To follow someone, he’d been told, you do not need to keep them in sight. You do not even need to hear them. Follow the signs of their passing. Or, even better, if you know where they are going, set out for that place circling around them.

After half a day’s walk, Burnt Hair and Holds the Door Open reached the beginning of the main trail that led to the big village. Okwaho was close enough now to see them far below him, having circled ahead as his uncle had taught. He was just beyond where the sentries of the big village were usually posted. His hiding place, in a small tree near the base of the highest hill around Onondaga, was close enough for him to see and hear whatever might happen. His heart was beating fast. How would they be greeted—as friends or as traitors who had deserted the big village?

He watched as his father and Burnt Hair took their first steps onto that well-traveled path to the big village. Before they had taken a handful of steps, seven armed warriors stepped out from behind the tall pine trees along the path. Even from his hiding place, Okwaho’s eyes were keen enough to recognize them. Those warriors were people that Burnt Hair and Holds the Door Open knew well. Some of them had been their friends. But the arrows pointed at them were not a sign of welcoming. A tall man with a scar that ran from his chin to his right ear stepped forward from behind the men with bows. He lifted up a heavy war club threateningly. Okwaho knew him, even though his face was painted black. It was Over the Creek, a member of the Turtle Clan. He had often gone hunting with Okwaho’s father.

Holds the Door Open and Burnt Hair held out their empty hands.

“We have no weapons,” Burnt Hair said.

“Then you are fools,” Over the Creek replied in a harsh voice.

“We wish to speak to Atatarho,” Holds the Door Open said.

“You wish to see our Great Chief? That is a foolish wish,” Over the Creek said. His voice sounded amused now.

Another man holding a long spear stepped forward. His face was also painted black, but he was just as easy to recognize. Shorter and broader than Over the Creek, he was named On the Watch. A member of Atatarho’s own Bear Clan, he was one of the great chief’s counselors.

“We will bring them to our Great Chief,” On the Watch said. “We will enjoy hearing what he has to say to them after they have finished speaking.”

“I will run ahead,” Over the Creek said.

On the Watch nodded. He watched as Over the Creek turned and began running as fast as he could. He watched until Over the Creek had vanished from sight around a bend in the trail.