During his captivity Rodney had learned to stalk game and this training he now put to use. Stealthily approaching, he saw a group of strange Indians, and with them Caughnega. The latter had set up, in a little opening among the trees, his wigwam of skins, in which he was accustomed to perform certain of the rites of a "medicine man." The boy knew that Caughnega's fame was not confined to the local tribes, and at once concluded these Indians had come to consult him, probably as to what the spirits, good and evil, might have to say respecting the approaching war. Evidently Caughnega had begun his work, for he was now ready to enter his wigwam. Silence came upon the group waiting patiently outside. After quite a long wait a medley of sounds issued from the interior of the wigwam in which Caughnega was shut and the structure itself rocked as if in a gale. Knowing that Indians can mimic the sounds of all animals and birds with which they are acquainted, the boy had no doubt these sounds were made by Caughnega himself. If so, he was certainly an artist, and the assembled group sat around awestruck, for they had no doubt the noises were made by the spirits. After the disturbance subsided, Caughnega came out and, standing before them, addressed them, telling what, he said, the spirits had told him. The message incited the savages to great ardour, which they manifested by brandishing their tomahawks and yelling. "So this is the work that villain is doing unknown to Ahneota," thought Rodney. Just then he espied a large nest of hornets suspended to a limb overhanging the group. He recognized the nest as that of a variety of hornet which is large and valiant. The spirit of mischief entered the boy and, taking careful aim, he shot an arrow, which struck and tore away a portion of the paper nest. Now a hornet does not hold a council of war when disturbed, but instantly attacks, like an Indian, the first object that presents itself, and in this instance Caughnega was the first target. He stood, his back toward the nest, pouring out the words of the message in sonorous tones. Suddenly this flow of language was punctuated by a blood-curdling yell, as one of those winged bullets struck him just behind the left ear. About the same moment others in the group were hit. Yells and back somersaults were mingled for a moment, and then those doughty warriors fled as never from the face of a white man. Rodney lay on the ground in convulsions of silent laughter. On returning to the village the boy related his story to the old chief, who listened gravely and at the end said, "The Great Spirit will be angry." "Do you believe the 'medicine man' can talk with him?" asked Rodney, incredulously. "Ahneota knows the ways of the birds and the beaver, but the ways of the spirits he does not know. I see the medicine lodge tremble and hear voices; they are not the voices of Indians."