said I. And I drew my knife and blazed the ford; and, as well as I might without seeing, wrote the depth of water on the scar.

I heard the Mohican’s low laughter.

“The Senecas will see it and destroy it. But it will drive them frantic,” he said.

“Whatever they do to this tree will but mark the ford more plainly,” said I.

And the Mohican laughed and laughed and patted my shoulder, as we moved fast on our back trail. I think he was excited, veteran though he was, at his taking of a Seneca warrior’s scalp. “Had you not jerked him under water when he leaned forward over your shoulder to see what manner of man was speaking English,” said I, “doubtless he had awakened the forest with his warning yell in another moment.”