“You have fought against odds and you have come away safe,” he said.

“None of us received any hurt,” replied Tayoga, modestly, “but we slew more than one of those who attacked.  It was in a gorge of the river far back, and we escaped in the night, swimming with our canoe.  Now we rest here, and truly, Dayohogo, we are glad to see you and your warriors.  The forest has become safe for us.  We have part of a deer left, and we ask you to share it with us.”

“Gladly,” said Dayohogo.  “We bring venison and corn meal, and we will have food together.”

His warriors were stalwart men, armed well, and they had no fear of any foe, lighting a fire in the open, warming their deer meat and making bread of their corn meal.  The three ate with them, and Robert felt that they were among friends.  The Mohawks not only had Frontenac to remember, but further back Champlain, the French soldier and explorer, who had defeated them before they knew the use of firearms.  He felt that Duquesne at Quebec would have great difficulty in overcoming the enmity of this warlike and powerful red nation, and he resolved to do what he could to keep them attached to the British cause.  It might be only a little, but a little many times amounted to much.

Dayohogo and his warriors had been on a scout toward the north to the very borders of the French settlements, and the chief told the three that an unusual movement was going on there.  Regular soldiers were expected soon from France.  War belts and splendid presents had been sent to the tribes about the Great Lakes, both to the north and to the south, and Onontio was addressing messages of uncommon politeness to his brethren, the valiant Ganeagaono, otherwise the Mohawks, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate.

“And do the Mohawk chiefs listen to the words of Onontio?” asked Robert anxiously.

Dayohogo did not reply at once.  He looked at the green woods.  Birds, blue or gray or brown, were darting here and there in the foliage, and his eye rested for a moment on a tiny wren.

“The voice of Onontio is the voice of a bird chattering in a tree,” he said.  “In the day of my father’s father’s father the children of Onontio, under Champlain, came with guns, which were strange to us, and with presents they induced the Adirondack warriors to help them.  They came up the great lake which the white people call Champlain, then they crossed to Ticonderoga, near the outlet of the lake, Saint Sacrement, and fell upon two hundred warriors of the Ganeagaono, who then knew only the bow and arrow and the war club, and slew many of them.  It was four generations ago, but we do not forget.  Then when my father was a young warrior Frontenac came with a host of white soldiers and the Canadian Indians and killed the warriors and laid waste with fire the lands of the Five Nations, now the Six.  Can the Hodenosaunee forget?”

The chief gloomed into the fire, and his eyes flashed with the memory of ancient wrongs.