"And if you could only find the man you'd slit his gullet, wouldn't you, Cade?" inquired Mount, dropping one great arm over the Weasel's shoulder.
"Oh, dear, yes," replied the Weasel, amiably.
I had been looking ahead along the line of wagons, where a lanthorn was glimmering. The convoy had halted, and presently Mount, Cade Renard, and I walked on along the ranks of resting troops and loaded wains until we came to where the light shone on a group of militia officers and riflemen. Cresap was there, wrapped in his heavy cloak; and when he perceived me he called me.
As I approached, followed naïvely by Mount and Renard, I was surprised to see a tall Indian standing beside Cresap, muffled to the chin in a dark blanket.
"Cardigan," said Cresap, "my scouts found this Indian walking ahead in the trail all alone. He made no resistance, and they brought him in. He seems to be foolish or simple-minded. I can't make him out. You see he is unarmed. What is he?"
I glanced at the tall, silent Indian; a glance was enough.
"This man is a Cayuga and a chief," I said, in a low voice.
"Speak to him," said Cresap; "he appears not to understand me. I speak only Tuscarora, and that badly."
I looked at the silent Cayuga and made the sign of brotherhood. His dull eyes regarded me steadily.
"Brother," I said, "by the cinders on your brow you mourn for the dead."