"Listen!" he said, in a voice that reached easily to the further extremity of the gathered throng. "Pontiac sat on yonder log. Your chief Kiashuta had left him to seek for something that was in his lodge. In the mind of Pontiac many things dwell to give him cause for thought. He heard not the coming of the snake in the grass who crawled up behind, and swung aloft the club with which he expected to dash out the brains of a chief.
"Listen. In the bushes and the grass lay two paleface boys. They had guns. They had come many miles from their cabin on the running water to the south. They had no reason to love Pontiac, who has ever been the enemy of their race; but they had hate in their hearts for a snake that could sting in the heel. So, quickly did this gun speak. The arm that was raised fell helpless. And then Pontiac closed with the treacherous Frenchman.
"Listen yet again, warriors. Had it not been for this paleface boy, where now would be your leader? How could Pontiac strike the flint that will make the whole border blaze with fires, if he lay here on this ground, dead?"
He looked around him as though expecting an answer; but not a single voice was raised. Slowly the truth was penetrating the brains of those who heard. They understood that, no matter what his motive may have been, the paleface boy had saved the famous chieftain to those who hung upon his every look or word, as though he had charmed them with his magic.
"Release them!" Pontiac continued, making an imperious gesture toward the warriors who were clutching the two lads; and immediately they hastened to obey his will. "They belong to Pontiac; let one of you from this hour lay so much as a finger on them at his peril!"
When Sandy heard these words he seemed to regain his power of speech once more, for he clutched Bob's arm convulsively as soon as he found himself free, and exclaimed:
"Bob, do you hear that? He says we are his prisoners, and that we will not be harmed! Oh! if only we could get him to give us Kate now, what a blessed thing it would be! Perhaps after all, Bob, my hasty nature did better for us than all the planning. Ask him if he will help us, won't you, Bob? 'Strike while the iron is hot,' father always says. Speak to him, now."
But Bob held back, for he saw that the chief had more to say, since he was once again turning toward them. To the delight of the boys he gravely held out his hand, white man fashion, for Pontiac had been brought up among the French, and knew almost as much of the white men's ways as though he had been born a paleface.
"We are friends," he said, as he pressed each hand firmly. "You have saved the life of Pontiac. Ask what favor you will, and, if it is in his power, so shall it be granted. First tell me what you seek, so far away from your home?"
"In a cabin, where the swift water runs between the hills, lives our mother," said Bob. "Our father has gone over the big hill to Richmond to bring back with him some of the things a white woman needs. Besides my brother and myself, there was one child, a sweet girl, about so high," and he held his hand below his shoulder to indicate that his sister was much shorter than himself.