the Indian through
half-closed eyes.

"Well," he said in a low, distinct voice, "you have me now, haven't
you?"

The Indian gave him a quick glance, but made no reply.

"It is all right, my brother. Do not turn your eyes to me, and nothing
will be seen. I can speak quietly. A nod of your head will tell me if
anyone comes near. Do you understand?"

Again the little eyes squinted through the hanging locks of hair.

"You do understand? Very well. You know who I am? I am the Big
Buffalo. I killed half a score of your bravest warriors in their own
village. Do you think these thongs can hold the Big Buffalo, who never
has been held by thongs, who is the hardest fighter and the boldest
hunter of all the lands from the Mohawk to the Great River of the
Illinois? Listen, I will tell you how many canoes of furs the Big
Buffalo has in the north country; I will tell you--"

The Indian's head nodded almost imperceptibly. A yawning brave was
walking slowly along the bank of the stream, gathering wood for a
fire. He passed to a point a few rods below the prisoner, then came
back and disappeared among the trees.

"I will tell you," said Menard, keeping his voice at such a low pitch
that the guard had to bend his head slightly toward him, "of the great
bales of beaver that are held safe in the stores of the Big Buffalo.
Does my brother understand? Does he see that these bales are for him,
that he will be as rich as the greatest chief among all the chiefs of
the Long House? No brave shall have such a musket,--with a long,
straight barrel that will send a ball to the shoulder of a buffalo
farther than the flight of three arrows. His blanket shall be the
brightest in Onondaga; his many clothes, his knives, his hatchets, his
collars of wampum shall have no equal. He can buy the prettiest wives
in the nation. Does my brother understand?"

The fire had been lighted, and a row of wild hens turned slowly on
wooden spits over the flames. One by one the warriors were rousing and
stirring about among the trees. There were shouts and calls, and the
grumbling talk of the cooks as they held the long spits and turned
their faces away from the smoke, which rose but slowly in the damp,
heavy air. Menard lay with his eyes closed, as if asleep; even his
lips hardly moved as he talked.

"My brother must think quickly, for the time is short. All that I
promise he will have, if he will be a friend to the Big Buffalo. And
every Onondaga knows that