wigwams. David did not need the triumph in John’s face to tell him what decision the sachem and his counselors had arrived at. The Indian came striding toward him swiftly, his eyes sparkling.
“The Great Sachem has spoken,” he announced proudly. “We make war on your people, O White Brother.”
David nodded indifferently. Then: “I am sorry,” he said. “The Fox has had his way.”
When John had gone again and the old squaw was busied over David’s meal, Sequanawah came. Silently he seated himself near by and dropped tobacco into his pipe. When it was lighted and drawing he asked soberly: “My brother has heard?”
“Aye, Sequanawah.”
The Indian smoked for a long moment. At last: “Battle is good,” he went on. “Peace, too, is good. I do not know.”
“I wish your sachem had decided otherwise,” said David sadly. “The English are too strong, Sequanawah, and when the war is past your tribe will suffer with the rest. I am sorry.”
Sequanawah bowed. “My brother speaks what he believes is truth. He may be right.
