It was a little gray bird, but Tayoga knew that often the smaller a bird was, and the more sober its plumage the finer was its song.

He understood those musical notes too.

They expressed sheer delight, the joy of life just as he felt it then himself, and the kinship between the two was strong.
The bird at last flew away and the Onondaga heard its song dying among the distant leaves.

A portion of the forest spell departed with it, and Tayoga, returning to thoughts of his task, rose and walked on, instinct rather than will causing him to keep a close watch on earth and foliage.

When he saw the faint trace of a large moccasin on the earth all that was left of the spell departed suddenly and he became at once the wilderness warrior, active, alert, ready to read every sign.
He studied the imprint, which turned in, and hence had been made by an Indian.