Then, it appeared, these four Oneidas gave up the quest and struck out for the Iroquois trail. And suddenly came upon nearly two score Mohawks, silently passing southward, painted for war, oiled, shaved, and stripped, and evidently searching for Sir John, to aid and guide him in his flight to Canada.
Which proved to me the Baronet's baseness, because his flight was plainly a premeditated one, and the Mohawks could not have known of it unless Sir John had been in constant communication with Canada--a thing he had pledged his honour not to do.
Others around me, now, were listening to the burly young Oneida's account of their first war-path; and presently their young sorceress took up the tale in English and in Oneida, explaining with lively gestures to both red men and white.
"Not one of the Mohawks saw us," she said scornfully, "and when they made a camp and had sent their hunters out to kill game, we came so near that we could see their warriors curing and hooping the scalps they had taken and painting on every scalp the Little Red Foot[10]--even on the scalps of two little boys."
[Footnote 10: To show that the late owner of the scalp had died fighting bravely.]
Nick turned pale, but said nothing. A sickness came to my stomach and I spoke with difficulty.
"What were these scalps, little sister, which you saw the Mohawks curing?"
"White people's. Three were of men,--one very thin and gray; two were the glossy hair of women; and two the scalps of children----"
She flung back her blanket with a peculiarly graceful gesture:
"Be honoured, O white brothers, that these Mohawk dogs were forced to paint upon every scalp the Little Red Foot!"
After a silence: "Some poor settler's family," muttered Nick; and fell a-fiddling with his hatchet.
"All died fighting," I added in a dull voice.
Thiohero snapped her fingers and her dark eyes flamed.
"What are the Mohawks, after all!" she said in a tense voice. "Who are they, to paint for war without fire-right given them at Onondaga? What do they amount to, these Keepers of the Eastern Gate, since Sir William died?
"They have become outlaws and there is no honour among them!
"Their clan-right is destroyed and neither Wolf, Bear, nor Tortoise know them any longer. Nor does any ensign of my own clan of the Heron know these mad yellow wolves that howl and tear the Long House with their teeth to destroy it! Like carcajoux, they defile the Iroquois League and smother its fire in their filth! Dig up the ashes of Onondaga for any living ember, O you Oneidas! You shall find not one live spark! And this is what the Canienga have done to the Great Confederacy!"