arriors of
the Ottawas, worshipers of the sun and stars, go by. They were all in
full war paint, and he had no doubt that they had come from the far
western shore of Lake Huron to join the great gathering of the tribes at
Tuentahahewaghta and to help destroy the fleet and all river posts if
they could.

That evening, taking the chances that the Indians would or would not
hear him, he shot a wild turkey in a tree, traveled two or three miles
further, built a small fire in the lee of a hill, where he cooked it,
then ran in a curve three or four miles further, until he came to a
thicket of pawpaw bushes, where he ate heartily by a faint moonlight. He
watched and listened two hours, and then, satisfied that no one had
heard the shot, he went to sleep with the ease and confidence of one who
reposes at home, safe in his bed.

The night was warm. Sleeping in the open was a pleasure to such as Henry
Ware, and he was not disturbed. He had willed that he should wake before
daylight, and his senses obeyed the warning. He came back from slumber
while it was yet dark. But he could feel the coming dawn, and, eating
what was left of the turkey, he sped away.

He saw the sun shoot up in a shower of gold, and the blue spread over
the heavens. He saw the green forest come into the light with the
turning of the world, and he felt the glory of the great wilderness, but
he did not stop for many hours. The day was warmer than the one before,
and when the sun was poised just overhead he began to feel its heat. He
was thirsty, too, and when he heard a gentle trickling among the bushes
he stopped, knowing that a brook or spring was near.

He pressed his way through the dense tangle of undergrowth and entered
the open, where he stood for a few minutes, cooling his eyes with the
silver sparkle of flowing water and the delicate green tints of the
grass, which grew thickly on the banks of the little stream. He was
motionless, yet even in repose he seemed to be the highest type of
physical life and energy, taller than the average man, despite the fact
that he was yet but a boy in years, and with a frame all bone and sinew.
Blue eyes flashed out of a face turned to the brown of leather by a life
that knew no roof-tree, and the uncut locks of yellow hair fell down
from the fur cap that sat lightly upon his head.

Around him the wilderness was blazing with all the hues of spring and
summer, yet untouched by autumn brown. The dense foliage of the f