“You have told me enough. We will find,” she said.

He looked at her uneasily.

“I have told you nothing. I am only Wtegowa, a follower, a recruit, with these men from the country of the Twightwees. My own village on the Tuscarawas I am banished from. How could I tell you anything?”

“Alla leni. It is true,” Stone Girl assured him. “You have said nothing. I don’t know you. Never have I seen you. I have forgotten you already.”

He gave her a strange look, a look of surprise and something almost respect, a look she remembered seeing more than once on Espan’s face when she defied him. Now he glanced up at the sun, turned, and without speaking more struck down the valley path that stretched away at the edge of the forest.

STONE GIRL stood watching him before taking after. He was soon among the trees and out of sight but the path was an ancient one, trod deeply into the forest mold and broad enough for two men to tramp side by side. Once when another path broke away to the north she caught a glimpse of him far ahead at the next turn as if he had lingered to make sure she took the right fork. Then he was gone but it left the feeling of a faint bond between them. He allowed no further glimpse of himself. The path penetrated more deeply into the forest. It ran in bright-green stretches of hardwoods where the way lay very plain and through stands of ancient pines and hemlocks where it seemed that night was falling and the footway vanished into a floor of smooth brown needles. Only slight depressions over low ridges or ancient red rotting trunks showed where feet had trod. Twice she found a white unraveled thread on the hidden trail as if purposely dropped for her eyes to find.

It was several hours later when she smelled faint smoke. Cautioning Otter Boy not to speak, she kept on while the scent grew stronger, retracing her steps when it began to wane. Now she followed her nose into the south wind. She remembered the words, at the stream by the side of the mountain. At length she could see smoke standing in the forest, a clear blue showing it came from pine wood. In time she glimpsed the camp ahead among the butts of monster hemlocks on the bank of the creek at the foot of the steep mountain.

Then suddenly Nutiket, the sentinel, cried a warning, forms leaped from the ground, and she was dragged roughly into the middle of them.

“Ponchi! Let us alone,” she ordered, shaking them off. She told those who stood around her who she was.

They listened with unfriendly faces.

“You speak Indian. Your boy looks Indian. Why don’t you know the Indian custom to send a messenger ahead to camp before blundering into it like a bear?”