"What is that noise I can hear, rising and falling, very faintly, like the water of the Big Salt Lake in a storm, when the Manitou is angry?" asked Jack of one of the Iroquois braves, who was called the Panther.
"'Tis the Spirit of the Wacondah in the caverns under the Great Falls!" answered the Indian in low and reverent tones.
"Niagara!" whispered Jack to his comrade, "and only a few miles away."
"Yes. The Iroquois believe that the Great Spirit, the God of Thunder, dwells under the Falls, and they speak of him always in a whisper, even by their firesides far away."
"Hist! What was that?"
The crackle of a twig was heard on the western bank, and the eye of every Indian was instantly turned in that direction, while many a hand instinctively grasped its weapon more tightly. The bushes parted, and an Iroquois scout came forth from the cover of the forest and sought the eye of his chief. Evidently he had something of importance to communicate.
White Eagle left the batteaux and approached him. Then a few guttural exclamations passed between them, and the scout disappeared once more as quietly as he had come.
"Did you hear what he said, Panther?"
"Yes. The Algonquins, with whom we fought early this morning, have fallen in with another party under Le Grand Loup, a renowned chief, who is White Eagle's greatest enemy, and they have laid an ambush for us two miles further up the stream. In addition, help is expected from the fort within an hour," replied the brave.
"Snakes alive! What will the chief do?"