Chapter VII. The Sleeping Sentinels - Page 2

and claws, and yet he felt neither fear nor hostility. Tayoga's statement that they were bears, into which the souls of great warriors had gone, was strong in his mind, and he believed. They looked up at him, but they did not pause, moving on to the little caves.

"They see us," he said.

"So they do," said Tayoga, "but they do not fear us. The spirits of mighty warriors look out of their eyes at us, and knowing that they were once as we are they know also that we will not harm them."

"Have you ever seen the like of this before, Tayoga?"

"No! But a few of the old men of the Hodenosaunee have told of their grandfathers who have seen it. I think it is a mark of favor to us that we are permitted to behold such a sight. Now I am sure Tododaho has looked upon us with great approval. Lo, Dagaeoga, more of them come out of the mist! Before morning every cave, save those in our own little corner of the valley, will be filled. All of them gaze up at us, recognize us as friends and pass on. It is a wonderful sight, Dagaeoga, and we shall never look upon its like again."

"No," said Robert, as the extraordinary thrill ran through him once more. "Now they have gone into their caves, and I believe with you, Tayoga, that the souls of great warriors truly inhabit the bodies of the bears."

"And since they are snugly in their homes, ready for the long winter sleep, lo! the great snow comes, Dagaeoga!"

A heavy flake fell on Robert's upturned face, and then another and another. The circling clouds, thick and leaden, were beginning to pour down their burden, and the two retreated swiftly to their own dry and well furnished cave. Then they rolled the great stones before the door, and Tayoga said:

"Now, we will imitate our friends, the bears, and take a long winter sleep."

Both were soon slumbering soundly in their blankets and furs, and all that night and all the next day the snow fell on the high mountains in the heart of which they lay. There was no wind, and it came straight down, making an even depth on ridge, slope and valley. It blotted out the mouths of the caves, and it clothed all the forest in deep white. Robert and Tayoga were but two motes, lost in the vast wilderness, which had returned to its primeval state, and the Indians themselves, whether hostile or friendly, sought their villages and lodges and were willing to leave the war trail untrodden until the months of storm and bitter cold had passed.

Robert slept heavily. His labors in preparation for the winter had been severe and unremitting, and his nerves had been keyed very high by the arrival of the bears and the singular quality in the air. Now, nature claimed her toll, and he did not awake until nearly noon, Tayoga having preceded him a half hour. The Onondaga stood at the door of the cave, looking over