Part 100 (1/2)

And then I saw that the splendid Mohawk leader was the great Thayendanegea himself.

”Boyd,” he said calmly, ”I am sorry for you. I would help you if I could. But,” he added, with a bitter smile, ”there are those in authority among us who are more savage than those you white men call savages. One of these--gentlemen--has overruled me, denying my more humane counsel.... I am sorry, Boyd.”

”Brant!” he said in a ringing voice. ”Look at me attentively!”

”I look upon you, Boyd.”

Then something extraordinary happened; I saw Boyd make a quick sign; saw poor Parker imitate him; realized vaguely that it was the Masonic signal of distress.

Brant remained absolutely motionless for a full minute; suddenly he sprang forward, pushed away the Senecas who immediately surrounded the prisoners, shoving them aside right and left so fiercely that in a moment the whole throng was wavering and shrinking back.

Then Brant, facing the astonished warriors, laid his hand on Boyd's head and then on Parker's.

”Senecas!” he said in a cold and ringing voice. ”These men are mine; Let no man dare interfere with these two prisoners. They belong to me.

I now give them my promise of safety. I take them under my protection--I, Thayendanegea! I do not ask them of you; I take them. I do not explain why. I do not permit you--not one among you to--to question me. What I have done is done. It is Joseph Brant who has spoken!”

He turned calmly to Boyd, said something in a low voice, turned sharply on his heel, and marched forward at the head of his company of Mohawks and halfbreeds.

Then I saw Hiokatoo come up and stand glaring at Boyd, showing his teeth at him like a baffled wolf; and Boyd laughed in his face and seated himself on a log beside the path, coolly and insolently turning his back on the Seneca warriors, and leisurely lighting his pipe.

Parker came and seated himself beside him; and they conversed in voices so low that I could not hear what they said, but Boyd smiled at intervals, and Parker's bruised visage relaxed.

The Senecas had fallen back in a sullen line, their ferocious eyes never s.h.i.+fting from the two prisoners. Hiokatoo set four warriors to guard them, then, pa.s.sing slowly in front of Boyd, spat on the ground.

”Dog of a Seneca!” said Boyd fiercely. ”What you touch you defile, stinking wolverine that you are!”

”Dog of a white man!” retorted Hiokatoo. ”You are not yet in your own kennel! Remember that!”

”But you are!” said Boyd. ”The stench betrays the wolverine! Go tell your filthy cubs that my young men are counting the scalps of your Cat-People and your Andastes, and that the mangy lock of Amochol shall be thrown to our swine!”

Struck entirely speechless by such rash effrontery and by his own fury, the dreaded Seneca war-chief groped for his hatchet with trembling hands; but a warning hiss from one of his own Mountain Snakes on guard brought him to his senses.

Such an embodiment of devilish fury I had never seen on any human countenance; only could it be matched in the lightning snarl of a surprised lynx or in the deadly stare of a rattlesnake. He uttered no sound; after a moment the thin lips, which had receded, sheathed the teeth again; and he walked to a tree and stood leaning against it as another company of Sir John's Royal Greens marched up from the river bank and continued northwest, pa.s.sing between the tree where I lay concealed, and the log where Boyd and Parker sat.

McDonald, mounted, naked claymore in his hand, came by, leading a company of his renegades. He grinned at Boyd, and pa.s.sed his basket-hilt around his throat with a significant gesture, then grinned again.

”Not yet, you Scotch loon!” said Boyd gently. ”I'll live to pepper your kilted tatterdemalions so they'll beg for the mercies of Glencoe!”

After that, for a long while only stragglers came limping by--lank, b.l.o.o.d.y, starved creatures, who never even turned their sick eyes on the people they pa.s.sed among.

Then, after nearly half an hour, a full battalion of Johnson's Greens forded the river, and behind them came Butler's Rangers.

Old John Butler, squatting his saddle like a weather-beaten toad, rode by with scarcely a glance at the prisoners; and Greens and Rangers pa.s.sed on through the village and out of sight to the northwest.

I had thought the defile was ended, when, looking back, I saw some Indians crossing the ford, carrying over a white officer. At first I supposed he was wounded, but soon saw that he had not desired to wet his boots.

What had become of his horse I could only guess, for he wore spurs and sword, and the sombre uniform of the Rangers.

Then, as he came up I saw that he was Walter Butler.