"So it is, and unless I reckon ill it's the signal of my cousin Daganoweda, returning from the great war trail that he has trod against the wild Ojibway, Tandakora."
The song of a bird trilled from his own throat in reply, and then from the forest came Daganoweda and his warriors in a dusky file. Robert and young Brant fell in with them and walked toward the house. Not a word was spoken, but the eyes of the Mohawk chieftain were gleaming, and his bearing expressed the very concentrated essence of haughty pride. At the house they stopped, and, young Brant going in, brought forth Colonel Johnson.
"Well, Daganoweda," said the white man.
"I met Tandakora two days' journey north of Mount Johnson," replied the Mohawk. "His numbers were equal to our own, but his warriors were not the warriors of the Hodenosaunee. Six of the Ganeagaono are gone, Waraiyageh, and sixteen more have wounds, from which they will recover, but when Tandakora began his flight toward Canada eighteen of his men lay dead, eight more fell in the pursuit, which was so fast that we bring back with us forty muskets and rifles."
"Well done, Daganoweda," said Colonel Johnson. "You have proved yourself anew a great warrior and chief, but you did not have to prove it to me. I knew it long ago. Fine new rifles, and blankets of blue or red or green have just come from Albany, half of which shall be distributed among your men in the morning."
"Waraiyageh never forgets his friends," said the appreciative Mohawk.
He withdrew with his warriors, knowing that the promise would be kept.
"Why was I not allowed to go with them?" mourned young Brant.
Colonel Johnson laughed and patted his shiny black head.
"Never mind, young fire-eater," he said. "We'll all of us soon have our fill of war—and more."