"Qua, Ga-en-gwa-ra-go!"[[5]]
[[5]] "Hail, Great Swift Arrow"—the Indians' name for the Governor of New York, whoever he might be.
The other man was more like a tavern-keeper than a woodsman. Of a naturally large stature, he looked even larger than he was by reason of the fleshiness of his hogshead of a body.
At first glance he seemed all paunch, but when you studied him closely you saw that his fat was firm and hard and formed a sheathing for the most powerful set of muscles any man ever had. His face was tremendous, with little, insignificant features; but his eyes, behind the rolls of fat which almost masked them, twinkled with constant interest and animation, belying the air of stolid stupidity he affected.
"This is Corlaer, Master Ormerod," said the governor. "And with him is come a friend of ours, one of the two war-chiefs of the Six Nations. Peter, Master Ormerod hath a letter for you from Master Juggins in London."
"Ja," he said vacantly.
I handed him the letter. He turned it over and over in his hand and picked at the seal. Then he handed it to the Indian.
"You read idt," he said.