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Updated: June 10, 2025
"They don't know about that fountain, that pure, blessed fountain," said Robert, "the finest fountain that gushes out anywhere in this northern wilderness, the fountain that Tayoga's Areskoui has put here for our especial benefit." His heart had become very light and, as usual when his optimism was at its height, words gushed forth.
Tayoga's fever increased, and when morning came, with the rain still falling, though not in such a deluge as by night, it seemed to Robert, who had seen many gunshot wounds, that it was about at the zenith. The Onondaga came out of his sleep, but he was delirious for a little while, Robert sitting by him, covering him with his blanket and seeing that his hurt was kept away from the air.
Brave as a young lion, he had been overwhelmed nevertheless by his appalling experiences, and his sudden rescue where rescue seemed impossible had taken him back to the heights. Now, it seemed to him that the three, and especially the Onondaga, could do everything. Tayoga's skill as a trailer and scout was so marvelous that no enemy could come anywhere near without his knowledge.
The three adjusted their weight in the slender craft, and Robert, taking Willet's paddle instead of Tayoga's, they pushed out into the lake, while the great hunter sat with his long rifle across his knees, watching for the least sign that the warriors might be coming.
While he sat, idling more than anything else, his mind became occupied with Tayoga's theory of spirits in the air less a theory however than the religious belief of the Indians. He wanted to believe that Tayoga was right, and his imagination was so vivid and intense that what he wished to believe he usually ended by believing. He shut his eyes and tested his power of evocation.
Tayoga's wound had healed so fast, the miracle was so nearly complete, that it did not trouble him, and, after walking two hours, they struck into the long, easy run again. The miles dropped fast behind them, and now Johnson's camp was not far away.
Robert bent over his paddle. His upper clothing lay in the bottom of the canoe, with his rifle and Tayoga's upon the garments, ready to be snatched up in an instant, if need should come. The cold, wet fog beat upon his bare shoulders and chest, but he did not feel it. Instead his blood was hot in every vein, and the great pulses in his temples beat so hard that they made a roaring in his ears.
Willet filled his cap with water at the creek, and brought it to Grosvenor, who drank long and deeply. "Tastes good!" said the hunter, smiling. "Like nectar," said the Englishman, "but it's nectar to me too to see both of you, Mr. Willet and Mr. Lennox. I don't understand yet how it happened. It's really and truly a miracle." "A miracle mostly of Tayoga's working," said the hunter.
"Tayoga's marvelous knowledge of the woods, his skill and his quickness made the greater part of the miracle," said the hunter, "and you see too, Lieutenant Grosvenor, that he even had the forethought to bring away with him the rifle and ammunition of the fallen warrior, that you might have arms now that you are strong enough to bear them again."
They pushed on at good speed, returning on the path they had taken, when Tayoga received his wound, and though they slept one night on the way, to give Tayoga's wound a further chance, they came in time to the place where the rangers and the Mohawks had met St. Luc's force in combat.
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