Besides the three already described, as many more noted red-men completed the league, into which but a single pale-face was to be admitted.
When Girty entered Turkey-foot’s lodge, he found its tenants grouped around a large, flat stone, placed on the earth in the lodge’s center. On this stone lay a piece of tanned deerskin, upon which Stomah, one of the league, and quite an untaught artist, was tracing the totems of the chiefs. In silence the totems were completed, and the voice of Turkey-foot greeted the assembly.
“We are here to take the oath that makes the Manitou shudder. Let those who will not swear walk into the light of his fires.”
Not a figure stirred.
“By his totem, and the heart of the Manitou, shall each swear, and beneath our totems shall we write our marks in the warm blood that gushes from our hearts!”
At the significance of the terrible vow, every heart grew chill, and presently Turkey-foot drew his scalping-knife from its highly-ornamented sheath.
“Turkey-foot will swear first,” he said, bringing the point of the knife to his bare red breast; “and when we all have sworn, then shall each drink the blood that shoots from the wounds we make, even as we shall swallow the heart-gore of the young She-wolf.”
A moment later, the knife glided through the skin directly over the chief’s heart, and the smoking blood gushed forth like a tiny rivulet, suddenly released from the power of a dam.
“Now!”
The Indian bathed his hand in the red tide, and threw the gory member toward heaven.