arriors in many battles; and he sent wicked men to
whisper lies of the Saganaw into the ears of the red skins, and to make
them take up the hatchet against them. There is a tall spy at this
moment in the camp of the red skins," he pursued with earnestness, and
yet paling as he spoke. "It is said he is the bosom friend of the great
chief of the Ottawas. But I will not believe it. The head of a great
nation would not be the friend of a spy--of one who is baser than a
dog. His people would despise him; and they would say, 'Our chief is
not fit to sit in council, or to make war; for he is led by the word of
a pale face who is without honour.'"

The swarthy cheek of the Indian reddened, and his eye kindled into
fire. "There is no spy, but a great warrior, in the camp of the
Ottawas," he fiercely replied. "Though he came from the country that
lies beyond the salt lake, he is now a chief of the red skins, and his
arm is mighty, and his heart is big. Would my father know why he has
become a chief of the Ottawas?" he pursued with scornful exultation.
"When the strong holds of the Saganaw fell, the tomahawk of the 'white
warrior' drank more blood than that of a red skin, and his tent is hung
around with poles bending under the weight of the scalps he has taken.
When the great chief of the Ottawas dies, the pale face will lead his
warriors, and take the first seat in the council. The Ottawa chief is
his friend."

"If the pale face be the friend of the Ottawa," pursued the governor,
in the hope of obtaining some particular intelligence in regard to this
terrible and mysterious being, "why is he not here to sit in council
with the chiefs? Perhaps," he proceeded tauntingly, as he fancied he
perceived a disinclination on the part of the Indian to account for the
absence of the warrior, "the pale face is not worthy to take his place
among the head men of the council. His arm may be strong like that of a
warrior, but his head may be weak like that of a woman; or, perhaps, he
is ashamed to show himself before the pale faces, who have turned him
out of their tribe."

"My father lies!" again unceremoniously retorted the warrior. "If the
friend of the Ottawa is not here, it is because his voice cannot speak.
Does my father recollect the bridge on which he killed his young
warrior? Does he recollect the terrible chase of the pale face by the
friend of the Ottawa? Ugh!" he continued, as his attention was now
diverted to another object of i