camp. The day was almost ended, and in the distant smoke cloud Running Fox saw a vision of the peaceful evening scene in the Delaware village. In fancy he saw the happy groups about the fires, and heard the songs and laughter. He wondered if he had been missed from the merry little company before his father’s lodge. Twilight was gathering, and the smoke column was slowly fading into the shadows. Running Fox looked upon it with longing eyes, for he knew that it would soon be gone. The thought saddened him. That frail spiral of smoke seemed like the last tie that bound him to his people, and he dreaded to see it broken. When it finally faded out in the dusk Running Fox felt a great loneliness surge into his heart.

After he had carefully examined the country through which he intended to pass on the following day, the young Delaware began to look for a safe place in which to spend the night. He believed that it might be dangerous to remain near the river, as he knew that hostile scouts often followed the waterways under cover of darkness. Besides, he was still upset by the actions of the war-eagle, and he determined to take every precaution. He finally decided to camp beside a little spring, high up on the mountainside.

Having killed a grouse earlier in the day, Running Fox broiled it over the embers of a tiny fire, which he was careful to conceal between two large rocks. Then, after he had eaten, he drew his robe about him, and sat with his back against a pine, listening to the night sounds of the wilderness. He heard Quekolis, the whippoorwill, raising his doleful lament down near the river. Running Fox had heard the old men tell weird tales about that mournful bird, and as he listened to its monotonous serenade he wondered if it really did possess all the mysterious powers with which the superstitions story tellers credited it. Then he heard shrill piping sounds from the grass, and he knew that the Zelozelous, the little black cricket people, were singing their medicine-songs. Some time later Running Fox was startled by a piercing scream that sounded from a distant ridge. He listened anxiously until it was repeated, and then he recognized it as the hunting cry of soft-footed Nianque, the lynx. Then the brooding, mysterious night-hush fell upon the forest.

Running Fox rose and raised his hands toward the heavens. After a few moments of reverent silence he began to pray to Getanittowit. He asked for courage and strength to perform his task. Then, after he had sung one of the sacred medicine-songs to drive away any evil spirits that might have discovered his fire, he prepared a couch of sweet-fern and lay down to sleep.

Two-thirds of the night had passed when Running Fox suddenly found himself sitting up, with his bow in his hands, staring anxiously into the dark. He did not know what had awakened him, and for a long time he neither heard or saw anything to give him a clue. He began to fear that he had been dreaming. Then a twig snapped, and he became suspicious. He knew that Mohawk scouts often ventured far into the Delaware hunting grounds, and he feared that one of those sharp-eyed foes had discovered his fire. The thought alarmed him. The possibility of an unseen enemy stealing upon him under cover of the night set his heart throbbing wildly. Still he had no idea of running away. Lying close to the ground, he fitted an arrow to his bow, and strained his eyes in an effort to find the mysterious prowler. For some time the silence was unbroken, and he began to think that he had been needlessly alarmed by some passing beast of the wilderness. Then he heard sounds which led him to believe that some one was cautiously approaching his hiding place. Convinced that he was about to experience his first encounter with an enemy, Running Fox waited with the calm reliance of a veteran. The noise had suddenly ceased, however, and the young Delaware believed that his foe had stopped to listen. A few moments later the soft querulous call of Gokhotit, the little red owl, sounded through the night. It seemed barely a bow-shot away, and Running Fox redoubled his vigilance. When he heard it again he became greatly excited. Then it was repeated a third time, and Running Fox breathed easier, for he recognized it as a signal from his friend, Spotted Deer.

Running Fox was undecided as to just what to do. His first impulse was to reply to the familiar signal, but he overcame it and remained silent. As he saw no reason to alter the decision he had made in the Delaware camp, he planned to steal away and elude his friend under the protection of the darkness. However, it soon became evident that sharp-witted Spotted Deer had guessed his intention.

“Hi, my brother, have you closed your ears to the greeting of a friend?” Spotted Deer inquired reproachfully. “I know that you are somewhere close by. Yes, I believe you are hiding away in the night. I have followed you here, and I will not turn back. No. If I do not find you, then as soon as it grows light I will follow your trail. Running Fox, I am going into the country of the boastful Mohawks with you. It is useless for you to say anything more against it. I have set out to do this thing, and now I am going through with it. Come, my brother, let us meet, and talk together. Now I am going to listen for something.”

Running Fox still remained silent. However, the loyalty and devotion of his friend had greatly affected him, and his heart was filled with conflicting emotions. He found it harder than ever to ignore the stirring appeal, and yet it seemed foolish to renew the discussion with Spotted Deer. At last, however, his great love for his friend forced him to answer.

“My brother, I have listened to your words. You have done a foolish thing to come here. I was going to run away, but now I am going to stay here and talk with you. I believe it is the best thing to do.”

A few moments afterward they clasped hands, while their eyes flashed the welcome that neither could utter. Although he was still determined to continue the journey alone, nevertheless Running Fox was delighted to see his friend. He knew now that his fears concerning him had come to nought, and it filled him with joy. It was evident that Spotted Deer had turned toward the south to fool the Delawares, and then had circled around to intercept his friend. Running Fox admired his stratagem.

“Running Fox, I believe your heart is bad toward me,” declared Spotted Deer. “You say that I have done a foolish thing. Perhaps it is true, but I will not turn back. If you do not listen to my words, then I will go away and let the Mohawks kill me. Now you know what I am thinking about. Yes, I am going through with it no matter how it comes out. I have finished.”

“Spotted Deer, you are a good friend,” Running Fox replied, warmly. “My heart is not bad toward you, but I must tell you that you have done a foolish thing. You must turn back. I am going ahead alone. I have told you about it many times. Now I must go through with it.”

They argued the question throughout the night. Then, as dawn crept slowly out of the east, Running Fox finally yielded to the persuasion of Spotted Deer.

“Spotted Deer, I see that you intend to do as you say,” declared Running Fox. “You say that if you do not go with me you will let the Mohawks kill you. That is very bad. Well, that makes me feel different about it. You are my friend, and I will not let you throw away your life. If you feel like going with me I cannot say anything more against it. Perhaps you will be killed, but I cannot help it. You have asked me to do something, and now I have done it.”

“Running Fox, you have done a good thing,” Spotted Deer cried, joyfully. “Now I will sing again. I am going with you to find out about the great chief Standing Wolf. Perhaps we will have many fights with the Mohawks. You say that we may be killed. Well, my brother, we will die together. It is enough.”