"Don't they come in to the village at all?" I inquired, glancing around at half a dozen men who had gathered at the postern to watch the morning parade.
"There's a Cayuga, now," said the sentry, pointing to a short, blanketed figure squatting outside the drawbridge.
I walked across the bridge and approached the Indian, who immediately rose when he saw me, as though he expected ill-treatment, a kick perhaps. The movement was full of sad significance to me, like the cowering of a mistreated hound. Shame to those who inspire cringing in beasts! Double dishonour on those before whom men cower!
So this was the result of Cresap's coming! I saw it all in an instant; the bullying, overbearing pioneers were here to stay, backed by cannon and fort and a thousand long rifles, backed, too, by my Lord Dunmore, to play for a stake, the winning of which meant woe unspeakable to my native land.
The Indian was watching me sullenly. I held out my hand and said: "Peace, brother. I am a belt-bearer."
There was a silence. After a moment he took my hand.
"Peace, bearer of belts," he said, quietly.
"Our council fire is at Onondaga," I said.
"It burns on the Ohio, too," he replied, gravely.
"It burns at both doors of the Long House," I said. "Go to your sachems and wise men. Say to them that Quider is dead; that the three clans who mourn shall be raised up; that Sir William has sent six belts to the Cayuga. I bear them."