A great war party passed within a hundred yards of them, going swiftly southward, but the three, swathed in their blankets, and, hidden in the dark thickets, had no fear.

They were merely three motes in the wilderness and the warriors did not dream that they were near.

When the last sound of their marching had sunk into nothingness, Tayoga said: "It was not the will of Tododaho that they should suspect our presence, but I fear that they go to a triumph." They rose from the thicket early the following morning, and resumed their flight, but it soon came to a halt, when the Onondaga pointed to a trail in the forest, made apparently by about twenty warriors.

The hawk eye of Tayoga, however, picked out one trace among them which all three knew was made by a white man.
"I know, too," said the red youth, "the white man who made it." "Tell us his name," said the hunter, who had full confidence in the wonderful powers of the Onondaga.
"It is the Frenchman, Langlade, who held Dagaeoga a prisoner in his village so long.

I know his traces, because I followed them before.