"Yes," said the captain, "war was their trade, and what better could one expect from men who fought, not for country or for principle, but simply for hire; the more shame to the government that employed them against freemen battling for their liberties!"
"Yet preferable, I should say, to the wily and treacherous savages the Americans have been accustomed to fighting." Lyttleton's tone was flippant. "I'd sooner encounter an infuriated Hessian, Frenchman, any kind of white man, or even ghost, than a whooping, yelling painted savage on the war path, as they call it."
"That's an acknowledgment," remarked the captain dryly; "especially in view of the fact that they, too, were employed against us by the mother country, as Americans once delighted to call her."
"However, that is all past, and certainly we owe no grudge to you, Lyttleton," he added turning toward the latter with a genial smile.
"All Indians are not cruel and treacherous," observed Nell, her fair cheek flushing and her violet eyes kindling; "Tecumseh is a noble exception; Wawillaway also; I would trust my life in his hands without the slightest hesitation."
"Yes, Wawillaway is a good Indian," assented her brother; "has always been friendly to the whites. Nor shall I ever forget his good service to you, Nell."
The major referred to the adventure with the panther, which he had related to his guests on a former occasion; of the more recent and greater service rendered her by her Indian friend, he knew nothing.
But Nell was thinking of it, recalling with a slight shudder Wolf's lecherous stare; her eyes were on her needle-work.
Kenneth could not see their expression, but he wondered at the trembling of her slender fingers as she drew the needle in and out, and the varying color on her cheek.
A moment of silence following the major's last remark, was suddenly broken by a thundering rap upon the outer door.