The canoe was close to the shore where Cahoonshee stood. He was at a loss whether to hide or make himself known. He judged that the canoe contained a white man, but the evening had so far advanced that a gloom passed over the waters.
Friend! said Cahoonshee in the Delaware tongue.
The man in the canoe dropped his paddle and seized his gun, then, looking toward the shore, saw a tall, athletic man, unarmed, with the palm of his hand extended. The man in the canoe, seeing this sign of amity, advanced to the shore, and saw that the stranger was an Indian in white man’s dress.
Delaware? exclaimed Quick in English.
Yes, replied Cahoonshee in the same language. Delaware in search of his old home and friends in the mountains.
My brother speaks like a white man, but looks like an Indian; said Quick.
I am no white man, I am an Indian, all Indian. Not a drop of white man’s blood runs in my veins. I am Cahoonshee.
Cahoonshee! exclaimed Quick. They were once a powerful and a brave tribe, but the last of them have passed away. Their lodges have rotted down; their fields are covered with thorns and briars, and their braves have gone to the spirit-land; not one of them is left; the echo of their voices are no longer heard on the Steynekill.
Does my brother know that country? asked Cahoonshee; Do you know the Steynekill? Do you know the silver lakes and the beaver dams?