“Yes; one of Wampset’s men was here but a day or two ago.”
“Is it far?”
“Twenty miles—so the brave said.”
“It can be done, then. Take your arms and go to the village; find the chief, Wampset, give him this wampum belt, and tell him that the sender calls upon him to meet him at the three hills above Windsor, at midnight, with all the men he can muster. Do not fear for yourself; there is no Indian who owns the sway of the Nipmucks or the Mohawks who would lay a hand in anger upon the man who wears that belt. Put it on.”
Carl encircled his waist with the wampum belt. “Shall I go now?” he asked.
“Yes, and make haste; you must have a horse. Ha, Paul Swedlepipe, come hither.”
That individual, who was passing in a great hurry, came up at the call.
“Where is that Narragansett pony you bought from the Yankee?”
“In my stable.”