"The chief of the Salt Lake! The pirate take me back to my people?" exclaimed Hodges, shaking his head. "My dear Miko, you are vastly mistaken. He will take good care not to do so, for his welcome would be a halter."
"Is the chief of the Salt Lake also at war with my brother's tribe?" inquired the Miko.
"Not at war; but he is a pirate, who robs and plunders wherever he goes, and, if taken, will of course be hung."
The countenance of the Indian darkened, and Hodges feared that he had touched a dangerous string.
"My brother is right," said Tokeah; "he must go. But, if he will remain, the wigwam of the Miko is open to him; the White Rose will cook his venison, and he shall be the son of Tokeah."
The Englishman took the old warrior's hand, and pressed it kindly.
"When the Oconees," said he, adopting the Indian phraseology, "have sworn to their Miko to lift the war-hatchet in his behalf, they must keep their word, or they are dogs. Even so must the son of the great father of the Canadas observe the oath that he has taken. He must hasten to his brothers, or he will be looked upon as a coward, and his name will be spoken with contempt."
These words, uttered with feeling and emphasis, were decisive. The chief nodded his approbation.
"The sun was low behind the hills," said he, "when my young brother approached the wigwam of Tokeah, and the chief was buried in sleep. His footsteps must not be seen by the white men. Will my brother swear by Him whom the Oconees call the Great Spirit, and the pale-faces name their God, that he will not betray Tokeah to his enemies?"
"I swear it solemnly."