"What is it, Robert?" whispered Willet.
"An Indian in the bush about two hundred yards away," replied the youth. "I merely saw his hair and the feather in it, but it's safe to assume that he's not the only one."
"That is so," said Tayoga. "A warrior does not come here alone."
"It can't be the band we beat off when we were in the hollow," said Willet confidently. "They must be far south of us, even if they haven't given up the chase."
"It is so, Great Bear," said Tayoga. "Was the warrior's head bare,
Lennox, or did he have the headdress, gustoweh, like mine?"
"I think," replied Robert, "that the feather projected something like yours, perhaps from a cross-splint."
"Could you tell from what bird the feather came?"
"Yes, I saw that much. It was the plume of an eagle."
Tayoga mused a moment or two. Then he put two fingers to his mouth and blew between them a mellow, peculiar whistle, much like the notes of a deep-throated forest bird. He waited half a minute and a reply exactly similar came.
"These," said Tayoga, "are our people," and rising and parting the bushes, he walked, upright and fearless, toward the thicket in which Robert had seen the warrior. Robert and Willet, influenced by boldness as people always are, followed him with confidence, their rifles not thrust forward, but lying in the hollows of their arms.