Shortly before noon Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat approached the Miami village, pitched in a pleasant valley, where wood and water were in plenty.  Then they uttered the long whoop of the Shawnees, and it was answered from the Miami village; but Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat, assured of a welcome, never stopped, keeping straight on for the village.  Squaws and children clustered around them, and openly spoke their admiration of the three stalwart, splendidly proportioned warriors who had come from the friendly tribe; but Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat, in accordance with the Indian nature, took no notice.  It was only warriors and chiefs to whom they would condescend to speak, and they were silent and expressionless until the right moment should come.  They passed straight through the swarm of old men, women, children, and dogs, toward the center of the village, where a long, low cabin of poles stood.  An ancient and reverend figure stood in the doorway to meet them.  It was that of Gray Beaver, head chief of the Miamis, an old, old man, gray with years and wise like the beaver, from which he took his name.

“My Shawnee brethren are welcome to the Council House,” he said.  “You have come far, and you shall rest, and the squaws shall bring you food before we talk.”

“It is sufficient to us to see the great and wise chief, Gray Beaver,” said Henry.  “Though we come from a long journey, it makes us strong and brave again.”

The old chief bowed, but his grave features did not relax.  Nevertheless, he was pleased in his secret soul at the gallant bearing and polite words of the young warrior who addressed them.  He led the way into the Council House, and a half dozen underchiefs followed them, hiding their interest beneath their painted masks of faces.

The Council House was large—­fifty warriors could have sat in it—­and robes of the buffalo, beaver, and other animals were spread about.  Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat sat down gravely, each upon a mat of skins, and were served by the warriors with food and drink, which the squaws had brought to the door, but beyond which they could not pass.  The three Shawnee belt bearers ate and drank in silence and dignity, and they appreciated the rest and refreshment so needful to those who had traveled far.  Neither did anyone else speak.  The venerable Gray Beaver sat on a couch of skins a little higher than the others, and his eyes rested steadily on the belt bearers.  The subchiefs, silent and motionless on their mats of skins, also watched the belt bearers.  At one end of the great room, in a kind of rude chimney, smoldered the council fire, a bed of coals.