them so that they can not sing their death-song. There is not one of us who has not courage to sing his death-song at the stake; but who can sing when he is being choked to death by a rope?”
I nodded, looking uneasily toward the river where the two Seneca spies lurked unseen as yet by me.
“Let the men sling their packs,” I said.
“They have done so, Loskiel.”
“Very well. Our order of march will be the same as yesterday. We keep the Wyandotte between us.”
“That is wisdom.”
“Is it to be a running fight, Mayaro?”
“Perhaps, if their main body comes up.”