He had left them on the shore of the lake, called by the whites, George, but more musically by the Indians, Andiatarocte, and there was nothing in their plans that would now bring them his way.

However welcome they might be he could not hope for them; foes only were to be expected.
The faint cry, scarcely more than a variation of the wind, registered again though lightly on the drum of his ear, and now he knew that it came from the lungs of man, man the pursuer, man the slayer, and so, in this case, the red man, perhaps Tandakora, the fierce Ojibway chief himself.

Doubtless it was a signal, one band calling to another, and he listened anxiously for the reply, but he did not hear it, the point from which it was sent being too remote, and he settled back into his bed of bushes and grass, resolved to keep quite still until he could make up his mind about the next step.

On the border as well as elsewhere it was always wise, when one did not know what to do, to do nothing.
But the tall youth was keenly apprehensive.

The signals indicated that the pursuing force had spread out, and it might enclose him in a fatal circle.