More than half an hour passed, and when the guests had eaten and drunk sufficiently, the venerable chief waved his hands, and the remains of the food and drink were taken away.  Then Gray Beaver drew from beneath his robe a beautifully ornamented pipe, with a curved horn stem and a carven bowl.  He pressed into the bowl a mixture of tobacco and aromatic herbs, which he also drew from beneath his robe, and lighted it with a coal which one of the chiefs brought from the fire.  Then he took three whiffs and gravely and silently passed the pipe to the chief of the Shawnee belt bearers, Big Fox.  It was a curious fact, but no one had said that Big Fox was the chief of the three.  Something in his manner made all take it for granted, and Big Fox, too, unconsciously accepted it as a matter of course.

The magnificent young warrior took three whiffs at the pipe of peace, and passed it to Brown Bear, who, after doing the same, handed it in his turn to The Bat.  Then it was passed on to all the subchiefs, and everyone smoked it in gravity and silence.  The smoke circled up in rings against the low roof, and every man sat upon his mat of skins, painted, motionless, and wordless.  The young chief, Big Fox, waited.  Though his eyes never turned, he saw every detail of the scene, and he was conscious of the tense and breathless silence.  He was conscious, too, of the immense dangers that surrounded his comrades and himself, but fear was not in his heart.

“My brethren have come to the Miami village with a message from their friends, the Shawnees,” said the ancient chief at last.

“It is so,” said Big Fox.

“The hearts of the Shawnees are filled with hatred of the white men, who have come into the hunting grounds beyond the Ohio, and who cut down trees and build houses there.”

“It is so.”

Big Fox’s gaze never wavered.  He continued to look straight at the council fire, and the tense silence came again.  Big Fox was conscious that the air in the Council House was heavy, and that all were watching him with black, glittering eyes.

“The Shawnees would destroy the white villages, and would seek the help of all the tribes that know them,” continued Gray Beaver.

Then Big Fox spoke.

“It is true,” he said gravely and slowly, “that the Shawnees would wish the white settlements destroyed, every house burned, and every warrior, squaw, and child killed, that the forest might grow again where they live, and the deer roam again unafraid.”

Big Fox paused, and for the first time looked away from the council fire.  His piercing gaze swept the circle of the Miamis, and every man among them drew a deep breath.  There was something extraordinary in this belt bearer, a majesty and magnetism that all of them felt, and they hung upon his words, listening intently.

“The Shawnees are warriors,” resumed Big Fox, “and they do not fear battle.  They went last year against the white settlements, and they went alone.  The Miamis know that.”