He sat in that absolute stillness of which the Indian by nature and
training was capable, the green of his tanned and beautifully soft
deerskin blending so perfectly with the emerald hue of the foliage
that the bird above his head at last took him for a part of the forest
itself and so, having no fear, came down within a foot of his head and
sang with more ecstasy than ever. It was a little gray bird, but
Tayoga knew that often the smaller a bird was, and the more sober its
plumage the finer was its song. He understood those musical notes
too. They expressed sheer delight, the joy of life just as he felt it
then himself, and the kinship between the two was strong.
The bird at last flew away and the Onondaga heard its song dying among
the distant leaves. A portion of the forest spell departed with it,
and Tayoga, returning to thoughts of his task, rose and walked on,
instinct rather than will causing him to keep a close watch on earth
and foliage. When he saw the faint trace of a large moccasin on the
earth all that was left of the spell departed suddenly and he became
at once the wilderness warrior, active, alert, ready to read every
sign.
He studied the imprint, which turned in, and hence had been made by an
Indian.
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