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My brother is a man of his hands, and valour is dear to the heart of Onotawah. If he casts in his lot with the Children of the West Wind a wigwam shall be his, and a daughter of our race to wife, and six of our young men shall follow his commands. Will my brother march with us against those whom God has delivered to us for our prey?" "Does the eagle make terms with the kite?"
He is a soldier as well as a prophet, for he has drilled and disposed his army like a master of war." "Will your tribe ally themselves with Cherokee murderers?" "I asked that question of this man Onotawah, and he liked it little. He says that his people distrust this alliance with a race they scorn, and I do not think they pine for the white man's war.
One was the chief Onotawah, and the other a tall Indian who wore no war paint. They came towards me, and the light fell on the face of the second. To my amazement I recognized Shalah. He put a finger on his lip, and, though my heart clamoured for news, I held my peace. They squatted on a heap of skins and spoke in their own tongue. Then Shalah addressed me in English.
Muckle John, like some old priest of Diana, flung up his arms to the heavens, and seemed to be invoking his strange gods. Or he may have been blessing his flock I know not which. Then he turned and strode back to his tent, just as he had done on that night in the Cauldstaneslap.... A hand was laid on my arm and Onotawah stood by me.
Light-hearted or light-headed, I know not which I was, but I know that I had no fear. It was late in the evening ere we reached the shelf in the high glens which was the headquarters of the Indian host. I rode on a horse, between Onotawah and Shalah, as if I were a chief and no prisoner.
I was taken to the middle of the half-circle, and Shalah motioned me to dismount, while a stripling led off the horses. My legs gave under me, for they were still very feeble, and I sat hunkered up on the sward like the others. I looked for Shalah and Onotawah, but they had disappeared, and I was left alone among those lines of dark, unknown faces.
He seemed to menace the other, his nostrils quivered with contempt, and his voice was barbed with passion. Onotawah bowed his head and said nothing. Then he seemed to dismiss him, and the proud chief walked out of the teepee like a disconsolate schoolboy. Instantly Shalah turned to me and inquired about my wounds.
After that I lay down on my couch again, for it seemed to me that I would need to treasure every atom of my strength. The meal had put a little heart in me heart enough to wait dismally on the next happening. Presently the chief whom they called Onotawah stood at the tent door, and with him a man who spoke the Powhatan tongue. "Greeting, brother," he said.
That is the custom of our people." He turned to Onotawah again, and his tone was high and scornful. He spoke as if he were the chief and the other were the minion, and, what was strangest of all, Onotawah replied meekly. Shalah rose to his feet and strode to the door, pointing down the glen with his hand.
Before us on the hill-side across the stream was a wood, with its limits cut as clear on the meadow as a coppice in a nobleman's park. 'Twas maybe half a mile long as it stretched up the slope, and about the same at its greatest width. The shape was like a stout bean with a hollow on one side, and down the middle ran the gorge of a mountain stream. Onotawah pointed to the wood.
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