"Thou hast lost those secret signs by which we have so far threaded the woods," observed his companion; "one tree is like another, and I see no difference in this wilderness of nature; but if thou art at fault, we may truly despair of our object."
"Here is the nest of the eagle," returned Conanchet, pointing at the object he named perched on the upper and whitened branches of a dead pine; "and my father may see the council-tree in this oak--but there are no Wampanoags!"
"There are many eagles in this forest, nor is that oak one that may not have its fellow. Thine eye hath been deceived, Sachem, and some false sign hath led us astray."
Conanchet looked at his companion attentively. After a moment, he quietly asked--
"Did my father ever mistake his path, in going from his wigwam to the place where he looked upon the house of his Great Spirit?"
"The matter of that often-travelled path was different, Narragansett. My foot had worn the rock with many passings, and the distance was a span. But we have journeyed through leagues of forest, and our route hath lain across brook and hill, through brake and morass, where human vision hath not been able to detect the smallest sign of the presence of man."
"My father is old," said the Indian, respectfully. "His eye is not as quick as when he took the scalp of the Great Chief, or he would know the print of a moccason--see," making his companion observe the mark of a human foot that was barely discernible by the manner in which the dead leaves had been displaced; "his rock is worn, but it is harder than the ground. He cannot tell by its signs who passed, or when."
"Here is truly that which ingenuity may portray as the print of man's foot; but it is alone, and may be some accident of the wind."
"Let my father look on every side; he will see that a tribe hath passed."
"This may be true, though my vision is unequal to detect that thou wouldst show. But if a tribe hath passed, let us follow."