ast seemed to settle the question of
his life.

He hesitated, but not through fear.

"Is the white man afraid?" asked the boy-warrior with a sneer.

"No!" was the quick reply, and the next instant the settler's hands were
lifted to obey the command; but the deer thongs that bound them
prevented him.

Parquatoc smiled, and cut the bonds.

Then Oscar tore his jacket open, and exposed his flesh to the Indian's
gaze.

"The white man hates the British and the white renegades. He must join
our band."

Then while the last word still quivered the speaker's lips, the knife
flashed across his breast and a spurt of blood told that it had left a
horrid trail behind. The youth did not fall, but remained erect, while
the Indians regarded the work of the blade with satisfaction.

"Listen," said Parquatoc, laying his hand on Oscar's shoulder and
looking straight into his eyes. "You are one of us now and forever.
There was a council the other dark (night) in the long hollow. The White
Whirlwind came and raised his voice for war. Many chiefs followed him;
but there were many more who were afraid to lift their voices for peace.
The Indian can't fight the Blacksnake. He will sweep them from his path
as the hurricane sweeps the leaves from the trees. Parquatin, our
brother, rose and spoke for peace. He told the council that war meant
starving squaws, desolated maize fields, and gameless hunting grounds to
the Indian. He called White Whirlwind a bad man, who would desert the
red man to trail a white girl through the forest. It was a talk that
made the Whirlwind mad; and there in the council before the assembled
braves of seven nations, he drove his tomahawk into our brother's brain.
We have raised our hands to the Manitou like the white men do when they
want to make their words strong, and said that we hate the palefaces who
have lied the Indian into the fight. We strike at the renegade; we trail
the White Whirlwind; and he shall die for the blow which he struck at
the council in the long hollow. White man, you are one of us now. You
carry the sign of the brotherhood. Wherever you go you will find red
brethren. No other paleface belongs to us. In danger, show the mark; our
people are many, and after the next great battle, the cold white faces
among the tribes will not be few. You are free; but if you go with us we
will step upon the trail of the white rose stolen from you."

To the young warrior's speech, uttered in that eloquence