Do-ne-ho-ga-weh swept his arm around the horizon.
"Everywhere you see ashes and destruction," he replied. "The Keepers of the Trail are dead or imprisoned in Murray's stockade. Their women and children are our prisoners. Our belts can scarcely support the loads of scalps we have taken. We have swept the Doom Trail."
A new figure stepped forward—modestly, as became a young warrior in the company of roy-an-ehs and chiefs. 'Twas the Otter. He too saluted me.
"We thought that you escaped the ambush," I said. "You did well. Great will be the fame of the Otter."
He selected two from a bundle of scalps at his belt and held them aloft.
"Two pursued the Otter when he ran from the Evil Wood," he boasted. "But none returned to tell the way he took. The Otter hastened day and night, O my white brother, O-te-ti-an-i, hoping he might bring warriors to rescue you from the Keepers."
"The Otter did well," I repeated. "Had it not been for him, Murray might have been able to flee to Canada. As it is, the warriors of the Long House have surrounded him. He wishes only to save his life. Harken to the terms he offers."
They listened without comment to Murray's proposition.
"But we have a hostage, also," objected Do-ne-ho-ga-weh when I had finished. "We have been holding him for the torture-stake. Perhaps Murray will be willing to accept less when he learns that we have taken Black Robe."
"No, Black Robe means nothing to Murray," I said.