"It is time!" said Kenton, in a quiet tone, though not a muscle in his whole body gave evidence of excitement.
"At last!" sighed Sandy, as he hastened to get on his feet, gripping his musket in his fingers.
The borderer spoke a few last words, after which he made both lads pledge themselves to control their eagerness, and promise to obey his orders.
Once out of the hateful cavern, and under the trees, the boys looked about them. They had had more or less experience as woodsmen, young though they were, and it was no great task for either Bob or Sandy to read the signs in the heavens.
Clouds drifted across the sky, coming up out of the west, so that only once in a while were a few stars seen. The wind moaned fitfully in the trees, and gave promise of increasing in strength as the night grew older. Yes, just as Kenton had declared, there was a storm in prospect, though it might not break for several hours.
Kenton immediately took the lead, though Blue Jacket clung to his side as if to advise in case the borderer needed assistance. But Kenton was really as much at home in the forest as the red son of the wilderness. To him all signs were plain to read. He knew just where the Seneca village lay, and how long it was likely to take them to reach it.
They had left the three Frenchmen bound in the cavern. Larue had pleaded to be released, vowing that not one of them would whisper to the Indians concerning the presence of these invaders in their midst. But Kenton refused to take their word. He did not have a very high opinion of these French Canadian trappers as a whole; and feared lest the fellow might betray them just to curry favor with Pontiac, with whom he had quarrelled at the council. Once they were well away, Blue Jacket would find some means of communicating with the Senecas, and tell them of the prisoners in the secret grotto under the cataract.
In Indian file they started for the distant lodges of the Senecas. Winding in and out of the woods, as Kenton picked his course, they left the stream behind them.
Two miles had been placed behind. The boys had known for some time that they were approaching the Seneca town. Lights could be seen ahead, as of numerous fires. Sounds also came to their ears—voices of warriors chanting; the monotonous beating of the war drum, known as a tomtom; barking of excited curs of which every Indian village boasted its scores, most of them wolf-like in their savage nature; and even the loud laughter of half-grown Indian boys, who were perhaps indulging in foot races, or some other form of rivalry.