Chapter VI. The Evil Spirit's Work

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Henry slipped forth with the crowd from the Long House, stooping
somewhat and shrinking into the smallest possible dimensions. But
there was little danger now that any one would notice him, as long as
he behaved with prudence, because all grief and solemnity were thrown
aside, and a thousand red souls intended to rejoice. A vast banquet
was arranged. Great fires leaped up all through the village. At
every fire the Indian women, both young and old, were already far
forward with the cooking. Deer, bear, squirrel, rabbit, fish, and
every other variety of game with which the woods and rivers of
western New York and Pennsylvania swarmed were frying or roasting
over the coals, and the air was permeated with savory odors. There
was a great hum of voices and an incessant chattering. Here in the
forest, among themselves, and in complete security, the Indian
stoicism was relaxed. According to their customs everybody fell to
eating at a prodigious rate, as if they had not tasted anything for a
month, and as if they intended to eat enough now to last another
month.

It was far into the night, because the ceremonies had lasted a
long time, but a brilliant moon shone down upon the feasting crowd,
and the flames of the great fires, yellow and blue, leaped and
danced. This was an oasis of light and life. Timmendiquas and
Thayendanegea sat together before the largest fire, and they ate with
more restraint than the others. Even at the banquet they would not
relax their dignity as great chiefs. Old Skanawati, the Onondaga,
old Atotarho, Onondaga, too, Satekariwate, the Mohawk, Kanokarih, the
Seneca, and others, head chiefs though they were of the three senior
tribes, did not hesitate to eat as the rich Romans of the Empire ate,
swallowing immense quantities of all kinds of meat, and drinking a
sort of cider that the women made. Several warriors ate and drank
until they fell down in a stupor by the fires. The same warriors on
the hunt or the war path would go for days without food, enduring
every manner of hardship. Now and then a warrior would leap up and
begin a chant telling of some glorious deed of his. Those at his own
fire would listen, but elsewhere they took no notice.

In the largest open space a middle-aged Onondaga with a fine
face suddenly uttered a sharp cry: " Hehmio!" which he rapidly
repeated twice. Two score voices instantly replied, "Heh!" and a
rush was made for him. At least a hundred gathered around him, but
they stood in a respectful circle, no one nearer than ten feet. He
waved his hand, and all sat down on the ground. Then, he, too, sat
down, all gazing at him intently and with expectancy.

He was a professional story-teller, an institution great and
honored among the tribes of the Iroquois farther back even than
Hiawatha. He began at once the story of the warrior who learned to
talk with the deer and the bear, carrying it on through many
chapters. Now and then a delighted listener would cry " Hah!" but if
anyone became bored and fell asleep it was considered an omen of
misfortune to the sleeper, and he was chased ignominiously to his
tepee. The Iroquois romancer was better protected than the white one
is. He could finish some of his stories in one evening, but others
were serials. When he arrived at the end of the night's installment
he would cry, "Si-ga!" which was equivalent to our "To be continued
in our next." Then all would rise, and if tired would seek sleep,
but if not they would catch the closing part of some other
story-teller's romance.

At three fires Senecas were playing a peculiar little wooden
flute of their own invention, that emitted wailing sounds not without
a certain sweetness. In a corner a half dozen warriors hurt in
battle were bathing their wounds with a soothing lotion made from the
sap of the bass wood.

Henry lingered a while in the darkest corners, witnessing the
feasting, hearing the flutes and the chants, listening for a space to
the story-tellers and the enthusiastic "Hahs!" They were so full of
feasting and merrymaking now that one could almost do as he pleased,
and he stole toward the southern end of the village, where he had
noticed several huts, much more strongly built than the others.
Despite all his natural skill and experience his heart beat very fast
when he came to the first. He was about to achieve the great
exploration upon which he had ventured so much. Whether he would
find anything at the end of the risk he ran, he was soon to see.

The hut, about seven feet square and as many feet in height, was
built strongly of poles, with a small entrance closed by a clapboard
door fastened stoutly on the outside with withes. The hut was well
in the shadow of tepees, and all were still at the feasting and
merrymaking. He cut the withes with two sweeps of his sharp hunting
knife, opened the door, bent his head, stepped in and then closed the
door behind him, in order that no Iroquois might see what had
happened.

It was not wholly dark in the hut, as there were cracks between
the poles, and bars of moonlight entered, falling upon a floor of
bark. They revealed also a figure lying full length on one side of
the but. A great pulse of joy leaped up in Henry's throat, and with
it was a deep pity, also. The figure was that of Shif'less Sol, but
be was pale and thin, and his arms and legs were securely bound with
thongs of deerskin.

Leaning over, Henry cut the thongs of the shiftless one, but he
did not stir. Great forester that Shif'less Sol was, and usually so
sensitive to the lightest movement, be perceived nothing now, and,
had he not found him bound, Henry would have been afraid that he was
looking upon his dead comrade. The hands of the shiftless one, when
the hands were cut, had fallen limply by his side, and his face
looked all the more pallid by contrast with the yellow hair which
fell in length about it. But it was his old-time friend, the
dauntless Shif'less Sol, the last of the five to vanish so
mysteriously.

Henry bent down and pulled him by the shoulder. The captive
yawned, stretched himself a little, and lay still again with closed
eyes. Henry shook him a second time and more violently. Shif'less
Sol sat up quickly, and Henry knew that indignation prompted the
movement. Sol held his arms and legs stiffly and seemed to be
totally unconscious that they were unbound. He cast one glance
upward, and in the dim light saw the tall warrior bending over
him.

"I'll never do it, Timmendiquas or White Lightning, whichever
name you like better!" he exclaimed. "I won't show you how to
surprise the white settlements. You can burn me at the stake or tear
me in pieces first. Now go away and let me sleep."

He sank back on the bark, and started to close his eyes again.
It was then that he noticed for the first time that his hands were
unbound. He held them up before his face, as if they were strange
objects wholly unattached to himself, and gazed at them in amazement.
He moved his legs and saw that they, too, were unbound. Then he
turned his startled gaze upward at the face of the tall warrior who
was looking down at him. Shif'less Sol was wholly awake now. Every
faculty in him was alive, and he pierced through the Shawnee
disguise. He knew who it was. He knew who had come to save him, and
he sprang to his feet, exclaiming the one word:

"Henry!"

The hands of the comrades met in the clasp of friendship which
only many dangers endured together can give.

"How did you get here?" asked the shiftless one in a whisper.

"I met an Indian in the forest," replied Henry, "and well I am
now he."

Shif'less Sol laughed under his breath.

"I see," said he, "but how did you get through the camp? It's a
big one, and the Iroquois are watchful. Timmendiquas is here, too,
with his Wyandots."

"They are having a great feast," replied Henry, "and I could go
about almost unnoticed. Where are the others, Sol?"

"In the cabins close by."

"Then we'll get out of this place. Quick! Tie up your hair!
In the darkness you can easily pass for an Indian."

The shiftless one drew his hair into a scalp lock, and the two
slipped from the cabin, closing the door behind them and deftly
retying the thongs, in order that the discovery of the escape might
occur as late as possible. Then they stood a few moments in the
shadow of the hut and listened to the sounds of revelry, the monotone
of the story-tellers, and the chant of the singers.

"You don't know which huts they are in, do you?" asked Henry,
anxiously.

"No, I don't," replied tile shiftless one.

"Get back!" exclaimed Henry softly. "Don't you see who's
passing out there?"

"Braxton Wyatt," said Sol. "I'd like to get my hands on that
scoundrel. I've had to stand a lot from him."

"The score must wait. But first we'll provide you with weapons.
See, the Iroquois have stacked some of their rifles here while
they're at the feast."

A dozen good rifles had been left leaning against a hut near by,
and Henry, still watching lest he be observed, chose the best, with
its ammunition, for his comrade, who, owing to his semi-civilized
attire, still remained in the shadow of the other hut.

"Why not take four?" whispered the shiftless one. "We'll need
them for the other boys."

Henry took four, giving two to his comrade, and then they
hastily slipped back to the other side of the hut. A Wyandot and a
Mohawk were passing, and they had eyes of hawks. Henry and Sol
waited until the formidable pair were gone, and then began to examine
the huts, trying to surmise in which their comrades lay.

"I haven't seen 'em a-tall, a-tall," said Sol, "but I reckon
from the talk that they are here. I was s'prised in the woods,
Henry. A half dozen reds jumped on me so quick I didn't have time to
draw a weepin. Timmendiquas was at the head uv 'em an' he just
grinned. Well, he is a great chief, if he did truss me up like a
fowl. I reckon the same thing happened to the others."

"Come closer, Sol! Come closer!" whispered Henry. More
warriors are walking this way. The feast is breaking up, and they'll
spread all through the camp."

A terrible problem was presented to the two. They could no
longer search among the strong huts, for their comrades. The
opportunity to save had lasted long enough for one only. But border
training is stern, and these two had uncommon courage and
decision.

"We must go now, Sol," said Henry, "but we'll come back."

"Yes," said the shiftless one, "we'll come back."

Darting between the huts, they gained the southern edge of the
forest before the satiated banqueters could suspect the presence of
an enemy. Here they felt themselves safe, but they did not pause.
Henry led the way, and Shif'less Sol followed at a fair degree of
speed.

"You'll have to be patient with me for a little while, Henry,"
said Sol in a tone of humility. "When I wuz layin' thar in the lodge
with my hands an' feet tied I wuz about eighty years old, jest ez
stiff ez could be from the long tyin'. When I reached the edge o'
the woods the blood wuz flowin' lively enough to make me 'bout sixty.
Now I reckon I'm fifty, an' ef things go well I'll be back to my own
nateral age in two or three hours."

"You shall have rest before morning," said Henry, "and it will
be in a good place, too. I can promise that."

Shif'less Sol looked at him inquiringly, but he did not say
anything. Like the rest of the five, Sol had acquired the most
implicit confidence in their bold young leader. He had every reason
to feel good. That painful soreness was disappearing from his ankles.
As they advanced through the woods, weeks dropped from him one by
one. Then the months began to roll away, and at last time fell year
by year. As they approached the deeps of the forest where the swamp
lay, Solomon Hyde, the so called shiftless one, and wholly
undeserving of the name, was young again.

"I've got a fine little home for us, Sol," said Henry. "Best
we've had since that time we spent a winter on the island in the
lake. This is littler, but it's harder to find. It'll be a fine
thing to know you're sleeping safe and sound with five hundred
Iroquois warriors only a few miles away."

"Then it'll suit me mighty well," said Shif'less Sol, grinning
broadly. "That's jest the place fur a lazy man like your humble
servant, which is me."

They reached the stepping stones, and Henry paused a moment.

"Do you feel steady enough, Sol, to jump from stone to stone?"
he asked.

"I'm feelin' so good I could fly ef I had to," he replied.
"Jest you jump on, Henry, an' fur every jump you take you'll find me
only one jump behind you!"

Henry, without further ado, sprang from one stone to another,
and behind him, stone for stone, came the shiftless one. It was now
past midnight, and the moon was obscured. The keenest eyes twenty
yards away could not have seen the two dusky figures as they went by
leaps into the very heart of the great, black swamp. They reached the
solid ground, and then the hut.

"Here, Sol," said Henry, "is my house, and yours, also, and
soon, I hope, to be that of Paul, Tom, and Jim, too."

"Henry," said Shif'less Sol, " I'm shorely glad to come."

They went inside, stacked their captured rifles against the
wall, and soon were sound asleep.

Meanwhile sleep was laying hold of the Iroquois village, also.
They had eaten mightily and they had drunk mightily. Many times had
they told the glories of Hode-no-sau-nee, the Great League, and many
times had they gladly acknowledged the valor and worth of
Timmendiquas and the brave little Wyandot nation. Timmendiquas and
Thayendanegea had sat side by side throughout the feast, but often
other great chiefs were with them-Skanawati, Atotarho, and Hahiron,
the Onondagas; Satekariwate, the Mohawk; Kanokarih and Kanyadoriyo,
the Senecas; and many others.

Toward midnight the women and the children left for the lodges,
and soon the warriors began to go also, or fell asleep on tile
ground, wrapped in their blankets. The fires were allowed to sink
low, and at last the older chiefs withdrew, leaving only Timmendiquas
and Thayendanegea.

"You have seen the power and spirit of the Iroquois," said
Thayendanegea. "We can bring many more warriors than are here into
the field, and we will strike the white settlements with you."

"The Wyandots are not so many as the warriors of the Great
League," said Timmendiquas proudly, "but no one has ever been before
them in battle."

"You speak truth, as I have often heard it," said Thayendanegea
thoughtfully. Then be showed Timmendiquas to a lodge of honor, the
finest in the village, and retired to his own.

The great feast was over, but the chiefs had come to a momentous
decision. Still chafing over their defeat at Oriskany, they would
make a new and formidable attack upon the white settlements, and
Timmendiquas and his fierce Wyandots would help them. All of them,
from the oldest to the youngest, rejoiced in the decision, and, not
least, the famous Thayendanegea. He hated the Americans most because
they were upon the soil, and were always pressing forward against the
Indian. The Englishmen were far away, and if they prevailed in the
great war, the march of the American would be less rapid. He would
strike once more with the Englishmen, and the Iroquois could deliver
mighty blows on the American rearguard. He and his Mohawks, proud
Keepers of the Western Gate, would lead in the onset. Thayendanegea
considered it a good night's work, and he slept peacefully.

The great camp relapsed into silence. The warriors on the
ground breathed perhaps a little heavily after so much feasting, and
the fires were permitted to smolder down to coals. Wolves and
panthers drawn by the scent of food crept through the thickets toward
the faint firelight, but they were afraid to draw near. Morning came,
and food and drink were taken to the lodges in which four prisoners
were held, prisoners of great value, taken by Timmendiquas and the
Wyandots, and held at his urgent insistence as hostages.

Three were found as they had been left, and when their bonds
were loosened they ate and drank, but the fourth hut was empty. The
one who spoke in a slow, drawling way, and the one who seemed to be
the most dangerous of them all, was gone. Henry and Sol had taken
the severed thongs with them, and there was nothing to show how the
prisoner had disappeared, except that the withes fastening the door
had been cut.

The news spread through the village, and there was much
excitement. Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas came and looked at the
empty hut. Timmendiquas may have suspected how Shif'less Sol had
gone, but he said nothing. Others believed that it was the work of
Hahgweh-da-et-gah (The Spirit of Evil), or perhaps Ga-oh (The Spirit
of the Winds) had taken him away.

"It is well to keep a good watch on the others," said
Timmendiquas, and Thayendanegea nodded.

That day the chiefs entered the Long House again, and held a
great war council. A string of white wampum about a foot in length
was passed to every chief, who held it a moment or two before handing
it to his neighbors. It was then laid on a table in the center of
the room, the ends touching. This signified harmony among the Six
Nations. All the chiefs had been summoned to this place by belts of
wampum sent to the different tribes by runners appointed by the
Onondagas, to whom this honor belonged. All treaties had to be
ratified by the exchange of belts, and now this was done by the
assembled chiefs.

Timmendiquas, as an honorary chief of the Mohawks, and as the
real head of a brave and allied nation, was present throughout the
council. His advice was asked often, and when he gave it the others
listened with gravity and deference. The next day the village played
a great game of lacrosse, which was invented by the Indians, and
which had been played by them for centuries before the arrival of the
white man. In this case the match was on a grand scale, Mohawks and
Cayugas against Onondagas and Senecas.

The game began about nine o'clock in the morning in a great
natural meadow surrounded by forest. The rival sides assembled
opposite each other and bet heavily. All the stakes, under the law
of the game, were laid upon the ground in heaps here, and they
consisted of the articles most precious to the Iroquois. In these
heaps were rifles, tomahawks, scalping knives, wampum, strips of
colored beads, blankets, swords, belts, moccasins, leggins, and a
great many things taken as spoil in forays on the white settlements,
such is small mirrors, brushes of various kinds, boots, shoes, and
other things, the whole making a vast assortment.

These heaps represented great wealth to the Iroquois, and the
older chiefs sat beside them in the capacity of stakeholders and
judges.

The combatants, ranged in two long rows, numbered at least five
hundred on each side, and already they began to show an excitement
approaching that which animated them when they would go into battle.
Their eyes glowed, and the muscles on their naked backs and chests
were tense for the spring. In order to leave their limbs perfectly
free for effort they wore no clothing at all, except a little apron
reaching from the waist to the knee.

The extent of the playground was marked off by two pair of
"byes" like those used in cricket, planted about thirty rods apart.
But the goals of each side were only about thirty feet apart.

At a signal from the oldest of the chiefs the contestants
arranged themselves in two parallel lines facing each other, inside
the area and about ten rods apart. Every man was armed with a strong
stick three and a half to four feet in length, and curving toward the
end. Upon this curved end was tightly fastened a network of thongs
of untanned deerskin, drawn until they were rigid and taut. The ball
with which they were to play was made of closely wrapped elastic
skins, and was about the size of an ordinary apple.

At the end of the lines, but about midway between them, sat the
chiefs, who, besides being judges and stakeholders, were also score
keepers. They kept tally of the game by cutting notches upon sticks.
Every time one side put the ball through the other's goal it counted
one, but there was an unusual power exercised by the chiefs,
practically unknown to the games of white men. If one side got too
far ahead, its score was cut down at the discretion of the chiefs in
order to keep the game more even, and also to protract it sometimes
over three or four days. The warriors of the leading side might
grumble among one another at the amount of cutting the chiefs did,
but they would not dare to make any protest. However, the chiefs
would never cut the leading side down to an absolute parity with the
other. It was always allowed to retain a margin of the superiority
it had won.

The game was now about to begin, and the excitement became
intense. Even the old judges leaned forward in their eagerness,
while the brown bodies of the warriors shone in the sun, and the taut
muscles leaped up under the skin. Fifty players on each side, sticks
in hand, advanced to the center of the ground, and arranged
themselves somewhat after the fashion of football players, to
intercept the passage of the ball toward their goals. Now they
awaited the coming of the ball.

There were several young girls, the daughters of chiefs. The
most beautiful of these appeared. She was not more than sixteen or
seventeen years of age, as slender and graceful as a young deer, and
she was dressed in the finest and most richly embroidered deerskin.
Her head was crowned with a red coronet, crested with plumes, made of
the feathers of the eagle and heron. She wore silver bracelets and a
silver necklace.

The girl, bearing in her hand the ball, sprang into the very
center of the arena, where, amid shouts from all the warriors, she
placed it upon the ground. Then she sprang back and joined the
throng of spectators. Two of the players, one from each side, chosen
for strength and dexterity, advanced. They hooked the ball together
in their united bats and thus raised it aloft, until the bats were
absolutely perpendicular. Then with a quick, jerking motion they
shot it upward. Much might be gained by this first shot or stroke,
but on this occasion the two players were equal, and it shot almost
absolutely straight into the air. The nearest groups made a rush for
it, and the fray began.

Not all played at once, as the crowd was so great, but usually
twenty or thirty on each side struck for tile ball, and when they
became exhausted or disabled were relieved by similar groups. All
eventually came into action.

The game was played with the greatest fire and intensity,
assuming sometimes the aspect of a battle. Blows with the formidable
sticks were given and received. Brown skins were streaked with
blood, heads were cracked, and a Cayuga was killed. Such killings
were not unusual in these games, and it was always considered the
fault of the man who fell, due to his own awkwardness or unwariness.
The body of the dead Cayuga was taken away in disgrace.

All day long the contest was waged with undiminished courage and
zeal, party relieving party. The meadow and the surrounding forest
resounded with the shouts and yells of combatants and spectators.
The old squaws were in a perfect frenzy of excitement, and their
shrill screams of applause or condemnation rose above every other
sound.

On this occasion, as the contest did not last longer than one
day, the chiefs never cut down the score of the leading side. The
game closed at sunset, with the Senecas and Onondagas triumphant, and
richer by far than they were in the morning. The Mohawks and Cayugas
retired, stripped of their goods and crestfallen.

Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea, acting as umpires watched the
game closely to its finish, but not so the renegades Braxton Wyatt
and Blackstaffe. They and Quarles had wandered eastward with some
Delawares, and had afterward joined the band of Wyandots, though
Timmendiquas gave them no very warm welcome. Quarles had left on some
errand a few days before. They had rejoiced greatly at the trapping
of the four, one by one, in the deep bush. But they had felt anger
and disappointment when the fifth was not taken, also. Now both were
concerned and alarmed over the escape of Shif'less Sol in the night,
and they drew apart from the Indians to discuss it.

"I think," said Wyatt, "that Hyde did not manage it himself, all
alone. How could he? He was bound both hand and foot; and I've
learned, too, Blackstaffe, that four of the best Iroquois rifles have
been taken. That means one apiece for Hyde and the three prisoners
that are left."

The two exchanged looks of meaning and understanding.

"It must have been the boy Ware who helped Hyde to get away,"
said Blackstaffe, "and their taking of the rifles means that he and
Hyde expect to rescue the other three in the same way. You think so,
too?"

"Of course," replied Wyatt. "What makes the Indians, who are so
wonderfully alert and watchful most of the time, become so careless
when they have a great feast?"

Blackstaffe shrugged his shoulders.

"It is their way," he replied. "You cannot change it. Ware
must have noticed what they were about, and he took advantage of it.
But I don't think any of the others will go that way."

"The boy Cotter is in here," said Braxton Wyatt, tapping the
side of a small hut. "Let's go in and see him."

"Good enough," said Blackstaffe. "But we mustn't let him know
that Hyde has escaped."

Paul, also bound hand and foot, was lying on an old wolfskin.
He, too, was pale and thin-the strict confinement had told upon him
heavily-but Paul's spirit could never be daunted. He looked at the
two renegades with hatred and contempt.

"Well, you're in a fine fix," said Wyatt sneeringly. "We just
came in to tell you that we took Henry Ware last night."

Paul looked him straight and long in the eye, and he knew that
the renegade was lying.

"I know better," he said.

"Then we will get him," said Wyatt, abandoning the lie, "and all
of you will die at the stake."

"You, will not get him," said Paul defiantly, "and as for the
rest of us dying at the stake, that's to be seen. I know this:
Timmendiquas considers us of value, to be traded or exchanged, and
he's too smart a man to destroy what be regards as his own property.
Besides, we may escape. I don't want to boast, Braxton Wyatt, but
you know that we're hard to hold."

Then Paul managed to turn over with his face to the wall, as if
he were through with them. They went out, and Braxton Wyatt said
sulkily:

"Nothing to be got out of him."

"No," said Blackstaffe, "but we must urge that the strictest
kind of guard be kept over the others."

The Iroquois were to remain some time at the village, because
all their forces were not yet gathered for the great foray they had
in mind. The Onondaga runners were still carrying the wampum belts
of purple shells, sign of war, to distant villages of the tribes, and
parties of warriors were still coming in. A band of Cayugas arrived
that night, and with them they brought a half starved and sick,
Lenni-Lenape, whom they had picked up near the camp. The
Lenni-Lenape, who looked as if he might have been when in health a
strong and agile warrior, said that news had reached him through the
Wyandots of the great war to be waged by the Iroquois on the white
settlements, and the spirits would not let him rest unless he bore
his part in it. He prayed therefore to be accepted among them.

Much food was given to the brave Lenni-Lenape, and he was sent
to a lodge to rest. To-morrow he would be well, and he would be
welcomed to the ranks of the Cayugas, a Younger nation. But when the
morning came, the lodge was empty. The sick Lenni-Lenape was gone,
and with him the boy, Paul, the youngest of the prisoners. Guards bad
been posted all around the camp, but evidently the two had slipped
between. Brave and advanced as were the Iroquois, superstition
seized upon them. Hah-gweli-da-et-gah was at work among them, coming
in the form of the famished Lenni-Lenape. He had steeped them in a
deep sleep, and then he had vanished with the prisoner in Se-oh (The
Night). Perhaps lie had taken away the boy, who was one of a hated
race, for some sacrifice or mystery of his own. The fears of the
Iroquois rose. If the Spirit of Evil was among them, greater harm
could be expected.

But the two renegades, Blackstaffe and Wyatt, raged. They did
not believe in the interference of either good spirits or bad
spirits, and just now their special hatred was a famished
Lenni-Lenape warrior.

"Why on earth didn't I think of it?" exclaimed Wyatt. "I'm sure
now by his size that it was the fellow Hyde. Of Course he slipped to
the lodge, let Cotter out, and they dodged about in the darkness
until they escaped in the forest. I'll complain to Timmendiquas."

He was as good as his word, speaking of the laxness of both
Iroquois and Wyandots. The great White Lightning regarded him with
an icy stare.

"You say that the boy, Cotter, escaped through carelessness?" he
asked.

"I do," exclaimed Wyatt.

"Then why did you not prevent it?"

Wyatt trembled a little before the stern gaze of the chief.

Since when," continued Timmendiquas, "have you, a deserter front
your own people, had the right to hold to account the head chief of
the Wyandots?" Braxton Wyatt, brave though he undoubtedly was,
trembled yet more. He knew that Timmendiquas did not like him, and
that the Wyandot chieftain could make his position among the Indians
precarious.

"I did not mean to say that it was the fault of anybody in
particular," he exclaimed hastily, "but I've been hearing so much
talk about the Spirit of Evil having a hand in this that I couldn't
keep front saying something. Of course, it was Henry Ware and Hyde
who did it!"

"It may be," said Timmendiquas icily, "but neither the Manitou
of the Wyandots, nor the Aieroski of the Iroquois has given to me the
eyes to see everything that happens in the dark."

Wyatt withdrew still in a rage, but afraid to say more. He and
Blackstaffe held many conferences through the day, and they longed
for the presence of Simon Girty, who was farther west.

That night an Onondaga runner arrived from one of the farthest
villages of the Mohawks, far east toward Albany. He had been sent
from a farther village, and was not known personally to the warriors
in the great camp, but he bore a wampum belt of purple shells, the
sign of war, and he reported directly to Thayendanegea, to whom he
brought stirring and satisfactory words. After ample feasting, as
became one who had come so far, he lay upon soft deerskins in one of
the bark huts and sought sleep.

But Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, could not sleep. His evil
spirit warned him to rise and go to the huts, where the two remaining
prisoners were kept. It was then about one o'clock in the morning,
and as he passed he saw the Onondaga runner at the door of one of the
prison lodges. He was about to cry out, but the Onondaga turned and
struck him such a violent blow with the butt of a pistol, snatched
from under his deerskin tunic, that he fell senseless. When a Mohawk
sentinel found and revived him an hour later, the door of the hut was
open, and the oldest of the prisoners, the one called Ross, was
gone.

Now, indeed, were the Iroquois certain that the Spirit of Evil
was among them. When great chiefs like Timmendiquas and
Thayendanegea were deceived, how could a common warrior hope to
escape its wicked influence!

But Braxton Wyatt, with a sore and aching head, lay all day on a
bed of skins, and his friend, Moses Blackstaffe, could give him no
comfort.

The following night the camp was swept by a sudden and
tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, wind and rain. Many of
the lodges were thrown down, and when the storm finally whirled
itself away, it was found that the last of the prisoners, he of the
long arms and long legs, had gone on the edge of the blast.

Truly the Evil Spirit had been hovering over the Iroquois
village.