From which I judged shrewdly enough that the Chippewas had refused to face the fire of Radisson from the ridge, after my fall, and that Ruth had escaped to him. This was mightily cheering, and now I cared not what took place, since the little maid was safe.
At word from Gib, two or three of the Chippewas sprang forward and pulled The Keeper to his feet, loosing his bonds and mine and casting off his furs until he stood naked to the waist. The old warrior was scarred with new wounds and old, and I judged that he had not gone down in last night's struggle without giving more than one deathblow. His sinewy bronze figure drew a look of admiration from the surrounding warriors, and when the power of movement was restored to him he quietly leaned over and picked up the little Bible which had been Henry Hudson's.
"So," sneered Gib at this, noting also the emblem of the Cross that hung around the neck of the old Mohawk, "you are of the faith of the blackrobes, Iroquois? Say, will you not accept life and a chieftainship among the Chippewas?"
Before The Keeper could reply to the Cree words, one of the other warriors stepped forth and spoke in the same tongue.
"Old man, you are a brave warrior. Last night you fought well. Beside the fire lies my older brother. His squaw will mourn for him. You shall take his place at our councils, and be a chief among us."
Quiet scorn flashed into the proud, haggard face of the old man, but he said no word, and once again Gib taunted him with his creed.
"Give up that thing about your neck, Iroquois, fling that book into the snow, and you shall be a great man among us and saved from the torture. How say you? What avails your faith now? Is it stronger than Chippewa arrows? Can it break the Chippewa bows?"
The Keeper turned and faced him. Into the stern old features had crept a light that seemed unearthly, and he looked at Gib as though he had seen some other behind him, so that more than one of the warriors glanced about uneasily. Still holding the Book, the old Mohawk answered slowly, unheeding the bitter cold in his fresh wounds.
