The eyes were bright, however, and, although the sachem’s countenance expressed harshness and cruelty, David found nothing therein suggesting meanness. He wore clothing befitting his rank: a cloak of panther-skin that shone lustrously in the light that came down through the smoke-hole, leggings of soft deer-hide much ornamented with quills and beads, several strings and anklets of wampum. His head was shaven to the scalp-lock, and that was bound with bits of red cloth until it stood upright a good eight inches, and was lavishly strung with bright feathers. Several rings encircled the fingers of the left hand, and on his naked chest where the panther-skin fell away a great round disk of silver rudely chased with some design rose with each slow inhalation of smoke and fell again as the evil-smelling fumes poured forth from mouth or nose. After a first gravely appraising look, the sachem had not again observed David. His eyes remained on the kettle, now noisily bubbling, quite as though life held nothing more in prospect than the morning meal.
The sachem’s squaw was a quite young woman, but to David’s mind horribly fat and ugly, with crossed-eyes and a flattish nose.
