Presently Quagnant grew communicative. One evening when he and Conrad camped alone, he told him something of the affairs of the Indians.
"The Five Nations are at peace, but they will not always be at peace. Many important things are coming to pass, Conrad."
It was in the middle of a bright May morning that Quagnant and his companion reached the end of their journey. The trail led over the last stream, through the last wood and thence to a great hill, upon whose side lay a large Indian village. Here it was that the hundreds of small human streams had converged; here the savages were gathered, it seemed to Conrad, in an innumerable host. At sight of them, his heart throbbed and his skin pricked with fright. Quagnant's face was hideous, and here Quagnant was repeated hundreds of times. Quagnant's great body, crowned with its bristling eagle feathers, was a bit terrifying even to Conrad, and here was Quagnant's fierce strength multiplied by a great army. There were Indians wrapped in blankets, Indians without covering, Indians with hideous nose-rings, and here and there shamans or medicine men with masks of animals, as though the very beasts of the forest had come to join the council.
When strength returned to Conrad's frightened heart, he breathed a frantic prayer to be allowed to escape. For such a scene as this no experience of his life had prepared him. But he dared not show a sign of fear; he must walk on behind Quagnant, up the street of the village between the gigantic creatures and before the black, beady, piercing eyes. As Quagnant approached, he was hailed with many a loud "Ho, Ho." The sound which followed him was different,—a low, disapproving murmur.
Straight up the great hill led the feet of Quagnant; close to him followed Conrad. At the summit of the hill the forest trees had been cut in a wide circle and the ground had been beaten like a hard floor. About the rim of the circle were placed tree-stumps and logs; in the middle burned a fire, round which crouched shamans, more hideous than the warriors. Beside them lay their drums of tightly stretched skin and their rattles of turtle shell or gourd. They sat motionless, their eyes upon the fire.
Quagnant bade Conrad sit down at the edge of the woods, and himself sat beside him. One by one Indians came to speak to him, to Conrad a consoling sign of his importance. Longest of all he spoke with an Oneida chief named Shikellamy. What they said Conrad could not hear, but he could see that Shikellamy looked upon him kindly.
"He has a great heart and a wise mind," said Quagnant as the chief went away. "In council he makes our way clear."
At noon the shamans beat their drums and shook their rattles, and at once, breaking off conversation with one another or with the squaws of the village, the Indians approached the council fire. Certain ones, Quagnant and Shikellamy among them, took seats together on the tree-stumps; the others sat on logs or on the ground. Outside the circle stood scores of young men. Presently the shamans ceased to beat their drums and shake their rattles and crouched again about the fire.
Now followed a period of complete silence. The chiefs did not move; the young warriors seemed scarcely to breathe; even from the village came no sound of speech and no cry of child.
Shikellamy was the first to rise. He spoke in a deep voice and was listened to with breathless attention.