at as ever, seemed to die. Instead, he heard
the rustling of the young leaves far away, and then another sound
came--a faint, whining cry, the far howl of a wolf, so far that it was
no more than a whisper, a mere under-note to the wind. It stopped, but,
in a moment or two, was repeated. Henry's heart leaped, but his figure
never moved; nor was there any change in the expression of his face,
which had been dreamy and sad.

But he knew. Just when he wished to hear a voice out of the dark, that
voice came. It was the first part of a signal that he and his comrades
often used, and as he listened, the second part was completed. He longed
to send back a reply, but it was impossible and he knew that it would
not be expected. Joy was under the mask of his sad and dreaming face. He
rejoiced, not only for himself, but for two other things; because they
were safe and because they were near, following zealously and seeking
every chance. He looked around at the Indians. None of them had heard
the cry of the wolf, and he knew if it had reached them, they would not
have taken it for a signal. They were going on with their feasting, but
while Henry sat, still silent, Timmendiquas came to him and said:

"To-morrow we reach Detroit, the great post of the soldiers of the king.
We go there to confer with the commander, de Peyster, and to receive
many rifles and much ammunition. It is likely, as you already know, that
we shall march against your people."

"I know it, Timmendiquas," said Henry, "but I would that it were not so.
Why could we not dwell in peace in Kentucky, while the Wyandots, the
Shawnees, the Miamis and others ranged their vast hunting grounds in
the same peace on this side of the Ohio?"

A spark of fire shot from the dark eyes of Timmendiquas.

"Ware," he said, "I like you and I do not believe that your heart
contains hatred towards me. Yet, there cannot be any peace between our
races. Peace means that you will push us back, always push us back. Have
I not been in the East, where the white men are many and where the
mighty confederation of the Six Nations, with their great chief,
Thayendanegea, at their head, fight against them in vain? Have I not
seen the rich villages of the Indians go up in smoke? The Indians
themselves still fight. They strike down many of the Yengees and
sometimes they burn a village of the white people, but unless the king
prevails in the great war, they will surely lose. Their Aieroski, who is
t