“Send him to me, then, without delay.”
The officer bowed and retired. The Indian quickly obeyed the summons.
War-Cloud was a chief of the Oneidas. Although a great part of his tribe went over to the British with the Five Nations, of which it was a member, he always remained a stanch friend of the Americans, and an inveterate foe of the Mohawks.
He was one of the most trustworthy scouts attached to the Continental army, and in that capacity had performed invaluable service in the cause of liberty.
To Captain Sherwood he was especially attached, and would have been ready at any moment to sacrifice his life in his behalf. A large, crackling wood-fire shed its rays about the room which he entered.
As the Indian stood there, calmly awaiting the pleasure of his commander, with his arms quietly folded on his breast, with the beautiful war-plumes that decorated his head drooping over his countenance so as to give a more somber shade to his finely-molded features, he looked like some brazen colossus and the beau-ideal of a true warrior.
Colonel Hall was pacing up and down the apartment, deeply absorbed in meditation. He stopped a moment and looked up.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, as he beheld his visitor, “you have come!”
Placing a chair near the table for the scout, he seated himself opposite.
“I suppose you are aware of the reason that has caused me to send for you?” continued the colonel.