March!" All that afternoon we moved along south and west, keeping in touch with the Susquehanna, which here is called Oak Creek, though it is the self-same stream.

And we scouted the river region thoroughly, routing out nothing save startled deer that bounded from their balsam beds and went off crashing through the osiers, or a band of wild turkeys that, bewildered, ran headlong among us so that Tahoontowhee knocked over two with his rifle butt, and, slinging them to his shoulders, went forward buried in plumage like same monstrous feathered goblin of the forest.
The sun was now dropping into the West; the woods on our right had darkened; on our left a pink light netted the river ripples.

Filing in perfect silence, save for the light sound of a hatchet and the slithering of sappy bark, I had noticed, or thought I noticed, that the progress of the Wyandotte was less quiet than ours, where he ranged our left flank, supposedly keeping within the forest shadow.
Once or twice I thought I heard a small stone fall to the willow gully, as though accidentally dislodged by his swiftly passing moccasins.
Once, at any rate, I caught the glimmer of the sun striking some bit of metal on him, where he had incautiously ranged outside the protecting shadow belt.
That these things were purely accidental I felt sure, yet I did not care to have them repeated.

And for a long while there was neither sound nor sun-glitter from him.

Then, without even a glance or a word for me, the Mohican quietly dropped back from the lead, waited until the last Oneida had passed, and moved swiftly on a diagonal course to the left, which brought him in the tracks of the Wyandotte.
He continued on that course for a while, I taking his place in the lead, and the Wyandotte unconscious that he was followed.