achtu, the deer. He stopped many times to listen for his foes. As he neared the edge of the swamp, he turned his face toward the sky and called upon Getanittowit to guide him safely past the watchful Mohawks. Then he heard them somewhere ahead of him. For an instant only he caught the murmur of their voices. It was sufficient to warn him of his peril. He turned sharply from his course and crept away with slow, cautious steps. He went several arrow-flights before he again ventured to approach the edge of the swamp. Once more, however, he heard sounds which drove him back.
"It is bad," he murmured. "The Mohawks are everywhere."
He turned toward the south. Several arrow-flights brought him to the border of the swamp. He stopped to listen. All was silent. The way seemed clear. He hurried forward. A twig snapped sharply beneath his feet. Some one hailed him. He gave several loud snorts to imitate a frightened buck, and bounded noisily through the brush. The Mohawk laughed softly. The trick had deceived him. His suspicions were allayed.
Having passed safely by the Mohawks, Running Fox sped through the night with a light heart. At dawn he climbed to the summit of a high ridge that rose from the west side of the river. Far away to the southward he saw the smoke from the Delaware camp. For some moments he watched it with flashing eyes. Then he raced madly down the ridge. He reached the river a considerable distance below the spot where he had left the canoe of Spotted Deer. He wondered if it would be safe to go up the river in search of it. If the Mohawks had come down the river in canoes, he believed they had left them somewhere near the spot where the Shawnees had kindled the fire. Perhaps scouts had been left behind to watch. The possibility made him hesitate. He knew, however, that the canoe offered him the quickest way to reach his people.