"Hah-yah-yah-eeee-eee-ee-e!"
The ferocious yell made my blood run cold. It startled my assailant even more. His muscles slackened just long enough for me to leap clear of him.
"——!" he snarled.
He drew one arm back to hurl his knife at me, but something whirred past my shoulder and his head jerked violently to one side. There was a sharp clang, and he fled precipitately, shouting curses.
Against the near-by house-wall a small, bright object glimmered through the shadows, and I stooped to snatch it up—only to leap instantly erect as a voice spoke at my elbow.
"My brother was in danger," said the voice quietly. "Ta-wan-ne-ars saw the Red Death follow Ormerod from the Governor's House, so Ta-wan-ne-ars followed him."
The tall figure of the Seneca was scarcely discernible in the gloom.
"Was it Bolling?" I asked.
He raised the shining object from the ground. It was his tomahawk, and curled about the blade was a lock of greasy red hair. He pointed to it.
"That time Ta-wan-ne-ars missed," he said grimly. "Some day the light will be better—and Ta-wan-ne-ars will not miss."
"Although you missed, you saved my life," I answered warmly. "'Tis an obligation I shall not forget."
He laid his fingers to his lips.
"Hark," he said.
I listened, and from the water-front came the thunderous voice of the bellman.
"Half-after-eight-o'clock, and a fine night with a south-west breeze. And all householders are cautioned they shall set out their lanthorns, and if any nightwalker shall injure the same he shall be fined twenty pounds for each offense and jailed in the Bridewell.
"And his Excellency the governor is pleased to proclaim that whereas divers persons have mocked, assailed or sought to humiliate Indian visitors to the city, the governor has made a rule that such persons, upon apprehension, shall be set in the stocks for twelve hours the first time and upon the second offense shall be publicly whipped at the cart's tail along the Broad-Way."
Ta-wan-ne-ars replaced his tomahawk in its sheath.
"There is no talk of obligations between brothers," he said. "Come, we will walk together to your tavern."
"No, we will go to Murray's tavern," I said. "I will ask him if he thinks he can commit assassination here in the town as he does in the forest."
"Good," rejoined Ta-wan-ne-ars impassively. "I will accompany my brother there."
I remembered that de Veulle lodged at Cawston's, and hesitated.
"Let my brother Ormerod be at ease," added the Indian. "Ta-wan-ne-ars has mastered his hatred."
"Very well," I replied. "I shall be glad of your company, but we must not be tempted to violence. There are reasons for my meekness."
"It would not be courteous for Ta-wan-ne-ars to slay his enemy in New York when he is the guest of Ga-en-gwa-ra-go," returned the Seneca as he walked lightly beside me.
"I, too, hate your enemy," I said.
He was silent for as much as ten paces.
"My brother means de Veulle?" he asked.
"Yes; I once crossed swords with him."
"And he lives! Did he wound my brother?"
I recounted briefly the circumstances of the duel at the Toison d'Or. He made no comment until I had finished.
"I am glad my brother spared him," he said then. "For Ta-wan-ne-ars has often prayed to Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit, to give him the life of this man who lives as though he were one of the fiends of the Ga-go-sa.[1]
[1] False Faces.
"It is a bond between us that we have the same enemy. We did not need such a bond, Ormerod, but it is a proof that we were meant to be brothers."
At the next corner we met the bellman, trotting heavily.
"A citizen tells me he hath heard a horrid screech," he panted. "Do you know aught——"
"Yes," I told him. "I was attacked by a desperado named Bolling——"
"God save us, I knew there would be mischief with that villain in our midst!" interrupted the bellman.
"There would have been sore mischief done had not this Indian, who is visiting the governor, come to my aid," I rejoined.
"Did you slay the man?" asked the bellman apprehensively.
"No; he fled."
"'Tis a savage rogue, and a deadly. Gadslife, my master, but you had a fortunate escape. I will run to the watch house and give an alarm. Aye, we should have a file of soldiers from the fort. This is no easy task that is set for us. I will——"
His threats and adjurations died away in the distance, as he hurried on, his regular duties forgotten.
"What think you hath become of Bolling?" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"He is beyond the city limits, brother. There are no palisades for him to pass, and flight will be easy. He must have had a swift horse in readiness, for he would have been obliged to flee equally had he slain you."
"Will they catch him?"
Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed briefly, a trick he had which I afterward discovered to be rare, although not unknown, amongst the Indians.
"Those who are charged with his pursuit? No, brother; as well might the beaver pursue the wild pigeon. He will be buried in the wilderness tomorrow. But some day Ta-wan-ne-ars will come up with him—or perhaps it may be you, Ormerod. That will be a bad day for the Red Death."
At Cawston's we looked in vain for Murray or any of his party in the taproom and ordinary, so without a word to the servants we ascended the stairs to the upper floor. In the hall I halted momentarily, considering which door to knock upon, when the puzzle was solved by the opening of the one by which we stood.
My Lady Green Cloak appeared, and she started back in amazement, tinged with fear, at sight of me and the stalwart, half-naked figure of the Seneca, arms folded across his painted chest, his eagle's-feather reaching almost to the ceiling.
I bowed to her.
"Good evening, Mistress Murray," I said. "I am come with my friend for a word with your father."
"He is engaged," she answered quickly.
"That may be, but I must speak with him on a matter of much importance."
"What is that, sir!"
She began to recover her self-possession.
"What interest have you in common!" she added.
"None, save it be to dislike the other," I replied. "But I am obliged to ask your father for the second time if he condones assassination in the dark."
Her eyes widened with horror, then darkened with stony anger.
"Sir, you are monstrous impertinent!" she exclaimed. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"
"Because it occurred a quarter-hour past."
"And because you are assailed by some foot-pad in a disreputable part of the town, is that a reason for you to charge Master Murray with assassination!" she demanded with high contempt.
"Oh, I have proof," I said airily.
But my anger grew with hers. It maddened me that this girl, who I knew was honest, should be arrayed against me, should hold for me the contempt of a clean woman for a man she deemed a traitor.
"Look you, Mistress Murray," I went on haughtily. "The watch are now searching for your father's emissary. The garrison are to be turned out. Any moment Master Murray is like to receive a summons to go before the governor. He has overplayed his hand this time. He——"
The door behind her opened again, and Murray himself came out.
"I thought I heard voices—— Ah, Master Juggins——"
"Ormerod," I interrupted suavely.
His eyebrows expressed polite astonishment.
"To be sure. Forgive my stupidity. It hath gone so far as that already, hath it?"
"It hath gone so far as attempted assassination—for the second time," I retorted.
"Assassination! Tut, tut," he rebuked me. "Master Ormerod, you use strong language. And who in this little town of ours would seek to murder a gentleman new-landed like yourself?"
Ta-wan-ne-ars stepped to the front.
"Does Murray know this scalp?"
He permitted an end of the lock of Bolling's hair to show through his clinched fingers.
Marjory shrank back in terror. Murray's face became convulsed with passion.
"'Sdeath!" he swore. "If Bolling is dead by this savage's hand I shall know the wherefore of it! What? Do the Iroquois take scalps within the city!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars laughed, and slowly opened his fist to reveal the single lock of hair.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars only takes the scalps of honorable warriors," he said in his smooth, low-pitched voice. "But the Red Death escaped tonight by the width of these hairs. Does Murray think Ga-en-gwa-ra-go would have been angry with Ta-wan-ne-ars if the tomahawk had struck true?"
Murray wiped beads of perspiration from his face.
"So 'twas Bolling!" he muttered. "Curse the knave! What hath he done?"
"No more than attempted to murder me, sir—as I have attempted to tell you," I answered ironically.
Marjory came forward, hands clasped in expostulation.
"It isn't so! It can't be so! Tell him he lies, sir!" she pleaded with Murray.
He put her gently to one side.
"Peace, peace, my dear," he said. "You do not understand."
"But Bolling is the man you called 'Red Jack!'" she expostulated. "You presented me to him. You told him to be sure to remember my face. You jested about his hair and his evil looks."
"The man is likewise called 'The Red Death,' Mistress Murray," I said.
She turned to me, tears in her eyes.
"Oh, sir, pray you, do not bait me!" she cried. "I would not believe you before, but that is the man's hair, beyond a doubt."
"And what if it is?" said Murray kindly, drawing her to him with one arm. "Is that any reason why you should express shame?"
"But he was one of your people, sir. You told me——"
"Tut, tut, my dear Marjory. You are new to this New World of ours. The frontier is not like Scotland. We must work with what tools we find. I say it to my sorrow"—and he said it furthermore without even the twitch of an eyelid—"I am compelled occasionally to consort with men I might prefer to do without."
He gave his attention once more to me.
"In a word, Master Ormerod, what hath happened that you approach me in so hostile a spirit?"
"In a word, Master Murray," I replied, "your man Bolling, or 'The Red Death,' as he seems to be known in these parts, tried to kill me with knife and hatchet this evening."
"I am constrained to believe you," he said with an appearance of much sorrow, "but I can not hold myself responsible, sir."
"It may be that the governor will not be so indulgent," I commented sarcastically.
Murray drew himself erect.
"Sir," he replied, "as it happens, Bolling quarreled with me this afternoon in the presence of half a dozen well-known citizens of the town, and I dismissed him from my service."
"Pardon me," I said with a laugh, "if I express some——"
"Do you step within," he responded with celerity. "I shall be glad if you will satisfy yourself by questioning witnesses of the dispute. Marjory, will you——"
"I will stay," she said positively.
He shrugged his shoulders and stood aside. I motioned to Marjory, and she reëntered first. I walked next, and the Seneca followed me, one hand resting on his knife-hilt.
Murray shut the door behind us, and I found myself in a large room, sufficiently lighted by candles. Five or six men, who had been talking at a table, looked up with interest as we came in. One of them was de Veulle, and I felt rather than saw the massive frame of Ta-wan-ne-ars gather itself together exactly as does the wildcat when he sights his quarry.
The others I did not know. Murray introduced them by names which meant nothing to me, but later Ta-wan-ne-ars told me they were respectable merchants identified with the faction in the province who were hostile to Governor Burnet, and all were for the closest trade relations with Canada.
These men greeted us civilly enough, and gave most of their attention to Ta-wan-ne-ars. De Veulle acknowledged the meeting by a smile that was tinged with mockery. Our clash came when Murray turned to me, after recounting my errand, and said:
"Your companion is evidently a chief, Master Ormerod. Will you identify him?"
Before I could say anything Ta-wan-ne-ars responded for himself.
"I am Ta-wan-ne-ars, of the Clan of the Wolf, war-chief of the Senecas, and nephew to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, the Guardian of the Western Door of the Long House."
He spoke directly to de Veulle, and the Frenchman's eyes shifted from his level glance.
"Must we have an Indian present?" he muttered. "This is a white man's affair."
"As it happens, this Indian saved my life from a white man's knife," I replied quickly. "He is my brother. I would rather have him here than a woman-stealer."
But I had reckoned without Marjory. She took the situation out of my hands.
"Sir," she said, "you seem to delight in slandering gentlemen who are not disloyal to their faiths. I beseech you, have done. 'Tis a sorry business, and gains naught for you. Get forward with what brought you here."
I marked the relief that shone in de Veulle's eyes. I marked, too, the penetrating glance which Ta-wan-ne-ars bent upon her face. For myself, although I felt sick at heart, I said nothing. There was nothing which I could say.
I turned to Murray again.
"This conversation must be painful to us," I said. "Let us make an end to it. Bolling attacked me, as you know. My friend and brother here saved me and drove him away. We have a lock of Bolling's hair in proof of the attempt.
"The watch are now searching for Bolling. The governor will shortly be apprised. 'Tis in your interest to do what you can to clear yourself of responsibility for so dastardly a crime."
One of the merchants at the table, a very decent-appearing man, soberly dressed and with much good sense in his face, caught me up.
"'Tis not strange that you should have come to Master Murray after such an attempt as you mention, sir," he began in conciliatory fashion. "But fortunately we were present this afternoon when Master Murray dismissed the man from his employ, in consequence of evidence of his dishonesty and misdealing during Master Murray's absence. Bolling left in a great rage, vowing he would put Master Murray in trouble."
"Aye," spoke up a second merchant, "and sure, the knave must have attacked you hoping 'twould be brought against Master Murray."
"Not to speak of the fact he was in great need of funds, Master Murray having refused to grant certain demands he made," suggested a third.
I bowed.
"Gentlemen," I said, "I am satisfied—that Master Murray hath a stout case. There is no more need be said."
"Ah, but there is more to be said," flared Marjory. "Think shame of yourself, sir, to be forever believing against others motives which you know yourself to be laden with. You were once an honorable man. Why do you not mend your ways and regain the self-respect of your kind?"
"God send there be an honorable man to hand when your need comes, mistress," I said. "Good evening, gentlemen."
Murray escorted us to the door.
"I must congratulate you," he said in a low voice. "Faith, you are an enterprising young man. You are doing famously in your new surroundings."
"But I shall not suffer another such attempt as tonight's to pass unanswered," I replied.
"Sure, sir," he said earnestly, "can you not bethink yourself of some trouble in your past which might bring down these troubles upon you!"
I laughed despite myself.
"I can," I agreed. "And so can you. But I would risk denunciation at an extremity, Murray. Red Jack sought the protection of the wilderness. So might I."
"You are safe," he returned. "Believe me or not. 'Tis true."
"You hear?" I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars beside us.
He smiled gravely.
"My brother is safe," he agreed, "for Ta-wan-ne-ars will watch."
"You are thrice fortunate," Murray congratulated me. "You have won the confidence of the noble red man."
Ta-wan-ne-ars looked squarely at him.
"He will win the confidence of the red man, Murray, because he speaks straight. But you speak with the tongue of an Englishman, and think with the mind of a Frenchman."
Murray smiled.
"But always to my own interest, Ta-wan-ne-ars. Well, good luck to the two of you. And do not permit the Keepers to take you alive."
His smile became a sardonic grin.
"The Keepers have their own way with prisoners, you know. 'Tis part of their reward—or so the story goes."
I felt a shock of revulsion against the man. And he was the father of Marjory!
"You double-dyed scoundrel!" I ripped out at him.
"Have I touched your nerves?" he gibed. "Zooks, how sad! Well, I have company. I will bid you good evening."
The door shut behind his mocking grin, and we descended the stairs to the street. Ta-wan-ne-ars walked beside me without speaking until we had left the tavern.
"I understand your thoughts, my brother," he said suddenly. "We go upon the same quest."
"Quest?" I repeated. "What quest?"
"We each seek a soul which is lost, a sick soul."
I remembered his rage against de Veulle, and caught his meaning.
"Yes, that is true of you, Ta-wan-ne-ars. But there is no soul which I have the right to seek."
"Nevertheless, my brother would find the soul of the maiden and guard it," he insisted. "I have seen."
"But I may not help her," I objected. "She will have none of me."
"O my brother," he answered, "once there was one of my people who loved a maiden. And this maiden's soul was taken away by illness and went to dwell with Ata-ent-sic, the Goddess of Lost Souls, who rules the Land of Lost Souls which is behind the Setting Sun. The warrior was bidden in a dream to seek the maiden's soul, and he journeyed for three months to the Setting Sun, past the Abode of Evil, where dwells Ha-ne-go-ate-geh, the Evil Spirit.
"And when he came to the Land of Souls he found his maiden's soul dancing with the other lost souls in a bark cabin before Ata-ent-sic. And Jous-ke-ha, the grandson of Ata-ent-sic, who was a very old man, brought him a pumpkin which had been hollowed out, and told him to place the maiden's soul within. And he did so. And he returned to his people, and made a feast, and after the feast they raised up the maiden's soul out of the pumpkin shell."
He stopped under a flickering lanthorn, which cast a feeble light before the George.
"Surely, my brother, we shall not have to travel so dreadful a journey to regain the souls which we seek!"
I saw the grave smile, with a hint of pleading, on his face; and I reached out and caught his hand.
"Whatever be the end of my search, brother," I said, "I will go to the setting sun, and beyond if need be, to aid you to find the soul which you seek."
"The same words are in my heart, brother," he replied simply.
"Bolling hath disappeared," said Governor Burnet. "You will not see him again, save it be in the dining-room of Captain van Horne's house where the governor worked pending the refurbishing of his official residence within the walls of the Fort.
"I have given orders to all officers of troops and town officials that he is to be detained if he ventures to appear," he continued; "but the knave—or, I should say his master—is too wise. By the way, an express arrived from Fort Orange[1] last night and reported having spoken Murray's party in the Tappan Zee. He will be a good three days ahead of you, 'twould seem."
[1] Albany.
"I am not sorry," I answered. "Have you any further instructions for me, sir?"
"Aye. Are you ready to sail?"
"Corlaer just now told me all our gear was aboard the sloop. Ta-wan-ne-ars is watching it."
The governor unfolded the map of the wilderness country which he had exhibited to me during my first visit.
"Above everything else, I must know what is happening at Jagara," he said. "The Doom Trail may wait. The news which Ta-wan-ne-ars brought of the intent of the French to replace Joncaire's trading-post with a stone fort is the most menacing tidings we have had since the peace was signed. It makes manifest what I have always contended: that there can be no real peace whilst we and the French sit cheek by jowl, each striving for more power than the other.
"Peace on paper there may be; but the French will be breaking it, as they have done in the case of Joncaire's post and as they now plan to do by building a fort upon English territory. I must know what they do there, Master Ormerod. I must know beyond a doubt. I can not afford to accept merely the hearsay evidence of the Indians. I must have a man I can trust who will see for himself on the spot."
"Surely, Corlaer——"
The governor brushed away my suggestion.
"Corlaer can not speak French. Moreover, if he could, his face is known along the whole frontier. He and Joncaire are old opponents. No; if he ventured to the post without safe-conduct he would disappear. If he went with a safe-conduct he would see nothing. 'Tis you who must go.
"Masquerade as a Frenchman. There are plenty of lads who go out every year to Canada to have a try at the fur-trade. You should be able to pass for one of them. At any rate 'tis worth the attempt."
"'Tis well worth trying," I agreed. "Also, 'tis possible I may pick up some news of the Trail from Joncaire."
"Possible," he assented; "but keep the Trail in the back of your mind. 'Tis this fort which concerns me now. For look you, Master Ormerod, if I secure proof the French meditate in earnest so grave a breach of the treaty 'twill strengthen by so much my case against Murray. Then might I dare indeed to stir the Iroquois to hostilities against him, as Peter suggested."
"I will do what I may," I promised, rising.
"'Tis well. And be not reluctant to accept advice from Corlaer and the Indians. They are schooled in the forest's craft. Here, too, is a letter to Master Livingston, the Mayor of Fort Orange, and Peter Schuyler, a gentleman of that place who acts upon occasion as my deputy in frontier affairs. You may talk freely with them concerning your mission. Good-by, sir, and be vigilant."
He gave me a hearty clasp of the hand and bowed me out.
In the street Corlaer awaited me.
"Der tide is flooding," he said, and without another word set off at a good round pace.
We came presently to a wharf at the foot of Deye Street, where lay the sloopBetsy, her sails unstopped, land-lines slack. She cast off as we stepped aboard, and presently I was looking back over her stern at the dwindling skyline of the quaint little city. As I looked I recognized the masts of theNew Ventureamongst the shipping in the East River anchorage, and a pang smote me with the realization that she was my last tie with the England which would have none of me and for which I hungered with the perverse appetite of one who is denied his greatest wish.
The masts and their tracery of rigging soon merged in the blue of the afternoon sky; the woods closed down around the scattered buildings of the Out Ward; and we sailed a broad channel which ran between lofty heights of land, reaching hundreds of feet above us like the walls of some gigantic city of the future, fairer and more stupendous than the mind of man had ever dreamed on.
All that afternoon we sailed with a quartering wind, but in the night it shifted and we were compelled to anchor. In the morning we proceeded, but our progress was slow, and with darkness we must anchor again. So likewise on the next day a storm beat down upon us from the hulking mountains which rimmed the wide expanse of the river called by the old Dutch settlers the Tappan Zee; and with only a rag of sail we sped for shelter under the lee of an island.
On the fourth day the river bore us through a country of low, rolling hills and plains that lifted to mountainous heights in the distance. There were farms by the water's edge, and sometimes the imposing mansion of a patroon with its attendant groups of buildings occupied by servants, slaves and tenants. Several times we passed villages, and occasionally a sloop similar to our own hailed us and exchanged the latest news of the river.
On the fifth day toward sunset we sighted in the distance the stockades of Fort Orange, which the English were beginning to call Albany, nestling close to the river-bank under the shelter of a steep hillock. We made the tottery pier after darkness had fallen, and hastened up into the town, delegating to the master of the sloop and his boy the task of conveying our baggage to the tavern kept by Humphrey Taylor.
Corlaer and I left Ta-wan-ne-ars at the tavern to receive the baggage, whilst we called upon Mayor Livingston. He was preparing for his bed, but on my sending up word by the slave that I carried a letter from the governor he tucked his shirt into his breeches and came down to us. From him we learned that Murray had spent but twenty-four hours in the town and was gone two days since.
"Did he say where?" I inquired curiously.
Master Livingston chuckled.
"He caused to be circulated that he was going upon a round of his 'trading-stations' to correct some slackness which had developed during his absence. 'Tis his usual excuse when he disappears."
"He was not alone?"
"No. He was accompanied by a Frenchman and that scoundrel, Tom, as well as by some misguided young female."
"She was his daughter," I said.
"So he said, I believe," agreed Master Livingston negligently.
"But I am sure she is," I insisted. "There can be no doubt——"
"Then I am vastly sorry for her lot," he replied good-humoredly.
"Which way didt he go?" asked Corlaer.
"The usual way. He followed the Iroquois Trail to the Mohawk, then struck north. We have followed him so far many times; but always when our scouts have pressed the pursuit they have encountered strange bands of warriors who have killed or captured them or driven them away."
"Did you see aught of the Frenchman?" I struck in.
"Yes; he did me the honor of calling upon me, and said he was on a mission from his King to report upon the conduct of the Government of Canada, especially with a view to the maintenance of good relations with our colonists."
"The hypocrite!" I interjected.
"He was smooth of tongue, I grant you," admitted Master Livingston. "He had the grace to acquaint me he was taking advantage of Master Murray's company to secure protection through the frontier."
"Didt Murray hafe many men?" put in Corlaer.
"Half a dozen whites of Bolling's kind, and as many nondescript Indians who were painted like Mohicans."
"They wouldt be Cahnuagas," amended Corlaer.
"Yes," assented the Mayor; "but if you are to go to Jagara, as the governor's letter advises me, you need not concern yourself with Murray at this time. What do you propose to do?"
"We have discussed the journey on the voyage up the river," I replied; "and we are agreed 'tis best that we go first to the Seneca country, where Ta-wan-ne-ars can pick up the latest news. There we can concert our plan in detail and decide how best I am to be able to gain Joncaire's confidence."
"You are wise to be cautious," said Livingston. "Joncaire is no easy man to fool. Believe me, sir, he is the ablest officer the French have, and a bitter thorn in our side."
"Ja!" exclaimed Corlaer with unaccustomed vigor.
"Peter knows," laughed the Mayor. "Eh, Peter?"
Corlaer's reply was indecently explicit in its description of Joncaire.
"Peter once prepared a clever trap for Joncaire," continued Master Livingston, seeing I did not understand my companion's rage. "He was to be captured whilst he feasted with some friends amongst the Senecas. But Joncaire got wind of it, and instead 'twas Peter who escaped by a lucky slit in a bark-house wall."
Livingston would have persuaded us to stay the night at his house, but we had told Ta-wan-ne-ars we would return to the tavern, so we let him get to his bed and sought our own.
In the morning we visited Captain Schuyler, but he was absent, riding some lands he held in the vicinity. We spent the forenoon in purchasing for me the regular trappings of the frontiersman—moccasins of ankle height and leather leggings and shirt, all Indian in manufacture. The weapons Juggins had supplied me were warmly praised by my comrades.
For the rest there were slim stores of salt, sugar, powder, flints and ball to be packed upon our backs. My garments of civilization I made into a package which I consigned to the innkeeper's care.
Personally I did not care in that moment whether I ever donned them again. I liked my companions. I liked the loose, yielding clothing I had acquired. I liked the feel of arms at my side and in my hands. I liked the sun and wind in my hair, for I refused to wear the fur-cap which the forest-runners affected and went like an Indian, bare-headed. I liked the close grip on the earth which the moccasins gave my feet.
At noon we mustered at the tavern door, ready for our plunge into the wilderness. It meant little to Ta-wan-ne-ars and Corlaer. For them 'twas an old story. But to me it meant everything—how completely everything I did not appreciate at that early day.
The Seneca inspected me with a grave smile as I appeared, fully arrayed for the first time.
"My brother wears Mohawk moccasins," he said. "We will find Seneca moccasins for him when we reach my country."
"Do I appear as a warrior should?" I inquired anxiously.
"Even to the scalp-lock," he assured me, in reference to my long hair.
"Can you walk t'irty miles a day?" demanded Corlaer seriously.
"I have done so."
"You will do idt efery day now," he remarked grimly.
We took the road to Schenectady. It was the last white man's road I was to see, and I long remembered its broad surface and the sunlight coming down between the trees on either hand and the farms with their log houses and stockades.
But I knew I was on the frontier at last, for the stockades were over-high for the mere herding of cattle and the house-walls were loop-holed. In several of the villages there were square, log-built forts, two stories tall, with the top story projecting out beyond the lower, so that the garrison could fire down along the line of the walls.
'Twas sixteen miles to Schenectady, and night had fallen when we hailed the gate for admission. There was a parley between Corlaer and the watch before we were admitted, but in the end the huge balks of timber creaked open just wide enough for us to squeeze through.
"You are cautious, friend," I said to the gatekeeper as I set my shoulder beside his and helped him shut the gate.
"And you are a stranger, my master," he retorted, "or you would never think it strange for Schenectady folk to use caution."
"How is that?" I asked.
And he told me in few words and simply how Monsieur d'Erville had surprized the town in his father's time and massacred the inhabitants.
"But now you have peace," I objected.
He looked at me suspiciously.
"Are you a friend of Andrew Murray?" he asked.
"Anything but that."
"Then talk not of peace, sir. Peace here will last until the French and their savages are ready to strike. No longer. It may be tonight. It may not be for twenty years—if we see to it that the French do not thrive at our expense."
We were afoot again early the next morning. Beyond Schenectady a few farms rimmed the road, but presently we came to a clearing, and on the west side a green barrier stretched across our way. From end to end of the clearing it reached, and as far on either hand as I could see, a high, tangled, apparently impervious green wall of vegetation. 'Twas the outer rampart of the wilderness.
Some men were working in a field beside the road, and I saw that they had their guns beside them.
"They are armed," I cried.
"So are you," replied Corlaer.
"But——"
"This is der frontier," he said. "Eferybody is armed. Eferybody is on watch."
"Why?"
"Idt is der frontier."
I held my peace, until we reached the forest-wall. Then curiosity mastered me again.
"The road stops here," I said to Ta-wan-ne-ars. "How shall we go on?"
He smiled.
"The road of the white man stops—yes," he answered. "But the road of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee begins."
"What is that?"
He made no answer, but kept on his way until we were under the bole of the first of the forest trees.
"Does my brother Ormerod see anything now?" he asked.
I shook my head, puzzled.
"My brother has much to learn of the forest and its ways," he commented.
He put his hand on my arm and led me around the trunk, Corlaer following with a broad grin on his face.
There at my feet was a deep, narrow slot in the earth, a groove some eighteen inches wide and perhaps twelve inches deep, that disappeared into the gloom which reigned under the interlacing boughs overhead. There was shrubbery and underbrush on every side, but none grew in or on the edge of the slot. It did not go straight, but crookedly like a snake, curving and twisting as it chanced to meet a mossy boulder or a tree too big to be readily felled or uprooted. As I stooped over it I saw that its bottom and steeply sloping sides were hard-packed, beaten down by continual pressure, the relentless pressure of countless human feet for generations and centuries.
"My brother is standing upon the Wa-a-gwen-ne-yuh, the Great Trail of my people." said Ta-wan-ne-ars proudly. "It is the highway of the People of the Long House. Day after day we shall follow it, along the valley of the Mohawks, into the land of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras, on into the valley where the Onondagas keep alight the sacred Council Fire which was kindled by Da-ga-no-weda and Ha-yo-wont-ha, the Founders of the League, and on, still on, my white brother, past the country of the Cayugas to the villages of my own people whom you call the Senecas, and at the last to the Thunder Waters of Jagara, where Joncaire works to conquer the domain of the Long House for the French King."
"But over this same trail, Ta-wan-ne-ars, the warriors of the Long House shall burst upon the French to frustrate that plan!" I exclaimed.
"Aye, so it shall be," he replied.
Corlaer sighed and resettled his pack on his shoulders.
"We hafe much distance to go today," he said.
Ta-wan-ne-ars instantly led the way into the groove of the trail, and as if instinctively swung into an easy loping trot. I followed him and the Dutchman brought up the rear.
It was cool under the trees, for the sun seldom penetrated the foliage, dense already although it was only the fag-end of Spring. And it was very silent—terribly, oppressively silent. The crack of a stick underfoot was like a musket-shot. The padding of our feet on the resilient leaf-mold was like the low rolling of muffled drums. The timorous twittering of birds seemed to set the echoes flying.
Yet I was amazed when Ta-wan-ne-ars halted abruptly in mid-afternoon, and inclined his ear toward the trail behind us.
"What is it?" I asked, and so completely had the spirit of the forest taken possession of me that I whispered the words.
"Something is following us," he answered.
Corlaer put his ear to the bottom of the trail, and a curious expression crossed his face.
"Ja," was all he said.
"Shall we return and face them?" I asked eagerly.
Ta-wan-ne-ars permitted himself a smile of friendly sarcasm.
"If we can hear them, surely they can hear us," he said. "No, we will keep on. There is a place farther along the trail from which we can look back upon them. Come, Ormerod, you and I will run ahead. Peter will follow us."
"But why does he not come with us!" I objected. "If there is danger——"
"If there is danger we will all front it together," interrupted Ta-wan-ne-ars. "Peter is to walk behind us so that the trailers may not detect our haste."
"Ja," assented Peter.
Ta-wan-ne-ars shifted his musket to his shoulders, and broke into a long, loping stride. I followed him.
Half a mile up the trail we came to a clearing where some storm of bygone years had battered down a belt of sturdy timber. We ran for another half-mile beyond this before Ta-wan-ne-ars slowed his pace and commenced to study the leaf barriers that walled the slot of the trail. Presently he stopped.
"Walk in my tracks, brother," he said. "And be certain that you do not bruise a twig."
With the utmost caution he parted the screen of underbrush on our right hand, and revealed a tunnel through the greenery into which he led the way, hesitating at each step until he had gently thrust aside the intervening foliage. Once in the tunnel, however, his care was abandoned, and he ran quickly to the trunk of a huge pine which soared upward like a monumental column, high above the surrounding trees. He leaned his musket against the pitchy bole.
"The symbol of the Long House," he said tapping the swelling girth of it. "Strength and symmetry and grandeur. We will climb, brother."
He swung himself up into the branches, which formed a perfect ladder, firm under foot, behind the screen of the pine-needles. When the other tree-tops were beneath us, he straddled a bough and cleared a loop-hole from which we might look out over the forest we had traversed.
"How did you know this tree was here?" I questioned curiously.
"Upon occasion enemies penetrate the Long House, so we must be able to see who follow us."
"Do you know that those who follow us are enemies?"
He shook his head.
"If they were friends 'twas strange they did not try to overtake us, brother. My people like company when they travel."
He said no more, but fixed his eyes on the forest below. It swept away in billows of green that rolled in gigantic combers across ridge and hillock and tossed plumes of spray aloft whenever a breeze rustled the tree-tops. There was an effect of continuity, of boundless size such as the ocean gives. From my lofty perch I could survey the four quarters of the horizon, and in every direction the forest stretched to the sky-line. The Great Trail of the Iroquois was hidden from sight. The one gap in the vista of emerald and jade was the narrow slash of the clearing we had recently crossed.
I saw that Ta-wan-ne-ars had concentrated his attention upon this spot, where the exit of the trail was indicated by a ragged fringe of undergrowth. We looked for so long, without anything happening, that my eyeballs ached. But at last there was a movement like the miniature upheaval which is caused by an ant in breaking ground. Boughs quivered, and a figure appeared in the open. 'Twas Corlaer. He glanced around him and strode on. In a moment he had passed the clearing and disappeared in the forest.
Ta-wan-ne-ars hitched forward and peered through the loop-hole with tense muscles. And again there was a wait which seemed endless. My eyelids blinked from the strain of watching.
The desolation and loneliness of the wilderness were so complete that it seemed inconceivable another human being could be within view. And whilst this thought occupied my mind a dark figure crawled on hands and knees from the mouth of the trail.
The newcomer feared a trap. His ear sought the ground. His eye studied the sky above him. He looked in every direction. But his instincts were baffled. He stole forward across the clearing with musket poised. At that distance all we could see of his costume was the clump of feathers that bristled from his scalp-lock.
He followed Peter into the trail on our side of the clearing, and there was a second and briefer pause. Then as silently as ghosts a string of figures flitted into the clearing. There were six of them, each with musket in the hollow of his arm, each with bristling feather headdress. They walked one behind the other, with a peculiar effect, even at that distance, of stealth and watchfulness.
Ta-wan-ne-ars emitted a guttural grunt, quite unlike his usual rather musical utterances.
"Cahnuagas!" he exclaimed, and spat.
"What?" I answered.
"Down!" he rasped. "Down! The time is scant!"
All the way during our descent he was muttering to himself in his own tongue, and a black scowl covered his face. At the foot of the pine he snatched up his musket without a word, and turned into the green tunnel that debouched upon the screen of the trail.
As we stepped into the worn slot Peter came into view.
"Well!" he said phlegmatically.
"Cahnuagas," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars.
The Seneca's face became convulsed with fury.
"Cahnuaga dogs! They dare to invade territory of the Long House!"
"We can cross der Mohawk to der south branch of der trail," proposed Corlaer. "They wouldt not dare to follow us there."
"No," snarled Ta-wan-ne-ars; "we shall not step aside for them. We will attend to them ourselves."
"Hafe you a plan?" inquired the Dutchman amicably.
He never lost his temper when other people did.
"Yes," said the Seneca briefly. "And now we will go along as if we did not know they were near us."
"Are they not likely to attack?" I interposed.
"No, they will not attack unless they have to for we are still near the Mohawk Castle, although 'tis upon the opposite bank of the river. They will leave us alone until night."
"But why can not we attack them!"
A look of ferocity which was almost demoniac changed his usually pleasant features into an awful mask.
"In an ambuscade one might escape. No, my brother Ormerod, we will wait until they attack us. Then——"
He paused significantly.
"Not one of the Keepers shall return to tell Murray how his brothers died."
We took up the march. 'Twas already mid-afternoon, and shortly the dimness of twilight descended upon the trail, as the level rays of the setting sun were turned aside by the interlacing masses of vegetation.
Once, I remember, we passed along the edge of a swampy tract, and I saw for the first time that industrious animal, the beaver, whose pelt was the principal stake for which France and England contended in the great game upon the issue of which depended the future of a continent. They had erected a dam across one end of a stream to make a pond, and their engineers were busily at work floating trees into place to reënforce a weak point in the structure. Other trees a few feet from the trail were gnawed in preparation for felling.
"How is it they are able to exist here so close to the white man's country?" I called to Ta-wan-ne-ars.
He flung a haughty look cross his shoulder. Since we had identified the Cahnuagas a startling change had transformed him. The veneer of deferential courtesy which ordinarily he wore was cracked. He was all Indian. More than that, he was contemptuous of what was not Indian. Aye, of whatever was not Iroquois like himself, of the bone and sinew of the League.
"This is not the white man's country," he answered. "You are within the portals of the Long House."
"But the beaver's skin is no less valuable to the Indian than to the white man," I persisted.
"Yes," he agreed, "yet the Indian does not slay game only for gain. If it were not for the dam those beavers built the Great Trail we walk upon would be overflowed. So long ago in the time of my forefathers that tradition can not fix the date the forefathers of those beavers built that dam, and when the Founders drove the trail they decreed that the beavers should be safe forever—that the trail might be safe."
Twilight faded into dusk and still we kept on. Ta-wan-ne-ars had eyes like a cat's, and I, too, accustomed myself to perception of hanging branches and the unexpected turns and twists in the groove of the path. The stars were out in the sky overhead when we stepped from the shelter of the forest into a rocky dell divided by a tiny brook.
"We will camp here," said Ta-wan-ne-ars.
He rested his musket on a boulder and began to collect firewood.
"Why a fire?" I asked.
"The trailers must not think we suspect them," he replied curtly. "If we lit no fire they would know for certain that we were suspicious."
I helped him, whilst Corlaer crouched by the opening of the trail on watch. We soon had a respectable pile of wood, but before kindling it the Seneca bade us strip off our leathern shirts and stuffed them with underbrush into a semblance of human shapes. A third figure to represent himself he contrived out of the packs and several branches.
The three dummies were then disposed to the satisfaction of Ta-wan-ne-ars and, striking flint and steel to some rotten wood, a bright blaze sent the shadows chasing each other around the confines of the glade.
"Peter," he said, "you had best take post by that boulder on the other side of the fire, Ormerod and Ta-wan-ne-ars will lie together upon this side."
"You need not think it necessary to keep me by your side," I said indignantly. "'Tis not the first time I shall have heard musketry."
A gleam of humorous intelligence chased the gloomy ferocity from the Seneca's face.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars does not doubt the valor of his brother," he said, "but Ormerod has never fought with Cahnuagas. They are dogs, but they are skilled in forest war."
He did not give me a chance to answer, but putting his fingers to his lips to enjoin silence sank down behind a boulder next to the one by which I stood. Corlaer had been swallowed by the dancing shadows beyond the fire.
I dropped beside Ta-wan-ne-ars, and like him dusted fresh powder into the pan of my musket, drew tomahawk and knife from their sheaths and laid them on the ground within reach.
How long we waited I can not say, but the suspense which had racked me in the swaying branches of the pine that afternoon was nothing compared to the agony of the hours that followed. For it must have been at least two hours after we had taken cover that Ta-wan-ne-ars touched my arm, and the light from the glowing bed of coals revealed a feathered head crouching forward where the trail entered the glade.
It hovered around the edge of the firelight like a monstrous reptilian fiend, body bent nearly double, a glint of steel showing whenever the hands moved. Presently he withdrew into the trail, and it seemed that two more hours dragged by on leaden feet, although it was probably less than half that time.
The fire was lower, but Ta-wan-ne-ars did not need to warn me when the Keepers reappeared. It was as if a mist of evil preceded them. My senses were alert, and I saw the first feathered head emerge from the trail and each one of the six who followed their leader. I counted every step of their approach until the yellow paint which streaked the ribs of the one nearest to me glimmered in the light of the embers.
"Hah-yah-yah-eeee-eee-ee-e!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars sounded the war-whoop as he fired, and instinctively I aimed my piece at those ocher-tinted ribs and pressed the trigger. The report of my musket carried on the echoes which had been roused by the Seneca's. Corlaer's discharged as I bounded to my feet.
The Cahnuagas yelled in surprize; three of them were thrashing out their lives on the rocks. But the four survivors did not hesitate. The French called them "Praying Indians," and perhaps they did pray occasionally for Black Robe, to placate him sufficiently in order that they might practise their own horrid rites in secret. They fought now like the devils they really were.
One of them was on me immediately, bounding over the boulders with screeches that split the night. His knife and hatchet cut circles around my head—then chopped at my bowels. His activity was extraordinary, and he fought better than I, for he knew his weapons and they were strange to me.
It was the realization of this which saved me. Fending awkwardly with knife or hatchet against a foe whose handling of them was the result of lifelong training, I was at a disadvantage. I could not hope to beat him by his own methods.
So I changed the tomahawk to my left hand, and grasped the knife by the hilt as if it were a sword, thrusting with it point first instead of slashing as the Indian did. And now my skill at fence was in my favor.
The Cahnuaga's knife was no longer than mine. We were on equal terms—or rather the advantage inclined toward me. Bewilderment showed in the Indian's face. He did not understand this fighting with passes and parries and swift, stabbing assaults. I touched him in the thigh, and he struck at my knife-arm with his hatchet; but my tomahawk was ready to meet him.
He side-stepped to attack me from a new quarter, but I pivoted on my heel as I had often done in thesalle des armes, and he retreated, circling warily in search of an opportunity to return to the style of fighting he preferred. My chance came the next time he charged me, goaded into desperation by these strange tactics. I aimed a smashing blow at his head with the tomahawk, and, as he lifted his own hatchet to guard, I thrust for his belly, parried his knife and ripped him open.
His death-yell was in my ears as I leaped over his body and looked to see how my comrades were doing. Ta-wan-ne-ars had just knifed his man and was running to the help of Peter, who had two assailants on his hands. As Ta-wan-ne-ars came up, the Dutchman closed with one, dashed the defending weapons aside and grasped the struggling savage in his powerful arms. The last Cahnuaga turned to flee, but Ta-wan-ne-ars did not even attempt to pursue him. Without any appearance of haste the Seneca balanced his tomahawk, drew back his arm and hurled it after the fugitive. The keen blade crushed the man's skull before he had passed from the circle of firelight, and Ta-wan-ne-ars sauntered across and scalped him.
"That time Ta-wan-ne-ars did not miss, brother," he observed to me as I watched with fascinated horror the bloody neatness with which he dispatched his task.
"But why do you scalp your enemies, Ta-wan-ne-ars?" I answered. "Surely——"
"I am an Indian, not a white man."
"Yet you——"
"I have forgotten what the missionaries taught me," he replied impatiently. "All except what I think may be useful to my people."
Peter brought up his captive and tossed the man down in front of us.
"Oof, that was a goodt fight!" he commented placidly.
"Why a prisoner, Peter!" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"We will ask him of der Doom Trail," returned Corlaer.
He jerked the man to his feet.
"Where is der Doom Trail?" he demanded.
The Cahnuaga, badly shaken though he was, drew himself erect and folded his arms across his painted chest.
"The Rat can go to the torture-stake and not answer that question, Corlaer," he said quite simply.
"We will take you to the nearest village and let you make good your boast," threatened Ta-wan-ne-ars.
The Cahnuaga smiled.
"If I told you, none the less should I suffer at the stake," he said, "for the Ga-go-Sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta[1] knows all. Do your worst, Chief of the Long House."
[1] Mistress of the False Faces.
A tinge of mockery colored his voice.
"Be sure that whatever you do you can not equal the ingenuity of the Ga-go-sa. Yes, I think you will come to know more about them some day, Iroquois. I seem to see pictures in the firelight of a stake, and a building with a tower and a bell that rings, and many of the Ga-go-sa dance around you, and your pain is very great. Aye, you are shrieking like a woman; you——"
He sprang, not at the Seneca but at me. His hands were around my throat before I could move. His eyes blazed into mine. His teeth gnashed at my face. A gout of blood, thick and warm, deluged me. The next thing I remembered was seeing Ta-wan-ne-ars bending over me.
"My brother is whole?" he asked anxiously.
The ferocity was gone from his face, and his fingers prodded me tenderly in search of hurts.
"Yes," I said, sitting up and rubbing a very sore throat, "except that I shall not be able to swallow for a time."
"You were choked, brother."
"And the Cahnuaga?"
"That dog is dead. Do you sleep now, for the dawn grows near and we must be upon our way."
I stirred to wakefulness when the first pink light of morning was in the eastern skies. A pungent whiff of wood-smoke filled my nostrils, and I turned over to watch Corlaer frying bacon and maize cakes—only to lose my appetite at the spectacle of Ta-wan-ne-ars stretching scalps on little hoops of withes to dry by the fire.
He went about it in a very business-like way, yet he indulged in an amiable grin over my look of interested aversion.
"What does my brother find that is so horrible in a scalp?" he inquired, extending a particularly gory one for my inspection. "'Tis no more than the crown of a man's head—and that man an enemy."
"I like not the idea of mutilating a body," I retorted. "If you have slain a man, 'tis sufficient. Why, you might as well cut off his arm or his head!"
He considered my point while he made another hoop and adjusted a scalp to it.
"Yes," he agreed; "that is what the English do, I am told."
"What?" I protested indignantly. "'Tis absurd!"
"To be sure, Ta-wan-ne-ars knows no more than what the missionaries and his other white friends have told him," he answered. "But they say that when a man in England is condemned to die, if he is an enemy of the King, his head is chopped off and put on a high place, and sometimes his arms and his legs are hacked off, too, and shown elsewhere."
For an instant I was nonplussed.
"That may be so," I said finally, "but in battle we do not cut off the heads or limbs of our foes."
"It is not your custom to do so," rejoined the Seneca equably. "It is the custom of my people to scalp their foes. Then when a warrior returns to his village and recounts his exploits nobody can deny his proof."
I was at a loss to reply, and Corlaer averted further argument by announcing that the bacon and maize were cooked. But I was somewhat amused to notice that Ta-wan-ne-ars was careful to wash his hands before eating. So much, at least, the missionaries had dented the armor of his innate barbarism.
"And what of these?" I asked, pointing to the distorted bodies of Murray's emissaries, as we adjusted our packs for the day's march.
Corlaer raised his cupped hand to his ear.
"Do you hear?" he said.
I followed his example, and through the clashing of the branches overhead there sounded a prolonged, exultant howling.
"Der wolfs," he explained.
There was no disputing his stolid acceptance of the situation, and I fell into my place between the Dutchman and Ta-wan-ne-ars. In five minutes the forest had closed around us. The glade of last night's adventure was shut off as completely as if it existed in another world. There remained no more than the bare groove of the trail and the encompassing walls of underbrush and overhead the roof of tree-boughs. But at intervals a faint echo of yelps and snarls was borne to our ears by the forest breeze.
That afternoon we forded the Mohawk to the southern side some distance above Ga-ne-ga-ha-ga,[1] the Upper Mohawk Castle. And now for the first time we began to meet other travelers. Several Mohawk families shifting their abodes on account of poor crop conditions in their old villages; a party of Oneidas of the Turtle Clan journeying on a visit of condolence to the Mohawk Turtles, one of whoseroy-an-ehshad just died; a band of Mohawk hunters returning from the Spring hunt. By these latter Ta-wan-ne-ars sent word to So-a-wa-ah, the seniorroy-an-ehof the Mohawk Wolf Clan, charged with the warding of the Eastern Door, of our encounter with the Cahnuagas and its result.
[1] Near Danube, N.Y.
We continued up the valley of the Mohawk all of that day and the next. As we advanced westward the country became less settled. Game was more plentiful. Once a deer trotted into the trail and stared at us before plunging on its way. The second day, as we made camp and I set out to gather firewood, a pile of sticks which I approached moved with a dry, whirring rattle, and a mottled flat head rose menacingly from restless coils.
"Be careful, brother," shouted Ta-wan-ne-ars.
I jumped back in bewilderment.
"What is it?" I gasped.
"Death," he said grimly. "'Tis the Snake Which Rattles, and its bite is fatal. Yet it is an honorable foe, for it always gives warning before it strikes. So let us permit it to depart in peace."
The evening of the third day we camped in the Oneida country at the base of a hill, which the trail encircles and which for that reason was called Nun-da-da-sis.[2] Here we had a stroke of what turned out afterward to be rare good luck. Whilst we were making camp a group of five canoes of the birch-bark which is used by other nations than the Iroquois[3] approached from up-stream, and their occupants camped beside us.
[2] "Around the Hill;" present site of Utica, N.Y.
[3] There were very few birches in Iroquois territory. They employed instead red elm and hickory bark, which were much heavier.
These Indians were Messesagues, whose country lay between the two great inland seas, the Erie and Huron Lakes. They were on their way to Fort Orange or Albany to trade their Winter catch of furs, which lay baled in the canoes. Ta-wan-ne-ars, as Warden of the Western Door, had held intercourse with these people before and understood their language.
They told him that they had had trouble with the Sieur de Tonty, commander of the French trading-post of Le De Troit,[4] which had been established in their country; and that in consequence de Tonty had been obliged to flee and they had decided to shift their trade to the English.[5] Ta-wan-ne-ars encouraged them in this design and described to them the high quality and quantity of the goods they might expect to get in exchange for their furs at Albany.
[4] Detroit, Mich.
[5] De Tonty was obliged to abandon his post temporarily about this time.
On the fourth day the trail abandoned the head-waters of the Mohawk, fast shallowing in depth, and headed westward across the mile-wide divide of land which separates the waters flowing into the Mohawk and Hudson's River from those flowing into Lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence River of Canada. This passage or carrying-place between the waters was called Da-ya-hoo-wa-quat,[6] and we met several parties of Indians carrying their canoes and packs from one stream to the other.
[6] "Place for Carrying Boats;" present site of Rome, N.Y.
I had my first view of the long houses of the Iroquois at the Oneida Castle, Ga-no-a-lo-hale,[7] which was situated on the Oneida Lake. They were impressive buildings, sixty, eighty, one hundred and sometimes one hundred and twenty feet in length and from twelve to fifteen or twenty feet wide. We went as a matter of course to the lodgings of the Oneida Wolves; of whom Ta-wan-ne-ars, according to the Iroquois code, was a blood-brother; and they placed at our disposition a guest-chamber, the first next to the entrance of the Ga-no-sote,[8] together with all the firewood and food which we required and an aged squaw to cook and wait upon us.
[7] "A head on a pole."