A half-grown boy sighted us through the trees while we were still some distance away, and his shrill cries gave the alarm. As we stepped from the edge of the forest, a dozen men grouped in front of the four bark shelters that stood just back from the bank. In the offing I perceived half as many women and some children. They were a dark, stumpy people, with low-browed, brutish faces.
Tawannears frowned and pointed to a canoe drawn up on the bank.
"Andastes," he spat contemptuously. "They are dogs and thieves who have no right here. The Hoyarnagowar has bidden them range in the Susquehanna Valley."
Musket in the hollow of his arm, he marched into the center of the dour group, every member of which clutched a fusil, trade musket or strung bow.
"Andastes," he said, "you have taken my canoe."
"We have only our own canoe," answered a thick-limbed warrior, who was out-thrust from the dingy throng.
"I say it is mine," returned Tawannears with haughty emphasis.
"You are welcome to camp here if you wish; we will give you food," said the Andaste evasively.
Tawannears' eyes sparked fire.
"Dog of an Andaste!" he barked. "Who are you to speak as a master to the Hodenosaunee? You crawl when the word comes to you from Onondaga! You eat dirt if a warrior of the Long House commands it! You are the fathers of all lice!"