"Neither the squaw nor the papoose of the white man," replied Ossong, scornfully.
"It is well. You are in your native land, and can find the bones of your fathers; but here the poor squaw of the white chief is a stranger."
"And Orono will protect her," added the other savage, who bore that name, stepping proudly forward.
"The pawaws say our fathers come from the rising sun, and that we must go towards the place of its setting—-that there is the future home of the Red man," said Ossong, as a savage glare lit up his eyes and he played with his scalping-knife; "shall even one pale face be permitted to live, if such things are said? Go—Orono has become a woman!"
With this taunt, the most bitter that can be made to an Indian, Ossong waved his hand, and strode away with a sombre air of fury and disdain.
As he left the hut, a glittering ornament which hung at his neck caught the eye of Mary. She uttered a faint cry, for she was weak and feeble, and while clutching her babe in one arm, strove to raise her attenuated form with the other. She endeavoured to call back Ossong; but her voice failed, and she sank despairingly on her bed of skins. Among the gewgaws which covered the broad breast of Ossong, to her horror, she had discovered the gilt regimental gorget of her husband, which she knew too well, by its silver thistle, as there had been no other officer of Highlanders but be in Fort William Henry.
The eyes of Orono gleamed brightly; he, too, had detected the cause of her agitation, and he said,
"It is an ornament of the pale chief, worn by Ossong."
"It was my husband's! Oh, Orono, ask him—for pity, ask him, where, when, how he obtained possession of it."
"Ossong is fierce as a Pequot," said the Iroquois, sadly.