"Still holding the book, the old Mohawk answered slowly,
unheeding the bitter cold in his fresh wounds."
"The Pike is a great warrior. He was among the Iroquois many years ago. He has seen how warriors of the Five Nations die, and the sight has frightened him. He has fled to the Chippewas, and has put on the robes of a squaw. He asks me, the Keeper of the Eastern Door of the Long-house, Ta-cha-noon-tia, if my faith is stronger than Chippewa arrows! Listen, my brothers.
"I am very old. I am on my last war-trail, and I can see that it is almost ended, and I am glad. But in the snow beside The Pike there is a trail. What is that which stands behind you, my brother? What is that which waits at your shoulder and breathes upon your cheek?"
At the words Gib, who had listened as though through force, flung about, but there was no man beside him. Then from the Chippewas went up a little gasp, and following their eyes I saw a track across the snow, from the woods leading toward the ridge, which passed close to us and right behind Gib. The track was that of the Mighty One, the giant moose, and I realized that The Keeper was taking advantage of every chance that offered.
But Gib laughed harshly. "The Keeper is right. He is on his last trail, unless he casts away the book in his hand, and quickly."
"Listen, my brothers, while I tell you a story." At this I saw Gib start as if to protest, but a swift glance at the Chippewas showed that he could not hurry them. They were absorbed in watching The Keeper, and although their admiration for him would in no degree lessen their cruelty, they wished to lose nothing of his words or deeds, for they knew that he was a greater man than they. He spoke slowly, quietly, his weak voice growing stronger as he went on.
"Long ago, when I was a young warrior without a scalp, a man came among us. He wore a black robe. He was a white man, and his words were sweet in our ears. He told us that the Great Spirit had sent him among us to tell us that there should be peace and not war in the land.
"My brothers, our old men have told us that once the hero Hiawatha banded together five nations in a silver chain of peace. These are the five nations of the Iroquois. No tribe can stand before us—not even the white men have overcome us. But we have forgotten that we formed a league of peace, and our arrows are very sharp.
"We listened to the blackrobe, but we did not believe that the Great Spirit had sent him to us. Our medicine men were very angry at him. Then there came a plague upon us, and many of our warriors died in the villages. The medicine men said that the blackrobe had brought the plague upon us, and our young men cried out that he should be killed.
"My brothers, you do not know how to torture. You are women. We took the blackrobe to a stake and builded a fire around him. Before we lit the fire I jeered at him, and asked him if his Great Spirit was stronger than our arrows, stronger than our fire."