Standing before a low house, which was crowded with the goods of a fur
trader, were a half-dozen Indians, wild and savage in looks to the last
degree, and in the center was one whose shoulder was bound tightly with
a great roll of deerskin. In stature he rose far above the other
warriors, and he had a thickness in proportion. The hate that the rest
had shown when they looked upon Tayoga was nothing to his, which was
the very concentrated essence of all malice.

"Our good friend, Tandakora, despite his wound seems to have arrived
ahead of us," said Willet to Robert.

"Yes, and he shows very clearly that he would like to give Tayoga to the
torture with himself as torturer, and yet he must know that it was you
who put the bullet through his shoulder."

"Quite true, Robert, but he resents the Onondaga more than he does us.
We are strangers, aliens to him, and he makes no comparisons with us,
but Tayoga is an Indian like himself, whom he has fought against, and
against whom he has failed. Watch us pass. For Tayoga, Tandakora will
not exist, and it will instill more poison into the heart of the
Ojibway."

Willet was a good prophet. The Onondaga walked within five feet of the
Ojibway, but he did not show by the slightest sign that he was aware of
the existence of Tandakora. The entire little drama, played by the
children of the forest, was perfectly clear. Tandakora was dirt under
the feet of Tayoga, and Tandakora felt that it was so. His heart burned
within him and a twinge through his shoulder added to his anger. Yet he
was powerless there in Montreal with the French troops about, and he
could merely glare impotently while the three walked by ignoring his
existence. But they did not forget him, and each in his heart resolved
to be on watch against treacherous attack.

They found on the slope of a high hill the inn to which de Galisonniere
had recommended them, and obtained quarters for the night. Monsieur
Jolivet, the proprietor, had lodged Indians before, great chiefs
treating with the French Government, and he did not think it strange
that Tayoga should come there. In truth, Monsieur Jolivet was a thrifty
man who despised no patronage for which the pay was assured, and since
peace still existed between France and Great Britain he was quite
willing to entertain any number of Bostonnais at his most excellent inn
on the slope of a high hill overlooking the St. Lawrence. Willet had
shown him the color of gold, and from