"Brother," I said, "how many Maquas are there camped near the Big Eddy?"
His low, thick voice answered in a dialect or language I did not comprehend.
"Can you speak Iroquois?" I demanded.
He muttered something in his jargon. Thiohero touched my arm:
"The Saguenay says he understands the Iroquois tongue, but can speak it only with difficulty. He says that he is a hunter and not a warrior."
"Ask him to answer me concerning the Maqua."
A burst of volubility spurted from the prisoner.
Again the girl translated the guttural reply:
"He says he saw painted Mohawks fishing in the Big Eddy, and others watching the trail. He does not know how many, because he can not count above five numbers. He says the Mohawks stoned him and mocked him, calling him Tree-eater and Woodpecker; and they drove him away from the Big Eddy, saying that no Saguenay was at liberty to fish in Canienga territory until permitted by the Canienga; and that unless he started back to Canada, where he belonged, the Iroquois women would catch him and beat him with nettles."
As Thiohero uttered the dread name, Canienga, I could see our captive shrink with the deep fear that the name inspired. And I think any Iroquois terrified him, for it seemed as though he dared not sustain the half-contemptuous, half-indifferent glances of my Oneidas, but his eyes shifted to mine in dumb appeal for refuge.