About fifteen yards away an Indian warrior was walking cautiously along and looking among the vines.

Evidently he had heard the snarl of the dog, and was seeking the cause.

But it had been only a single sound, and he would not look far.

Yet the hearts of the five beat a little faster as he prowled among the vines, and their nerves were tense for action should the need for it come.
The Indian, a Mohawk, came within ten yards of them, but he did not see the five figures among the vines, blending darkly with the dark growth, and presently, satisfied that the sound he had heard was of no importance, he walked in another direction, and passed out of sight.
The five, not daunted at all by this living proof of risk, crept to the very edge of the clusters of grapevines, and looked upon an open space, beyond which stood some houses made of wood; but their attention was centered upon a figure that stood in the open.
Although the distance was too great and the light too poor to disclose the features, every one of the scouts recognized the figure.

It could be none other than that of Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of the Wyandots.