Not a feature changed, the Indian stoicism and calm, the product alike of his nature and cultivation, clung to him.

His eyes were veiled and his movements had their habitual gravity and dignity.
He walked with Black Cloud to the edge of the encampment, said farewell to the Shawnees, and then, with a great surge of joy, his resolution came to him.

It was so sudden, so transforming that the whole world changed at once.

The blood-red tint, thrown by the sunken sun, was gone from the forest, but instead the silver sickle of the moon was rising and shed a radiant light of hope.
He said nothing until they had gone a mile or so and then, drawing Black Cloud aside, spoke to him words full of firmness, but not without feeling.

He made no secret of his purpose, and he said that if Black Cloud and the others sought to stay him with force with force he would reply.