Bob started when he recognized two familiar faces among those below; these were no other than Armand Lecroix, the leader of the men with whom the Armstrong boys had quarrelled at the time the dispute arose concerning the ownership of the game; and another fellow equally as brutal in his ways, Jacques Larue, with whom Bob and Sandy had had trouble in the past.
It was not surprise at seeing these men here among the hostile Indians that gave Bob that chilly feeling. He was only thinking how pleased the French trappers would be if they discovered how the grand council was being spied upon, and who the unfortunates in the tree-top proved to be.
Looking closer, Bob felt positive he could recognize Pontiac. The most notorious Indian of history, whose one dream it had ever been to unite the many tribes into a confederacy, and then sweep the hated palefaces back into the ocean from which they had sprung, was a notable figure.
His manner was commanding, and even his garb bespoke the kingly role he had taken upon himself. He was not above middle height, though his figure was commanding. His complexion was darker than is usual with his race, and his features had a bold and stern expression, while his bearing was that of a man accustomed to sweeping away all opposition by the force of his imperious will.
Ordinarily Pontiac's attire was that of the primitive savage, girded about the loins, wearing beaded moccasins, and with his long black hair flowing loosely; but, when seated in council, he was wont to appear as Bob and Sandy now gazed in awe upon him, plumed and painted in the full costume of war.
Every eye was fastened upon Pontiac when he spoke, after the pipe had been passed around, and each member of the council had taken a whiff, sending a little puff toward each point of the compass. ([Note 6.])
Although the voice of the great sachem reached them easily, neither of the boys could understand what he said, as he made his passionate appeal to the chiefs of the Six Nations and many others assembled there. It was easy however for them to guess that he was artfully appealing to their passions and prejudices, and telling them how, if only all the red tribes would join together, they could once again possess the land that their fathers had owned.
Then others spoke, some apparently in favor of the proposal of the great leader, others counselling caution. Thus time passed until a full hour had gone. The boys had not dared even move all this while, though they felt stiff and sore from so long perching upon the hard limbs. Screened by the leaves that still clung to the branches of the council oak, they had seen one after another get up to give his views upon the subject Pontiac had brought as a message from his powerful tribe that had its home along the border of the other Great Lakes, where Detroit and similar frontier posts held out against the attacks of the allied Indians.