His Anglo-Saxon neighbor watched the pensive beauty of the evening with
a softened heart. The glory behind the tremendous rock faded, giving
place to tender tints of pearl and amethyst. Above the distant tree tops
swam the evening star. In the half light the shadowy forest on either
hand blended with the great bridge carved by some mysterious force from
the everlasting hills. Together they made a mountain of darkness
pierced by a titanic gateway through which one looked into heavenly
spaces. The chant of the wind swelled louder. It was like the moan of
distant breakers. The night fell, and the stars came out one by one
until the blue vault was thickly studded. Up and down the sides of the
ravine flickered millions of fireflies. Their restless glimmer wearied
the eyes. Landless raised his to the one star, large, calm and
beautiful, and prayed, then thought of all that star shone upon that
night--most of the white town of his boyhood, lying fair and still like
a dream town, above a measureless, slumberous sea. A great calm was upon
him. Toil and danger were past; passionate hope and settled despair were
past. That he would do what he had come this journey to do, he now had
no doubt,--would not have doubted had there been encamped between him
and the frail shed built against the rock all the Indians this side of
the South Sea.

The stars that shone through the great archway slowly paled, the stream
became dull silver, and down the towering darkness on either hand fell a
soft and tremulous light like a veil of white gauze. Landless put out
his hand to waken the sleeping Indian, and touched bare rock. A moment
later the branches before him parted. He had heard no sound, but there,
within three feet of him, were the high features and the bold eyes of
the Susquehannock.

"Monakatocka has been to the great rock," he said in a guttural whisper.
"The Algonquin dogs sleep sound, for they do not know that a Conestoga
is on their trail. They have camped beneath the rock three days, and
they will move on the morrow. They have built a shed for the maiden
against the rock. About it lie the Ricahecrians, the moccasins of one
touching the scalp lock of another. They keep no watch, but they have
scattered dried twigs over all the ground. Tread on them, and the god of
the Algonquins will make them speak very loud. But a Conestoga is
cunning. Monakatocka has found a way."

"Then let us go," said Landless, rising.

As they crept from out