istant hills. Then arose a great whooping and kintecawing back in
the bush. The young Huron went out to meet the band. Returning soon,
he said to Solomon that his chief, the great Splitnose, would have
words with him.

Turning to John Irons, Solomon said: "He's an outlaw chief. We must
treat him like a king. I'll bring 'em in. You keep the meat
a-sizzlin'!"

The scout went with the brave to his chief and made a speech of
welcome, after which the wily old Splitnose, in his wonderful
head-dress, of buckskin and eagle feathers, and his band in war-paint,
followed Solomon to the feast. Silently they filed out of the bush and
sat on the grass around the fire. There were no captives among
them--none at least of the white skin.

Solomon did not betray his disappointment. Not a word was spoken. He
and John Irons and his son began removing the spits from the fire and
putting more meat upon them and cutting the cooked roasts into large
pieces and passing it on a big earthen platter. The Indians eagerly
seized the hot meat and began to devour it. While waiting to be
served, some of the young braves danced at the fire's edge with short,
explosive, yelping, barking cries answered by dozens of guttural
protesting grunts from the older men, who sat eating or eagerly waiting
their turn to grab meat. It was a trying moment. Would the whole band
leap up and start a dance which might end in boiling blood and tiger
fury and a massacre? But the young Huron brave stopped them, aided no
doubt by the smell of the cooking flesh and the protest of the older
men. There would be no war-dance--at least not yet--too much hunger in
the band and the means of satisfying it were too close and tempting.
Solomon had foreseen the peril and his cunning had prevented it.

In a letter he has thus described the incident: "It were a band o'
cutthroat robbers an' runnygades from the Ohio country--Hurons, Algonks
an' Mingos an' all kinds o' cast off red rubbish with an old Algonk
chief o' the name o' Splitnose. They stuffed their hides with the meat
till they was stiff as a foundered hoss. They grabbed an' chawed an'
bolted it like so many hogs an' reached out fer more, which is the
differ'nce betwixt an Injun an' a white man. The white man gen'ally
knows 'nough to shove down the brakes on a side-hill. The Injun ain't
got no brakes on his wheels. Injuns is a good deal like white brats.
Let 'em find the sugar tub when their ma is to meetin