"We will summon a council of the Senecas to meet tomorrow. I will present what you have told me to them. We will send out belts to the Cayugas, the Onondagas, the Oneidas, the Tuscaroras, the Mohawks. You shall come with me to the Ho-yar-na-go-war and hear me make good my promises.
"Na-ho!"
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and rose to go; but in the doorway he tarried strangely.
"Has Do-ne-ho-ga-weh more to say to me?" I asked him through Ta-wan-ne-ars.
"Have you a father, white man?" he answered.
"My father is dead."
"My son is dead also. He died many years ago. I have a nephew—" a stern smile lighted his austere face—"but I would not have him otherwise.
"White man, your enemy is my enemy. You are a brave warrior. You are the friend of Ta-wan-ne-ars. Will you become my son?"
"Ja, ja," muttered Peter in my ear as Ta-wan-ne-ars translated with impartial accuracy. "Idt is a greadt honor."
"If Do-ne-ho-ga-weh thinks that I am worthy to be his son I shall accept his offer with pride," I replied.