Do not move! Do not stir in the least, Black Rifle! I think I catch another sound, almost as light as that made by a leaf when it falls! Ah, Manitou is good to me! He makes me hear to-night better than I ever heard before, because it is his purpose, I know not why, to make me do so! There comes the little sound again and it is real! It was a footstep far away, and then another and another and now many! It is the tread of marching men and they are white men!" "How do you know they are white men, Tayoga ?" "Mingled with the sound of their footsteps is a little clank made by the hilts of swords and the butts of pistols striking against the metal on their belts.

There is a slight creaking of leather, too, which could not possibly come from a band of warriors.

I hear the echo of a voice! I think it is a command, a short, sharp word or two such as white officers give.

The sounds of the footsteps merge now, Black Rifle, because the men are marching to the same step.

I think there must be at least fifty of them.