“They would have adopted him as one of their own nation, but he has returned their hospitality with lies, their kindest thoughts with evil.
“Of the death of Big Buffalo the Delawares will now inquire among themselves. Witchcraft is an enemy if it exists. The Delawares will learn the truth. But the Seneca must go. Let him leave the town and the hunting grounds of our people forever. Go!”
Waving his right hand haughtily toward Lone-Elk, Captain Pipe concluded, and a flush of anger awful to see came to his face as the Seneca sat still, his whole attitude one of indifference and contempt.
As the chieftain was about to repeat his stern command in even sterner tones, Lone-Elk rose to his feet. For a second or two he toyed with the tomahawk he still held in his hands. Then in insolent tones, both contemptuous and contemptible, and, glaring up and down the rows of faces upturned to him, he said:
“Lone-Elk is a Seneca. Never had he a thought of becoming a Delaware. Why should a Seneca warrior put himself among squaws? For food; for rest. Nothing more. Lone-Elk did not so much as ask that the belt of white wampum be sent to the friends of a Seneca that is dead. He asked no favors of any Delaware. Some of your foolish young men pointed their fingers at Lone-Elk when Big Buffalo was found dead in the bushes by the water. For his amusement Lone-Elk told them of a witch. Like squaws they heard every word. Like children they must hear over and over again and could not have enough. Like children, too, did the Delaware’s open their ears and their eyes to hear a legend of a hidden mine of lead. Ugh! A warrior sickens over them and is glad to go.”
For a full second the Seneca paused and looked disdainfully about him. There was anger in every Delaware’s face.
But suddenly Lone-Elk’s demeanor changed. An exclamation of wrath awful to hear burst from his lips.
“There stands the two-tongued Paleface squaw who killed your dead Big Buffalo!” he cried, and shook his fist toward the quaking Lobb. “Lone-Elk trusted a two-faced black dog of a Paleface! That is the Seneca’s crime! When the Harvest Festival was held this dog was hiding in the brushes. Big Buffalo stumbled upon him there and kicked him, like the dog that he is. They seized each other by the throats. The grip of the dog was stronger than the warrior’s grip. Big Buffalo was killed. Lone-Elk has long known this. But why should he tell the Delawares? Why tell the Delawares, to save two Paleface spies, cheating and lying to the Indians and hunting on their land?
“Still, the Delawares are but squaws. They have no place among the mighty nations. Lone-Elk is glad to leave them. The Delawares will never see him again. Let them, then, tell their children that once a mighty warrior lived among them.”
Not deigning to glance again toward Captain Pipe or any of the others present, but with his eyes fixed on Lobb alone, the Seneca quickly turned toward the door.