was one, already mighty among
his kind, although but a boy.

Heno led the way to a bark lodge in the center of the village, and
motioned to Henry to enter.

"I must bind you," he said, "because if I did not you are so strong and
so swift that you might escape from us. If you will not suffer me to tie
the cords I shall call the help of other warriors."

"There is no need of a fight about it, Thunder," said Henry genially. "I
know you can bring in enough warriors to overpower anybody, so go
ahead."

He held out his hands, and the old chief looked somewhat embarrassed at
the willingness and cheerfulness of the captive. Nevertheless, he
produced deerskin cords and bound the boy's wrists, not so tightly that
the cords hurt, but with ingenious lacings that Henry knew he could
neither slip nor break. Then, as the captive sat down on a rush mat and
leaned against the bark wall of the lodge, old Heno regarded him
attentively.

Thunder, old but brave warrior of the Wyandots, was a judge of promising
youth, and he thought that in his sixty years of life he had never seen
another so satisfactory as this prisoner, save perhaps the mighty young
chief, known to his own people as Timmendiquas and to the settlers as
White Lightning. He looked at the length of limb and the grand
development of shoulders and chest, and he sighed ever so gently. He
sighed because in his opinion Manitou should have bestowed such great
gifts upon a Wyandot, and not upon a member of the white race. Yet Heno
did not actually hate the prisoner. Coiled at the bottom of his heart,
like a tiny spring in a watch, was a little hope, and this little hope,
like the tiny spring, set all the machinery of his mind in motion.

"You no like being captive, held in lodge, with arms tied?" he said
gently.

Henry smiled.

"No, I don't enjoy it," he replied. "It's not the situation that I
should choose for myself."

"You like to be free," continued old Heno with the same gentle gravity.
"You like to be out in the forest with Whoraminta?"

"Yes," replied Henry, "I'd like to be free, and I'd like to be out in
the forest, but I don't know about Whoraminta. I'm not acquainted with
him, and he might not be a pleasant comrade."

"Whoraminta! Whoraminta!" repeated Heno. "Cannot think of your word for
it. It is this!"

He threw himself into a firm attitude, held out one hand far, extended
the other about half so far, shut his left eye, and looked with the
right intent