ed, but that of Timmendiquas was as cool and calm as his own. It
seemed to him that just the touch of a smile appeared in the eyes of the
chief, as if he understood and appreciated, and the fleeting look of
Henry was not too brief to give back the smile. A singular bond of
mutual respect was established in quick time between White Lightning and
himself.

On sped the dusky line. The sun sank in a cloud of mist and vapors.
Thick night crept up, broken only when heat lightning flared on the far
horizon, but Anue, bearer of the medicine bag, taker of the first scalp,
honored among warriors, still led.

CHAPTER III

THE SONG OF THE LEAVES

The night had come a full hour when Anue stopped in a little glade
hemmed in by mighty oaks and beeches. The heat lightning flared again at
that moment, and Henry saw that every one besides Timmendiquas and
himself was panting. Enduring as were all Wyandots, they were glad that
Anue had stopped, and they were generous enough to cast looks of
approval at the captive who stood among them still calm and still
breathing regularly. Timmendiquas did more. He stepped into the circle,
put one hand on Henry's shoulder, and looked him directly in the eyes.

"You are strong," he said gravely, "stronger even than most Wyandots,
and your soul is that of the eagle. If the boy is what he is, what will
the man be?"

Henry knew that the words were meant, and he felt pride, but his modesty
would not let him show it.

"I thank you, White Lightning," he replied with a similar gravity. "Your
Manitou was kind enough to give me a strong body, and I, like you, have
lived in the woods."

"As I see," said the chief sententiously. "Now I tell you this. We will
take the bonds from your arms if you promise us not to seek to escape
to-night. Else you must lie among us bound, hand and foot, to a warrior
on either side. See, we are willing to take your word."

Henry felt pride again. These Wyandots, mortal enemies, who had never
seen him before, would believe what he said, putting absolute faith in
their reading of his character. He looked up at the dusky sky, in which
not a single star twinkled, and then at the black forest that circled
about them. Bound, and with a lightly sleeping Wyandot at either elbow,
he would have a slender chance, indeed, of escape, and he could well
bide his time.

"I give the promise and with it my thanks, White Lightning," he said.

White Lightning cut the thongs with on