It was the action of a savage of the savages, but Robert, startled at first by the unexpected appearance of such an enemy, called to his aid the forest stoicism that he had learned and sat down, calm, outwardly at least.  The initiative was not his now, nor that of his comrades, and he glanced anxiously at de Courcelles to see how he would take this rude invasion of his camp.  The French colonel looked at Tandakora, then at Jumonville, and Jumonville looked at him.  The two shrugged their shoulders, and in a flash of intuition he was convinced that they knew the Ojibway well.

Whatever anger de Courcelles may have felt at the manners of the savage he showed none at all.  All the tact and forbearance which the French used with such wonderful effect in their dealings with the North American Indians were summoned to his aid.  He spoke courteously to Tandakora, but, as his words were in the Ojibway dialect, Robert did not understand them.  The Indian made a guttural reply and continued to gnaw fiercely at the bone of the deer.  De Courcelles still took no offense, and spoke again, his words smooth and his face smiling.  Then Tandakora, in his deep guttural, spoke rapidly and with heat.  When he had finished de Courcelles turned to his guests, and with a deprecatory gesture, said: 

“Tandakora’s heart burns with wrath.  He says that you attacked him and his party in the forest and have slain some of his warriors.”

“Tandakora lies!”

It was the Onondaga who spoke.  His voice was not raised, but every syllable was articulated clearly, and the statement came with the impact of a bullet.  The tan of de Courcelles’ face could not keep a momentary flush from breaking through, but he kept his presence of mind.

“It is easy enough to call a man a liar,” he said, “but it is another thing to prove it.”

“Since when,” said Tayoga, haughtily, “has the word of an Ojibway, a barbarian who knows not the law, been worth more than that of one who is a member of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the Hodenosaunee?”

He spoke in English, which Robert knew the Ojibway understood and which both Frenchmen spoke fluently.  The great hand of Tandakora drifted down toward the handle of his tomahawk, but Tayoga apparently did not see him, his fathomless eyes again staring into the fire.  Robert looked at Willet, and he saw the hunter’s eye also fall upon the handle of his tomahawk, a weapon which he knew the Great Bear could hurl with a swiftness and precision equal to those of any Indian.  He understood at once that Tayoga was protected by the hunter from any sudden movement by the Ojibway and his great strain relaxed.

De Courcelles frowned, but his face cleared in an instant.  Robert, watching him now, believed he was not at all averse to a quarrel between the Onondaga and the Ojibway.

“It is not a question for me to decide,” he replied.  “The differences of the Hodenosaunee and the western tribes are not mine, though His Majesty, King Louis of France, wishes all his red brethren to dwell together in peace.  Yet I but tell to you, Tayoga, what Tandakora has told to me.  He says that you three attacked him and peaceful warriors back there in a gorge of the river, and slew some of his comrades.”