“Onontio has sent belts to the Ganeagaono also, has he not?” asked Robert.

The eyes of the chief flashed again.

“He has tried to do so,” he replied, “but the Ganeagaono are loyal to their brethren of the Hodenosaunee since Tododahoe first found the sacred wampum on the shore of the lake, Chautauqua.  Our three clans, the Turtle, the Wolf and the Bear, met in our largest village south of the river, Ganeagaono (Mohawk), and listened to the bearers of the belts.  Then we sent them back to Onontio, telling them if they wished to be heard further they must bring the belt to the council of all the sachems of the Hodenosaunee in the vale of Onondaga.”

“The other nations of the Hodenosaunee,” said Tayoga, “have always known that the Ganeagaono would do no less.  The Keepers of the Eastern Gate have never departed by the width of a single hair from their obligations.”

Dayohogo turned his gloomy face upon the Onondaga youth, and it was lighted up suddenly by a smile of appreciation and pleasure.

“Tayoga of the Onundagaono,” he said in measured tones, “you have spoken well.  The Onundagaono, the Keepers of the Council Fire, and the Ganeagaono, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate, be the first tribes of the Hodenosaunee, and better it be for a warrior of either to burn two days and two nights in the fire than to violate in the least the ancient customs and laws of the Hodenosaunee.”

“Before we had the fight with the savage band,” said Robert, “we met a Frenchman, the Chevalier Raymond Louis de St. Luc, who was going to the vale of Onondaga with belts from Onontio.  St. Luc is a brave man, a great orator, and his words will fall, golden and sweet like honey, on the ears of the fifty chiefs.  He will say that Champlain and Frontenac belonged to an ancient day, that the forests have turned green and then turned red a hundred and fifty times since Champlain and sixty times since Frontenac.  He will say that what they did was due to a false wind that blew between the French and the Hodenosaunee, hiding the truth, and making friends see in the faces of friends the faces of enemies.  He will say that a true wind blows now, and that it has blown away all the falsehoods.  He will say that Onontio is a better friend than Corlear to the Hodenosaunee, and far more powerful.”

The veteran Mohawk chief looked at young Lennox, and again his gaze was one of approval, also of comprehension.

“My young white friend is already a great warrior,” he said.  “What he did with Tayoga and the Great Bear proves it, but great as he is he is even greater in the council.  The words of the son of Onontio, St. Luc, may drip from his lips like honey, but the speech of Lennox is the voice of the south wind singing among the reeds.  Lennox will be a great orator among his people.”