e present, he could not say
which had the advantage. He had found true friends in the woods, men
who would and did risk their own lives to save his.

The dawn came swiftly, flooding the earth with light. Daganoweda and
many of the Mohawk warriors awoke, but the young Philadelphia captain
and his men slept on, plunged in the utter stupor of exhaustion.
Tayoga, who had made a supreme effort, both physical and mental, also
continued to sleep, and Robert, lying with his feet to the coals,
never stirred.

Daganoweda shook himself, and, so shaking, shook the last shred of
sleep from his eyes. Then he looked with pride at his warriors, those
who yet lay upon the ground and those who had arisen. He was a young
chief, not yet thirty years of age, and he was the bloom and flower of
Mohawk courage and daring. His name, Daganoweda, the Inexhaustible,
was fully deserved, as his bravery and resource were unlimited. But
unlike Tayoga, he had in him none of the priestly quality. He had not
drunk or even sipped at the white man's civilization. The spirituality
so often to be found in the Onondagas was unknown to him. He was a
warrior first, last and all the time. He was Daganoweda of the Clan of
the Turtle, of the Nation Ganeagaono, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate,
of the great League of the Hodenosaunee, and he craved no glory save
that to be won in battle, which he craved all the time.

Daganoweda, as he looked at his men, felt intense satisfaction,
because the achievement of his Mohawks the night before had been
brilliant and successful, but he concealed it from all save himself. It
was not for a chief who wished to win not one victory, but a hundred
to show undue elation. But he turned and for a few moments gazed
directly into the sun with unwinking eyes, and when he shifted his
gaze away, a great tide of life leaped in his veins.

Then he gave silent thanks. Like all the other Indians in North
America the Mohawks personified and worshipped the sun, which to them
was the mighty Dweller in Heaven, almost the same as Manitou, a great
spirit to whom sacrifices and thanksgivings were to be made. The sun,
an immortal being, had risen that morning and from his seat in the
highest of the high heavens he had looked down with his invincible eye
which no man could face more than a few seconds, upon his favorite
children, the Mohawks, to whom he had given the victory. Daganoweda
bowed a head naturally haughty and under his breath murmured