The village was the scene of an active savage life.  It had been a season of plenty.  Game and fish abounded, and, according to the Indian nature, they ate and overate of that plenty, thinking little of the morrow.  Hence this life, besides being active, was also happy in its wild way.  Big Fox noticed the fact, with those keen eyes of his that nothing escaped.

And all in their turn noticed Big Fox here, as he had been noticed in the Council House.  Old and young alike admired him.  They thought that no such splendid warrior had ever before entered their village.  Surely the Shawnees were a nation of men when they could produce such as he.  His height, his straight, commanding glance, the wonderful, careless strength and majesty of his figure, all impressed them.  He looked to them like one without fear, and moreover, with such strength and quickness as his, he seemed one who had little to fear.  But as he walked there, Yellow Panther came again, and spoke to him with sly, insinuating manner: 

“The belt bearer is not weary, though he has traveled far.”

“No,” replied Big Fox.  “Manitou has been kind to me, and has given me strong limbs and muscles that do not tire.”

“Did Big Fox, in his journey from the Shawnee village, hear of white men?  It is said that a band of them have been in this region about the lake, there to the southward.  One of our warriors was slain, but we could not find those whom we pursued.”

Big Fox wondered if it was a chance shot, but he looked straight into the eyes of Yellow Panther, which fell before the gaze of his, and replied: 

“I came bearing belts, and I thought only of them.  If there are white men in the Miami woods, the Miamis are warriors enough to take them.”

Yellow Panther turned aside, but he followed the tall figure with a look of the most vindictive hate.  Like Braxton Wyatt, he felt that something was wrong, but what it was he did not yet know.  Big Fox mingled freely in the village life throughout the day, and never once did he make a mistake.  All the Indian ways were familiar to him, and when he talked with the warriors about the Northwestern tribes, he showed full knowledge.  Old Gray Beaver was delighted with him.  The deference of this splendid young warrior was grateful to his heart.

That night the three belt bearers, calm and unconcerned, lay down in the great lodge that had been assigned to them, and slept peacefully.  Far in the darkness, Yellow Panther and Braxton Wyatt crept to the side of the lodge and listened.  They heard nothing from within, and at last the Miami carefully lifted the buffalo hide over the entrance.  His sharp eyes, peering into the shadows, saw the three belt bearers lying upon their backs and sleeping soundly.  Apparently they were men without fear, men without the cause of fear, and Yellow Panther, letting the tent flap fall softly back, walked away with Braxton Wyatt, both deeply disappointed.