Thiohero, still holding the Saguenay by his lean, muscular arm, spoke sharply to him in his jargon; then, at his reply, looked up at me with the flaming eyes of a lynx.
"Brother," said she, "this Montagnais hunter has given an account that the Maquas have prepared an ambuscade, knowing we are on the Great Trail."
I said, coolly: "What reason does the Saguenay give for returning to us with such a tale?"
"He says," she replied, "that we only, of all Iroquois or white men he has ever encountered, have treated him like a man and not as an unclean beast.
"He says that my white brother has told him he is a man, and that if this is true he will act as real men act.
"He says he desires to be painted upon the breast with a little red foot, and wishes to go into battle with us. And," she added naïvely, "to an Oneida this seems very strange that a Saguenay can be a real man!"
"Paint him," said I, smiling at the Saguenay.
But no Oneida would touch him. So, while he stripped to the clout and began to oil himself from the flask of gun-oil I offered, I got from him, through Thiohero, all he had noticed of the ambuscade prepared for us, and into which he himself had run headlong in his flight from the stones and insults of the Mohawks at the Big Eddy.
While he was thus oiling himself, Luysnes shaved his head with his hunting blade, leaving a lock to be braided. Then, very quickly, I took blue paint from Thiohero and made on the fellow's chest a hawk. And, with red paint, under this I made a little red foot, then painted his fierce, thin features as the girl directed, moving a dainty finger hither and thither but never touching the Saguenay.
To me she said disdainfully, in English: "My brother John, this is a wild wolf you take hunting with you, and not a hound. The Saguenays are real wolves and not to be tamed by white men or Iroquois. And like a lone wolf he will run away in battle. You shall see, brother John."