“There are English in Logstown?”
“Many. Traders.”
“How old are you?”
“Ten summers.”
“I am sixteen,” said the young English captain. “[My name is George Washington.] Perhaps some day I will be a warrior.”
“You come to your brothers the Mingo?” proposed Robert.
“Maybe I shall,” agreed George Washington. “Wouldn’t you like to stay here and be English?”
“No,” said Robert. “Me Seneca.”
And it seemed to him that to be a Seneca was the best thing in the world, for the Senecas were of the Six Nations and had a council seat in the Long House of the Iroquois. But if the English were like this young chief they were not so bad, either.
The dance was slackening. The young captain moved away to his companions. After the dance the Indians ate and drank again, and made camp in the dusk.