' I make
concession freely that the Onondaga is a most wonderful fellow, but he
can't work miracles. He does not hold such complete mastery over the
wilderness that it will obey his lightest whisper. I read fairy tales
in my youth and they pleased me much, but alas! they were fairy
tales! The impossible doesn't happen!"
"Who's the great talker now? Your words were flowing then like the
trickling of water from a spout. But you're wrong, Will, about the
impossible. The impossible often happens. Great spirits like Tayoga
love the impossible. It draws them on, it arouses their energy, they
think it worth while. I've seen Tayoga more than once since he
started, as plainly as I see you, Will. Now, I shut my eyes and I
behold him once more. He's in the forest. The snow is pouring down. It
lies a foot deep on the ground, the boughs bend with it, and sometimes
they crack under it with a report like that of a rifle. The tops of
the bushes crowned with white bend their weight toward the ground, the
panthers, the wolves, and the wildcats all lie snug in their
dens. It's a dead world save for one figure. Squarely in the center of
it I see Tayoga, bent over a little, but flying straight forward at a
speed that neither you nor I could match, Will.
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