"Sit down, Tegakwita. Tell me why you came."

"No. Tegakwita cannot rest himself until his sister has reached the
Happy Hunting-Ground."

"Very well, do as you like. But waste no more time. What is it?"

"The Big Buffalo has been an Onondaga. He knows the city in the valley
where the dead sit in their graves. It is there that my sister lies,
by an open grave, waiting for the farewell word of him who alone is
left to say farewell to her. Tegakwita's Onondaga brothers will not
gather at the grave of a girl who has given up her nation for a white
dog. But he can ask the Big Buffalo, who brought the white dog to our
village, to come to the side of the grave."

"Your memory is bad, Tegakwita. It was not I who brought the white
brave. It was you who brought him, his two hands tied with thongs."

The Indian stood, without replying, looking down at him with
brilliant, staring eyes.

Menard spoke again.

"You want me to go with you. You slip through the bushes like a snake,
with your musket and your knife and your hatchet, to ask me to go with
you to the grave of your sister. Do I speak rightly, Tegakwita?"

"The Big Buffalo has understood."

Menard slowly rose and looked into the Indian's eyes.

"I have no weapons, Tegakwita. The chiefs who have set me free have
not yet returned the musket which was taken from me. It is dangerous
to go at night through the forest without a weapon. Give me your
hatchet and I will go with you."

Tegakwita's lip curled almost imperceptibly.

"The White Chief is afraid of the night?"

Menard, too, looked scornful. He coolly waited.

"The Big Buffalo cannot face the dead without a hatchet in his hand?"
said Tegakwita.

Menard suddenly sprang forward and snatched the hatchet from the
Indian's belt. It was a surprise, and the struggle was brief.
Tegakwita was thrown a step backward. He hesitated between struggling
for the hatchet and striking with the musket; before he had fully
recovered and dropped the musket, Menard had leaped back and stood
facing him with the hatchet in his right hand.

"Now I will go with you to the city of the dead, Tegakwita."

The Indian's breath was coming quickly, and he stood with clenched
fists, taken aback by the Captain's quickness.

"Come, I am ready. Pick up your musket."

As Tegakwita stooped, Menard glanced toward the hut. The priest lay
asleep before the door. It was better to get this madman away than to
leave him free to prowl about the h