He had again put on his fine uniform upon the occasion of his meeting with Colonel Johnson on the Albany flats, and when Robert saw him he was still clothed in it.  His coat was of superfine green cloth, heavily ornamented with gold epaulets and gold lace.  His trousers were of the same green cloth with gold braid all along the seams, and his feet were in shoes of glossy leather with gold buckles.  A splendid cocked hat with a feather in it was upon his head.  Beneath the shadow of the hat was a face of reddish bronze, aged but intelligent, and, above all, honest.

Hendrik in an attire so singular for a Mohawk might have looked ridiculous to many a man, but Robert, who knew so much of Indian nature, found him dignified and impressive.

“I have heard of you, my son,” said Hendrik, in the precise, scholarly English which Tayoga used.  “You are a friend of the brave young chief, Daganoweda, and to you, because of your gift of speech, has been given the name, Dagaeoga.  The Onondaga, Tayoga, of the clan of the Bear, is your closest comrade, and you are also the one who made the great speech in the Vale of Onondaga before the fifty sachems against the missionary, Father Drouillard, and the French leader, St. Luc.  They say that words flowed like honey from your lips.”

“It was the occasion, not any words of mine,” said Robert modestly.

“I was ill then, and could not be present,” continued the old chief gravely, “and another took my place.  I should have been glad could I have heard that test of words in the Vale of Onondaga, because golden speech is pleasant in my ears, but Manitou willed it otherwise, and I cannot complain, as I have had much in my long life.  Now the time for words has passed.  They have failed and the day of battle is at hand.  I go on my last war trail.”

“No!  No, Hendrik!” exclaimed Willet.  “You will emerge again the victor, covered with glory.”

“Yes, Great Bear, it is written here,” insisted the old Mohawk, tapping his forehead.  “It is my last war trail, but it will be a great one.  I know it.  How I know it I do not know, but I know it.  The voice of Manitou has spoken in my ear and I cannot doubt.  I shall fall in battle by the shores of Andiatarocte (the Iroquois name of Lake George) and there is no cause to mourn.  I have lived the three score years and ten which the Americans and English say is the allotted age of man, and what could be better for a Mohawk chief, when the right end for his days has come, than to fall gloriously at the head of his warriors?  I have known you long, Great Bear.  You have always been the friend of the Hodenosaunee.  You have understood us, you have never lied to us, and tricked us, as the fat traders do.  I think that when I draw my last breath you will not be far away and it will be well.  I could not wish for any better friend than Great Bear to be near when I leave this earth on my journey to the star on which the mighty Hayowentha, the Mohawk chief of long ago, lives.”