field will destroy other fields. And so this is
the word of the Cayugas:--Let all the warriors of the Five Nations
take up the hatchet; let them go on the war-path to tell this
white chief with the double tongue that the Five Nations are one
nation; that they are bolder than thunder, swifter than fire,
stronger than lead."

The maid found it hard, with her imperfect knowledge of the language,
to follow his metaphors. She had partly risen, heedless of the smoke,
and was leaning forward with her eyes fixed on the stern face of the
speaker. Menard bent down, and half smiled at her excitement.

"What is it?" she whispered. "He is for war?"

"Yes; he naturally would be." There was a stir about the house, as the
speech ended, and they could speak softly without drawing notice. "The
Cayugas are nearer to the Senecas than the other nations, and they
fear that they too may suffer."

"Then you do not think they all feel with him?"

"No; the Oneidas and Mohawks, and even the Onondagas, are too far to
the east to feel in danger. They know how hard it would be for the
Governor to move far from his base in this country. It may be that the
younger warriors will be for fighting, but the older heads will think
of the corn."

"Will the Big Throat speak?"

"Yes; but not like these others. He talks simply and forcibly. That is
the way when a chief's reputation is made. The Big Throat won his
name, as a younger brave, by his wonderful oratory."

"And you, M'sieu,--you will be heard?"

"Yes; I think so. We must not talk any more now. They will not like
it."

The Cayuga was followed by a wrinkled old chief of the Oneidas, called
the Hundred Skins. He stepped forward and stood near the fire, his
blanket drawn close about his shoulders, where the red light could
play on his face. A whisper ran around the outer circle, for it was
known that he stood for peace.

"My Cayuga brother has spoken wisely," he began, in a low but distinct
voice. He looked slowly about the house to command attention. "The
Oneidas have not forgotten the storms of other seasons; they have not
forgotten the times of starving, when neither the Manitous of the
redman nor the God of the white man came to help. The grain stood
brown in the fields; the leaves hung dead from the trees; there was no
wind to cool the fever that carried away old men and young men, squaws
and children. And when the wind came, and the cold and snow of the
winter, there was no food in th