“The Black-Snake saw them,” said the Wyandotte, so frankly and calmly that my growing but indefinite suspicions of his loyalty were arrested for the moment.

“Why did not the Black-Snake report them?” I asked.

“They were St. Regis, and a week old, as my brother says.” And he smiled at us all so confidingly that I could no longer believe ill of him.

“Nevertheless,” said I, “we will range out on either flank as far as the ford which should be less than a mile down stream.” And I placed the Wyandotte between both Oneidas and on the forest side; and as the valley was dry and open under its huge standing timber, I myself led, notching the trail and keeping a lively eye to the left, wherever I caught a glimpse of water sparkling.