Afterwards Bob sat beside Kenton while the borderer plied him with many questions. Of course Bob was not always able to give as intelligent an answer as he would like, since his ignorance of the Indian tongue had prevented his understanding much that had been said by Pontiac and the other head chiefs during the council; but Kenton, in his customary shrewd way, managed to guess at what was lacking.
"It is all plain to me, Bob," he said, later on. "Pontiac is at his old game, and hopes to weld all the various tribes from the Alleghanies to the Mississippi in a grand confederation in favor of the French, whom he loves, and against the English colonists, whom he despises. The Sacs, his own people, the Pottawottomies; the Foxes; the Delawares; even the Illinois tribes he is sure of; also the Shawanees. He longs to add the Six Nations, or Iroquois, to the list. That is why his silver voice is heard in the land of the Senecas," he added bitterly.
"But the Iroquois are the friends of the English?" Bob exclaimed.
"Yes," Kenton went on, a frown mantling his fine face. "They have been, in the past; but the artful French have long tried to undermine this old established friendship. They constantly seek opportunities to make the Onondagas, the Oneidas, the Mohawks, the Cayugas, the Tuscaroras, and the Senecas believe that the English governor of Virginia is playing them false, and speaking with a double tongue."
"But they have not wavered, up to now," said Bob. "Surely they hate the French so much that they will refuse to join with them in warring on our settlements, just because the lilies of France seek to run a line of trading posts all the way down the Mississippi?"
"We believe that is true with most of the tribes; but the Senecas have acted in a suspicious way," returned the borderer. "That is why we two came up to this northern country. News reached Boone that Pontiac was sending his wampum belt to the Seneca chief, Kiashuta, with word that the owner expected to personally follow it up, and address a great gathering of the various tribes under the famous Seneca council oak."
"If that was Kiashuta with whom Pontiac departed, I greatly fear he is leaning toward the teaching of the great plotter," Bob declared.
"Yes, he has little love for the English, the more the pity," Kenton added; "but, left to himself, the Seneca would have been swayed by his fellow chiefs of the Six Nations. Now that he has heard the fiery, persuading voice of Pontiac, I fear he, too, will be ready to dig up the hatchet that has been buried these many years, and go with his young braves on the warpath, burning and slaying."
Sandy had already thrown himself down on some of the hemlock boughs, and was far gone on the road to slumberland. The warmth of the cavern, together with his more satisfied mind, and the good supper of which he had just partaken, combined to make the lad very sleepy.
Nor was Bob averse to following his example when he found that Kenton had no more important questions to ask. He did not inquire as to what plans the other might have already budding in his mind, looking to the stealing of their captive sister from the clutches of the Senecas.