oken, some he has kept. But
the Onondagas know that there is no man who keeps all his promises.
They once thought they knew such a man, but they were mistaken. White
men, Indians,--all speak at night with a strong voice, in the morning
with a weak voice. Each draws his words sometimes off the top of his
mind, where the truth and the strong words do not lie. The Onondagas
are not children. They know the friend from the enemy. And they know,
though he may sometimes fail them, that the Great Mountain is their
friend, their father."

Menard bowed slowly, facing the chief with self-control as firm as his
own.

"They know," the Big Throat continued, "that the Indian has not always
kept the faith with the white man. And then it is that the Great
Mountain has been a kind father. If he thinks it right that our
brothers, the Senecas, should meet with punishment for breaking the
peace promised to the white man by the Long House, the Onondagas are
not the children to say to their father, 'We care not if our brother
has done wrong; we will cut off the hand that holds the whip of
punishment.' The Onondagas are men. They say to the father, 'We care
not who it is that has done wrong. Though he be our next of blood, let
him be punished.' This is the word of the council to the Big Buffalo
who speaks with his father's voice."

Well as he knew the Iroquois temperament, Menard could not keep an
expression of admiration from his eyes. He knew what this speech
meant,--that the Big Throat alone saw far into the future, saw that in
the conflict between red and white, the redman must inevitably lose
unless he crept close under the arm that was raised to strike him. It
was no sense of justice that prompted the Big Throat's words; it was
the vision of one of the shrewdest statesmen, white or red, who had
yet played a part in the struggles for possession of the New World.
Greatest of all, only a master could have convinced that hot-blooded
council that peace was the safest course. The chief went on:--

"The Big Buffalo has spoken well to the council. He has told the
chiefs that he has not been a traitor to the brothers who have for so
long believed that his words were true words. The Big Buffalo is a
pine tree that took root in the lands of the Onondagas many winters
ago. From these lands and these waters, and the sun and winds that
give life to the corn and the trees of the Onondagas, he drew his sap
and his strength. Can we then believe that