"Girty coming to us under a white flag!" exclaimed the Major. "What can he want?"
"We'll soon see," said Henry. "Look, there are the chiefs."
A dozen stately figures issued from the green gloom and stood beside Girty, silent and impressive, their hands folded upon the muzzles of their rifles, which rested upon the ground, their figures upright, figure and face alike motionless, an eagle feather waving defiantly in every scalp lock. There was something grand and formidable in their appearance, and all those who looked from the palisade felt it.
"Do you know any of them?" asked Major Braithwaite.
"Yes," replied Henry. "I see Yellow Panther, head chief of the Miamis; Red Eagle, head chief of the Shawnees, and Captain Pipe and Captain White Eyes, Delaware chiefs, but I do not see Timmendiquas, the White Lightning of the Wyandots, the bravest and greatest of them all. There are two more renegades behind the chiefs. They are Blackstaffe and Braxton Wyatt."
"Girty is coming forward. He is going to speak," said the Major.
The renegade advanced another dozen feet, still holding the white flag above him, and hailed them in a loud voice.
"Ho, you within the fort!" he cried. "I wish to speak with your leader, if you have one."
Major Braithwaite stepped upon the highest point of the ledge. He showed above the palisade from the waist up, and the morning sunshine touched his cocked hat and buff and blue with an added glory. It was a strange figure in the forest, but the face under the cocked hat was brave and true.
"I am the commander here," said Major Braithwaite in a clear and penetrating voice. "What does Simon Girty want with us?"