It was what Tayoga would do if he were in his place, and, spurred by a noble emulation, he resolved that he would not be inferior to the Onondaga.
An hour, two hours passed and he did not stir.

His stillness made his hearing more acute.

The trampling of feet over his head came to him with great distinctness.

He heard the singing of wind at the porthole, and, now and then, the swish of waters as they swept past the schooner.

He wondered what Tayoga was doing and what would Willet think when he came back to Albany and found him gone.