It was obvious to him that his call had come.

Steeped in Indian lore he had seen earth and air work miracles, and it was not less wonderful that a living creature should perform one now, and in his behalf.
For a breathless instant or two he forgot the warriors and watched the bird, a flash of blue flame against the green veil of the forest.

It was perched there in order to be sure that he saw, and then it would show the way! With every pulse beating hard he stood up silently, his eyes still on the blue flash, confident that a new miracle was at hand.
The bird uttered three or four notes, not short or sharp now, but soft, long and beckoning, dying away in the gentlest of echoes.

His imagination, as vivid as ever, translated it into a call to him to come, and he was not in the least surprised, when the blue flame like the pillow of cloud by day moved slowly to the northeast, and toward the lake.

Stepping cautiously he followed his sign, thrilled at the doing of the miracle, his eyes on his flying guide, his ears attuned to warn him if any danger threatened from the forest so near.
It never occurred to Robert that he might not be led aright.