y been his.

The moon was now coming out, and Henry looked down thoughtfully at the
still face. Then the idea came to him, in fact leaped up in his brain,
with such an impulse that it carried conviction. He would take this
warrior's place and go to the Indian camp. So eager was he, and so
full of his plan, that he did not feel any repulsion as he opened the
warrior's deerskin shirt and took his totem from a place near his heart.
It was a little deerskin bag containing a bunch of red feathers. This
was his charm, his magic spell, his bringer of good luck, which had
failed him so woefully this time. Henry, not without a touch of the
forest belief, put it inside his own hunting shirt, wishing, although
he laughed at himself, that if the red man's medicine had any potency it
should be on his own side.

Then he found also the little bag in which the Indian carried his war
paint and the feather brush with which he put it on. The next hour
witnessed a singular transformation. A white youth was turned into a red
warrior. He cut his own hair closely, all except a tuft in the center,
with his sharp hunting knife. The tuft and the close crop he stained
black with the Indian's paint. It was a poor black, but he hoped that
it would pass in the night. He drew the tuft into a scalplock, and
intertwined it with a feather from the Indian's own tuft. Then he
stained his face, neck, hands, and arms with the red paint, and stood
forth a powerful young warrior of a western nation.

He hid the Indian's weapons and his own raccoon-skin cap in the brush.
Then he took the body of the fallen warrior to the edge of the swamp and
dropped it in. His object was not alone concealment, but burial as well.
He still felt sorry for the unfortunate Wyandot, and he watched him
until he sank completely from sight in the mire. Then he turned away and
traveled a straight course toward the great Indian camp.

He stopped once on the way at a clear pool irradiated by the bright
moonlight, and looked attentively at his reflection. By night, at least,
it was certainly that of an Indian, and, summoning all his confidence,
he continued upon his chosen and desperate task.

Henry knew that the chances were against him, even with his disguise,
but he was bound to enter the Indian camp, and he was prepared to incur
all risks and to endure all penalties. He even felt a certain lightness
of heart as he hurried on his way, and at length saw through the forest
the flar