* "Hail. Always-ready."
And he lifted his right hand arm-high in the splendid Iroquois gesture of salutation. I answered as befitted one who was not only my Clan brother and friend, but the war chief of the Great League, and as such, Warden of the Western Door of the Long House.
After him entered a mountain of a man, whose vast bulk was absurdly over-emphasized by the loose shirt and trousers of buckskin he wore and the coonskin cap that crowned his lank yellow locks. Others might be deceived by the rolls of fat, the huge paunch, the stupid simplicity of the broad, flat face, with insignificant features dabbed here and there, the little mild blue eyes that blinked behind ramparts of loose flesh, but I knew Peter Corlaer for the strongest, craftiest forest-runner of the frontier. Beneath his layers of blubber were muscles of forged steel and capacities for endurance that had never been plumbed.
"Zounds, man, but I'm glad to see you," I cried, trusting my fingers to his bear's grip.
"Ja," he answered vacantly in a tiny squeaky voice that issued incongruously from his immense frame.
I saw Allen staring at him in amazement, and I could not restrain a laugh—I who had not smiled in six months.
"I shall be merry now, John," I said. "They are old friends I had not expected to see so soon."
The governor clapped his hand on the clerk's shoulder.
"Ay, my lad, y'are safe to leave your master with us," he said in his kindly fashion. "Y'are a good youth. We have room for your like in New York. Here what ye have been matters not. 'Tis what ye are that counts. But leave us now, for we have much to discuss."
I turned again to Tawannears, as Allen closed the door behind him.