Say not that, said Cahoonshee, it was God’s plan to save you. He gave instinct to the dog to smell you out. He gave growth and strength to the vine to pull you up. And to us the common instincts of humanity to save you. But we must be going. We are not beyond danger yet. Let us return to the Shinglekill and make arrangements for the future. And leave the Indians unburied? said Drake. Yes, leave them as they would have left us—for the wild beasts to pick their bones. See, the vultures have already scented their carcases. [Illustration: CAHOONSHEE AND HAWK EYE PLANNING THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SALAMANQUES.] The parties then wound their way down the rocks to the river, and from there down the north back to the cabin on the Shinglekill. Cahoonshee seemed to be down cast and despondent, sitting alone under the butternut trees, with his body bent forward and his head clasped in his hands. Drake watched him for some time, but was unable to discover his trouble, when the words he heard him speak at the Skull Rock came to his mind— “We are not out of danger yet!” What troubles Cahoonshee? Is it the danger you spoke of at the Skull Rock? Yes, in part. There is still danger of the Salamanques. They will hunt me down. But there is another danger that threatens the lives of all the white people between the Hudson and Delaware Rivers. I cannot tell when the blow will be struck. It may be a month—it may be years. The Indians feel their wrongs deeply. They see the whites increase and the Indians diminish. They know that by falsehood and intrigue they have been deprived of their land. They see from the Hudson on the east, to the Delaware on west, and to Kingston on the north, the white man has taken possession of the land and the Indian is being driven west. Both banks of the Delaware from Milford to the Neversink are now dotted with the white man’s house, and the lodge of the Indian has passed away. The Neversink valley and the Peanpack flats are occupied by Hollanders and French, and their cry is “Indian, go West.” The spirit of the Indian is broken, but their religion remains the same. Revenge is a part of their religion. Revenge they have resolved on, and a terrible revenge it will be. Before many moons have passed a general uprising will take place from the Hudson to the Lakes. Men, women and children will be killed and scalped, their houses and barns burned, their property destroyed, their homes made desolate, and all will be desolation and death. The Indian will have his revenge and go west. The white man will follow. The Indian will turn again, and the ravages of Indian warfare will be repeated. And thus, for generation after generation, the war of races will go on until the last red man is driven over the western slope and their bones are buried in the Pacific. It is nature’s decree. The Indian must go. The places that know them now, will soon know them no more forever.