might be too near when the cry was sent. Yet he must take the risk,
and there was his sentinel bird still pluming itself in brilliant
colors on its waving bough.

The bird sang anew, pouring forth a brilliant tune, and Robert from
his covert smiled up at it again. It had a fine spirit, a gay spirit
like his own and now it would surely warn him if danger crept too
close. While the thought was fresh in his mind the third signal
came, and now it was so clear and distinct that it indicated a rapid
approach. But he was still unable to choose a way for his flight and
he lingered for a sign from the bird. If the warriors were stealing
through the bushes it would fly directly from them. At least he
believed so, and fancy had so much power over him, especially in such
a situation that belief became conviction.

The bird stopped singing suddenly, but kept his perch on the waving
bough. Robert always insisted that it looked straight at him before it
uttered two or three sharp notes, and then, rising in the air, hovered
for a few minutes above the bough. 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.