“He says that the Tuscaroras are stirring.  Word has come down from the hills to be ready for a great ride between the Moon of Stags and the Corngathering.”

Lawrence nodded.  “That’s an old Tuscarora habit; but somehow these ridings never happen.”  He said something in Sioux to one of the warriors, and got an emphatic answer, which he translated to me.  “He thinks that the Cherokees have had word from farther north.  It looks like a general stirring of the Long House.”

“Is it the fighting in Canada?” I asked.

“God knows,” he said, “but I don’t think so.  If that were the cause we should have the Iroquois pushed down on the top of the Cherokees.  But my information is that the Cherokees are to move north themselves, and then down to the Tidewater.  It is not likely that the Five Nations have any plan of conquering the lowlands.  They’re a hill people, and they know the white man’s mettle too well.  My notion is that some devilry is going on in the West, and I might guess that there’s a white man in it.”  He spoke to the chief, who spoke again to his companion, and Lawrence listened with contracting brows, while Ringan whistled between his teeth.

“They’ve got a queer story,” said Lawrence at last.  “They say that when last they hunted on the Roanoke their young men brought a tale that a tribe of Cherokees, who lived six days’ journey into the hills, had found a great Sachem who had the white man’s magic, and that God was moving him to drive out the palefaces and hold his hunting lodge in their dwellings.  That is not like an ordinary Indian lie.  What do you make of it, Mr. Campbell?”

Ringan looked grave, “It’s possible enough.  There’s a heap of renegades among the tribes, men that have made the Tidewater and even the Free Companies too warm for them.  There’s no knowing the mischief a strong-minded rascal might work.  I mind a man at Norfolk, a Scots redemptioner, who had the tongue of a devil and the strength of a wolf.  He broke out one night and got clear into the wilderness.”

Lawrence turned to me briskly.  “You see the case, sir.  There’s trouble brewing in the hills, black trouble for Virginia, but we’ve some months’ breathing space.  For Nat Bacon’s sake, I’m loath to see the war paint at James Town.  The question is, are you willing to do your share?”

“I’m willing enough,” I said, “but what can I do?  I’m not exactly a popular character in the Tidewater.  If you want me to hammer sense into the planters, you could not get a worse man for the job.  I have told Governor Nicholson my fears, and he is of my opinion, but his hands are tied by a penurious Council.  If he cannot screw money for troops out of the Virginians, it’s not likely that I could do much.”