"The Keepers scream like women," he shouted, in order to make himself heard. "Have you never taken captives before?"
They shrieked a medley of abuse at him, but once more he compelled their attention by force of will.
"Are you afraid to let Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother run the gantlet?" he demanded.
A squat Cahnuaga chief grinned and shook his head.
"We do not want you to tire yourself," he answered. "You would not be able to last so long under torture."
"You are afraid of us," jeered Ta-wan-ne-ars. "You know that if we were free we could escape from your whole tribe. You are women. We scorn you. Do you know what has become of the seven warriors Murray sent to pursue us on the Great Trail?"
Silence prevailed.
"Yes, there were seven of them," gibed Ta-wan-ne-ars. "And there were three of us. And where are they? I will tell you, Cahnuaga dogs, Adirondack dogs, Shawendadie dogs, Huron dogs. Crawl closer on your bellies while I tell you.
"Their scalps hang in the lodge of Ta-wan-ne-ars—seven scalps of the Keepers who could not fight against real men. The scalps of seven who called themselves warriors and who were so rash that they tried to fight three."
A howl of anger answered him.