“It is true that I was born white,” he said, “but I have become one of the Shawnees, and I shall be faithful to them.  I have spoken no lies.  The Shawnees were for war, and I believe they are so yet.”

“The Shawnees from whom I have come,” said Big Fox, in his grave tones, wholly ignoring Braxton Wyatt, “expect peace belts in return.  Will the messengers depart with them to-morrow?”

He spoke directly to Gray Beaver, and his powerful gaze still rested upon him.  The withered frame of the old chief trembled a little within his furred robe, and then he yielded to the spell.

“The Miami messengers will start to-morrow with peace belts for the Shawnees,” he said.

A thrill of triumph ran through the frame of Big Fox, but he said nothing.  The eyes of both Braxton Wyatt and Yellow Panther flashed vindictively, but they, too, said nothing.  Big Fox judged that they were not yet wholly beaten, but he had accomplished much; if each tribe received peace belts from the others, it would take a long time to untangle the snarl, and unite them for war.  Meanwhile, the white settlements were steadily growing stronger.

“Our Shawnee brethren, the belt bearers, will stay with us a while,” said the crafty Yellow Panther.  “They have traveled far, and they need rest.”

Big Fox knew that it would not do to be too hasty; a desire to depart at once would only arouse suspicion, and he and his comrades, moreover, had further work to do in the Miami village.  So he gravely accepted the offer of hospitality, and he and Brown Bear and The Bat were conducted to a lodge in the center of the village, where they ate again, and reclined luxuriously upon buffalo robes and deerskins.  Yellow Panther followed them there, and was very solicitous for their comfort.  All his attentions they received with grave courtesy, and when there was nothing more that he could do or say he withdrew, letting the covering of the lodge door fall behind him.  Then the three belt bearers, putting their ears against the skin walls of the lodge, listened intently.  Nothing was stirring without.  If any person was at hand, or listened there, they would have known it; so they spoke to each other in low tones.

“Your plan seems to have worked so far, Henry,” said Ross, “even if Braxton Wyatt did come.”

“Yes—­so far,” replied Henry Ware; “but Braxton is sure that something is wrong, and so is that cunning wolf, Yellow Panther.  They want to hold us here in the village until they find out the truth; but we are willing to stay, that we may checkmate what they do.  I can work on old Gray Beaver, whose age makes him favor caution and peace.”

“An’ while you are thinkin’ it over,” said Shif’less Sol, “jest remember that I’m a belt bearer who has traveled a long way, an’ that I’m pow’ful tired; so I guess I’ll take a nap.”

He rolled over on the softest of the skins, and was as good as his word.  In five minutes he was sound asleep.  Tom Ross leaned back against the skin wall and meditated.  Henry Ware arose and walked in the village; but the moment he stepped from the lodge, all trace of the white youth was gone, and he was again Big Fox, the chief of the belt bearers from the Shawnees.