His words seemed conclusive; and they resumed the path again, walking on stealthily in a single file as before. They had gone about three miles more, when a wild, fearful yell, such as no European would believe a human throat could utter, was heard near upon their right. Another rose up on their left, the instant after, and then another in their front. Each man stopped in breathless silence, as if suddenly turned to stone; but each with the first impulse had laid his hand upon his tomahawk. All listened for a repetition of the well-known war-whoop, and each man asked himself what such a sound could mean in a land where the Indians were all at peace amongst themselves, and where no tidings had been received of a foreign foe; but no one uttered a word, even in a whisper, to the man close to him.
Suddenly, a single figure appeared upon the trail before them,--tall, powerful, commanding; one well known to all there present. It was that of the Black Eagle, now feathered and painted for battle, with his rifle in his hand, and his tomahawk ready.
"Are ye Mohawks?" he demanded, as he came nearer. "Are we brethren?"
"We are Mohawks and brethren," replied the leader of the party; "we are but wandering through the forest, seeking to find something which has been lost."
"What is it?" asked Black Eagle, somewhat sternly; "nothing is lost that cannot be found. Snow may cover it for a time; but when the snow melts, it will come to light."
"It is a young lad's coat," said the cunning Mohawk; "but why is Black Eagle on the war path? Who has unburied the hatchet against the Oneidas?"
"The Black Eagle dreamed a dream," replied the chief, round whom numerous Oneidas, fully equipped for war, had by this time gathered; "and in his dream he saw ten men come from the mid-day into the land of the Oneida, and ten men from the side of the cold wind. They wore the garb of peace, and called themselves brothers of the children of the Stone. But the eyes of the Black Eagle were strong in his dream, and he saw through their bosoms, and their hearts were black; and a voice whispered to him, they come to steal from the Oneida that which they cannot restore, and to put a burden upon the children of the Stone that they will not carry."
"Was it not the voice of the singing bird?" asked the young Mohawk chief. "Was the dream sent by the bad spirit?"
"I know not," answered the Black Eagle. "Say ye! But the Black Eagle believed the dream, and, starting up, he called his warriors round him, and he sent Lynx-eyes, the Sachem of the Bear, to the north, and led his own warriors to the south, saying, 'Let us go and meet these ten men, and tell them, if they be really brethren of the Oneida, to come with us and smoke the pipe of peace together, and eat and drink in our lodges, and return to their own land when they are satisfied; but, if their hearts are black and their tongues double, then let us put on the war-paint openly, and unbury the long-buried hatchet, and take the war-path like men and warriors, and not creep to mischief like the silent copperhead.'"
The last words were spoken in a voice of thunder, while his keen black eye flashed, and his whole form seemed to dilate with indignation.