It was the feather of an eagle, one that might have dropped from the wing of some soaring bird, but the quick eye of the boy saw that the quill had been cut with a knife, as the feather of a goose used to be sharpened for a pen.
He suppressed the sharp exclamation that rose to his lips, and thrust the feather into the bosom of his buckskin hunting shirt. The last echo of the warning note came to him and then died away in the forest.
They were at the camp fifteen minutes later, and the eyes of Shif'less Sol beamed at the joyous sight. In all their long journey they had found no more pleasant anchorage, a sheltered cove of the Ohio, and firm ground, clear of undergrowth, sloping gently to the water's edge. The boats were tied in a great curve about the beach, and nearly all the men were ashore, glad to feel once more the freedom of the land. Some still sung the wild songs they had picked up in the West Indies or on the Spanish Main, others were feeding fires that crackled merrily and that flung great bands of red flame against the glowing yellow curtain of the sunlight. Pleasant odors arose from pots and kettles. The air of frolic was pervasive. The whole company was like so many boys with leave to play.
Henry left Shif'less Sol and approached Adam Colfax, who was sitting alone on the exposed root of a big tree.
"You found nothing, of course?" said Adam Colfax, who shared the easy feelings of his men.
"I found this," replied the boy, drawing the eagle feather from his breast.
"What is that? Merely the feather of some wild bird."
"The feather of an eagle."
"I fancy that many an eagle drops a feather now and then in this wilderness."
"This feather was dropped last from the head of an Indian warrior."