The bird uttered three or four notes, not short or sharp now, but
soft, long and beckoning, dying away in the gentlest of echoes. His
imagination, as vivid as ever, translated it into a call to him to
come, and he was not in the least surprised, when the blue flame like
the pillow of cloud by day moved slowly to the northeast, and toward
the lake. Stepping cautiously he followed his sign, thrilled at the
doing of the miracle, his eyes on his flying guide, his ears attuned
to warn him if any danger threatened from the forest so near.

It never occurred to Robert that he might not be led aright. His faith
and confidence were supreme. He had lived too much with Tayoga not to
share his belief that the hand of Manitou was stretched forth now to
lead those who put their trust in him.

The blue flame that was a living bird flew slowly on, pausing an
instant or two on a bough, turning for a short curve to right or
left, but always coming back to the main course that pointed toward
Andiatarocte.

He walked beside the little brook from which he had drunk, then across
it and over a low hill, into a shallow valley, the forest everywhere,
but the undergrowth not too dense for easy passage. His attentive ear
brought no sound from either flank save those natural to the woods,
though he was sure that a hostile call would come soon. It would be
time for the bands to talk to one another. But he had no fear. The
supreme intervention had been made in his favor, and he kept his eyes
on his flying guide.

They crossed the valley and began the ascent of another and high hill,
rough with rocky outcrops and a heavy growth of briars and vines. His