tinately.

"Yes, and sent a secret report to Albany. If there had been good news in
that report, you Tryon County men had heard it long since, Sir Lupus."

"With whom have you been talking, sir?" he sneered, removing his pipe
from his yellow teeth.

"With one of your tenants yesterday, a certain Christian Schell, lately
returned with Stoner's scout."

"And what did Stoner's men see in the northwest?" he demanded,
contemptuously.

"They saw half a thousand Mohawks with eyes painted in black circles and
white, Sir Lupus."

"For the planting-dance!" he muttered.

"No, Sir Lupus. The castles are empty, the villages deserted. There is
not one Mohawk left on their ancient lands, there is not one seed
planted, not one foot of soil cultivated, not one apple-bough grafted,
not one fish-line set!

"And you tell me the Mohawks are painted for the planting-dance, in
black and white? With every hatchet shining like silver, and every
knife ground to a razor-edge, and every rifle polished, and every
flint new?"

"Who saw such things?" he asked, hoarsely.

"Christian Schell, of Stoner's scout."

"Now God curse them if they lift an arm to harm a Tryon County man!" he
burst out. "I'll not believe it of the British gentlemen who differ with
us over taxing tea! No, dammy if I'll credit such a monstrous thing as
this alliance!"

"Yet, a few nights since, sir, you heard Walter Butler and Sir John
threaten to use the Mohawks."

"And did not heed them!" he said, angrily. "It is all talk, all threats,
and empty warning. I tell you they dare not for their names' sakes
employ the savages against their own kind--against friends who think not
as they think--against old neighbors, ay, their own kin!

"Nor dare we. Look at Schuyler--a gentleman, if ever there was one on
this rotten earth--standing, belts in hand, before the sachems of the
confederacy, not soliciting Cayuga support, not begging Seneca aid, not
proposing a foul alliance with the Onondagas; but demanding right
manfully that the confederacy remain neutral; nay, more, he repulsed
offers of warriors from the Oneidas to scout for him, knowing what that
sweet word 'scout' implied--God bless him I ... I have no love for
Schuyler.... He lately called me 'malt-worm,' and, if I'm not at fault,
he added, 'skin-flint Dutchman,' or some such tribute to my thrift. But
he has conducted like a man of honor in this Iroquois matter, and I care
not who hears me say it!"

He settled h