"I was telling you, Robert, a while ago," he said, "that Indians mostly have a lot of time, but I'm afraid the band that's cornered us here has got too much. They may send out a warrior or two to hunt, and the others may sit at a distance and wait a week for us to come out. At least it looks that way to a 'possum up a tree. What do you think of it, Tayoga?"
"The Great Bear is right," replied the Onondaga. "He is always right when he is not wrong."
"Come now, Tayoga, are you making game of me?"
"Not so, my brother, because the Great Bear is nearly always right and very seldom wrong. It is given only to Manitou never to be wrong."
"That's better, Tayoga. If I can keep up a high average of accuracy I'm satisfied."
Tayoga's English was always precise and a trifle bookish, like that of a man speaking a language he has learned in a school, which in truth was the case with the Onondaga. Like the celebrated Thayendanegea, the Mohawk, otherwise known as Joseph Brant, he had been sent to a white school and he had learned the English of the grammarian. Willet too spoke in a manner much superior to that of the usual scout and hunter.
"If the Indians post lines out of range and merely maintain a watch what will we do?" asked Robert. "I, for one, don't want to stay here indefinitely."
"Nor do any of us," replied Willet. "We ought to be moving. A long delay here won't help us. We've got to think of something."
The two, actuated by the same impulse, looked at Tayoga. He was very thoughtful and presently glanced up at the heavens.
"What does the Great Bear think of the sky?" he asked.