the gobble now was made by a spirit and not by a real turkey. Then the
owl hooted, the panther shrieked and the bear growled. The cry of a
moose, not any moose at all, as Tandakora well knew, but the foul
emanation of a wicked spirit, came, merely to be succeeded by the weird
cries of night birds which the Ojibway chief had never seen, and of
which he had never dreamed. He knew, though, that they must be hideous,
misshapen creatures. But he still stood fast, although all of his
warriors were eager to go, and the demon chorus came nearer and nearer,
multiplying its cries, and adding to the strange notes of birds the
equally strange notes of animals, worse even than the growl of bear or
shriek of panther.

Tandakora knew now that the wicked spirits of earth and air were abroad
in greater numbers than he had ever known before. They fairly swarmed
all about him and his warriors, continually coming closer and closer and
making dire threats. The night was particularly suited to them. The
heavy black clouds floating before the moon and stars were met by thick
mists and vapors that fairly oozed out of the damp earth. It was an evil
night, full of spells and magic, and the moment came when the chief
wished he was in his own hunting grounds far to the west by the greatest
of the Great Lakes.

The darkness was not too great for him to see several of his warriors
trembling and he rebuked them fiercely, though his own nerves, tough as
they were, were becoming frayed and uneasy. He forgot to watch the trail
and listen for the sound of footsteps. All his attention was centered
upon that horrible and circling chorus of sound. The Bostonnais might
come and pass and he would not see them. He went into the forest a
little way, trying to persuade himself that they were really persecuted
by animals. He would find one of these annoying panthers or bears and