“None better. He is truly named. Let us hasten. Do you think he will stay in Windsor?”
“He said he would until the full moon.”
“Good. Make haste.”
They hurried into the post. Catching sight of an idler near the gate, Boston called him, and asked him if the “Fox” was yet in the post. Being answered in the affirmative, he desired that he should be sent to him at once.
Willie turned away, and entered a log-house in one corner of the stockade, bestowing a smile of recognition upon a young Indian, who was coming out. The latter made his way at once to Boston, who greeted him kindly.
“How is the chief, your father?” he asked, touching the young man upon the naked shoulder with his open palm. “How long will it be before he will give the tribe into the hands of his son, who, though he is yet young, has left his mark upon the enemies of his nation?”
“The chief is very well, and sends his greetings to the white chief; his warriors hope it will be many years before he lays down the wampum of a head chief for another to take up. Who is worthy to take the mantle of Miantonomah?”
“None but his son, when Miantonomah is ready. The young chief has often said that he only waits to do the white man a service. Will he do it to-day?”
“When was the Fox unwilling to aid his white brothers?”