th," he said gravely. "But the Children of the West Wind
do not suffer the death of, their sons to go unrewarded. For each one
of the five, three Palefaces shall eat the dust in the day of our
triumph."

"Be it so," said I stoutly, though I felt a dreadful nausea coming over
me. I was determined to keep my head high, if only my frail body would
not fail me.

"The Sons of the West Wind," he spoke again, "have need of warriors.
You can atone for the slaughter you have caused, and the blood feud
will be forgotten. In the space of five suns we shall sweep the
Palefaces into the sea, and rule all the land to the Eastern waters. My
brother is a man of his hands, and valour is dear to the heart of
Onotawah. If he casts in his lot with the Children of the West Wind a
wigwam shall be his, and a daughter of our race to wife, and six of our
young men shall follow his commands. Will my brother march with us
against those whom God has delivered to us for our prey?"

"Does the eagle make terms with the kite?" I asked, "and fly with them
to raid his own eyrie? Yes, I will join with you, and march with you
till I have delivered you to, perhaps, a score of the warriors of my
own people. Then I will aid them in making carrion of you."

Heaven knows what wrought on me to speak like this, I, a poor, broken
fellow, face to face with a hundred men-at-arms. I think my mind had
forsaken me altogether, and I spoke like a drunken man with a tongue
not my own. I had only the one idea in my foolish head--to be true to
Ringan, and to meet the death of which I was assured with an
unflinching face. Yet perhaps my very madness was the course of
discretion. You cannot move an Indian by pity, and he will show mercy
only to one who, like a gamecock, asks nothing less.

The chief heard me gravely, and spoke to the others. One cried out
something in a savage voice, and for a moment a fierce argument was
raised, which the chief settled with uplifted hand.

"My brother speaks bold words," he said. "The spirits of his fathers
cry out for the companionship of such a hero. When the wrongs of our
race have been avenged, I wish him good hunting in the Kingdom of the
Sunset."

They took me and stripped me mother naked. Has any man who reads this
tale ever faced an enemy in his bare feet? If so, he will know that the
heart of man is more in his boots than philosophers wot of. Without
them he feels lost and unprepared, and the edge gone from his spirit.
But