The silent and invisible warning, like a modern wireless current, reached him again.

Now, he knelt at the very edge of the shelf, and drew his long hunting knife.

He tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes, and always he looked up the stream in the direction in which they had come.

He strained his ears too to the utmost, concentrating the full powers of his hearing upon the river, but the only sounds that reached him were the flowing of the current, the bubbling of the water at the edges, and its lapping against a tree or bush torn up by the storm and floating on the surface of the stream.
The Onondaga stepped from the shelf, finding a place for his feet in crevices below, the water rising almost to his knees, and leaned farther forward to listen.

One hand held firmly to a projection of stone above and the other clasped the knife.
Tayoga maintained the intense concentration of his faculties, as if he had drawn them together in an actual physical way, until they bore upon one point, and he poured so much strength and vitality into them that he made the darkness thin away before his eyes and he heard noises of the water that had not come to him before.
A broken bough, a bush and a sapling washed past.