Even before Kingdom finished questioning the murderer, Fishing Bird had come up bringing the two woodsmen from the gully. All three were quickly informed of Lobb’s confession and of the discovery of John Jerome and the great danger surrounding him. The entire party looked to Ree for a suggestion.

“We’ve got to act and act quickly,” the lad said in a low tone. “If Fishing Bird will be our escort, I propose that we go to the Delaware town as fast as we can go. If Captain Pipe can be made to understand that Lone-Elk has deceived the Delawares in one way, we can, with Fishing Bird’s help, and Lobb’s confession, bring him to his senses about this witchcraft business.”

“Lone-Elk’s a bad ’un. He killed a Seneca and had to leave home,” put in Lobb, who had listened attentively.

“Huh!” snorted Sergeant Quayle. “Cain killed Abel an’ had to leave home; but he didn’t go bush-whackin’ two men from behind!”

“And what about Mr. Lobb, anyhow! We can’t leave him, once we’ve had the pleasure of his company?” put in Jim Small, with sarcasm.

“Take him along,” said another of the woodsmen.

“Yes, that is what I had in mind,” Ree answered. “He can tell Pipe what he has told us. But we must be moving, men! It’s a long tramp and time’s flying!”

Without loss of time the party got under way. No one questioned the wisdom of Kingdom’s plan, although, if the truth were known, two of the men at least, looked for a lively scrimmage as a result of the undertaking. But they did not falter. Indeed, it is a question if they did not rather relish the prospect of a brush with the Delawares. Lobb was completely disarmed but he was not bound.

“I give ye my word, master, I’ll not try get-tin’ away,” he said.

“Whist! Give me yer chances in the hereafter; one’s as good as ’tother,” retorted the Sergeant contemptuously, and then informed the murderer further that the slightest attempt on his part would result in his being shot first and asked as to the meaning of it afterward.

The fellow made some very humble answer but he grew decidedly thoughtful and rather sullen as the marchers hurried rapidly through the woods. There was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, too, when the party passed the clearing and saw only a heap of ashes and the chimney where the boys’ cabin had stood. He was thinking. He was planning to betray his captors and with Lone-Elk’s help to turn the tables upon them. How well he succeeded will soon be told, for now comes a part of this history which all participants therein remembered throughout their lives, and which left its impress upon the people of Captain Pipe’s town long after the village itself had ceased to be.

The day was bright and clear. Though not warm, neither was it very cold, and the south wind which sighed in the leafless branches of the trees and gently rippled the waters of the little lake seemed soft as velvet. The Delawares were in fine spirits. With savage rapture they looked forward to the terrible celebration the night would bring.

From the lower towns on the Muskingum Captain Pipe had brought encouraging news of Indian successes along the border and almost without exception his warriors were enthusiastic for the final conflict with Wayne’s “Legion,” which, they believed, would not be long in coming. They felt perfect confidence as to the outcome. They had seen his raw recruits. They did not know then that “Mad Anthony” had no intention of marching upon them until his troops were trained. This and much else they learned in time and to their sorrow.

But there was another reason for a feeling of happiness in the Delaware town, and particularly was Lone-Elk, the Seneca, in a good humor. This very day there had arrived the two warriors whom Captain Pipe had sent with an offering of white wampum to the friends of him Lone-Elk had slain. Not as compensation, not as damages for the injury done, had the gift of wampum pure and white been sent, but as a plea for forgiveness; as a symbol of the slayer’s penitence and sorrow.

It was somewhat unusual for an offering of peace to be accepted so long after the crime had been committed, and it was known, too, that Lone-Elk’s offense had been particularly cruel. So was there very good reason for the Seneca to shake hands with his Delaware friends and receive their congratulations.

Captain Pipe thought the outcast seemed less truly sorry for his crime than he should have been. He little liked the haughty manner in which the one so lately restored to a place of honor and respect in his own tribe and nation bore himself. Perhaps he thought, also, that the Seneca was less appreciative of the service rendered him than he should have been. Nevertheless he gave the bold warrior his hand and told him that, though he was now free to return to his own people, he would have a place of honor among the Delawares as long as he chose to remain with them.

John Jerome heard by degrees of what had happened. He wondered if the Seneca would not now be less bitter toward him, and more fair and honorable. But he was grievously disappointed. Lone-Elk showed himself more hostile, if possible, than before; more keen to carry out his plot to avenge the pretended killing of Big Buffalo by witchcraft; more intense in his hatred.

As he learned just how matters stood, John’s only hope for escape lay in Return Kingdom and the men of whom Fishing Bird had told him. He knew they would attempt to rescue him, but seeing how greatly they were out-numbered, fear of the outcome worried him more and more. It was bad enough for him to suffer, he declared within himself, again and again, without dragging Ree and others to the same fate.

The hour of the council to inquire into the guilt of the prisoner arrived. The Indians assembled and once again John found himself in the long, low bark house where always in the past he had met the Delawares as friends. Captain Pipe and every buck and warrior of the village was in attendance; but more conspicuous than any of them, more proud and more erect, was Lone-Elk, the Seneca. In his hands he held the hatchet brought by him from the cornfield of the young Palefaces, the hatchet with which, he said, Big Buffalo had been slain. It was the evidence that-would substantiate his story of the witch’s work.

Captain Pipe stated the purpose of the council briefly and quietly. Then he informed the prisoner that the Delawares would hear what he had to say, but urged him to confess his sin and not, on the eve of death, be guilty of a lie.

With face and body blackened, his hands bound to a stick behind him, the accused boy arose. He tried to be bold and fearless, but, though he looked the Indians squarely in the eyes, he could not speak as he wished to do. His voice did not falter, but the words seemed somehow to refuse to come.

The charge against him was false, he said, and time would prove it. Never except in fair fight had he harmed any Indian. He would leave it to Captain Pipe to judge if he had not always conducted himself as a friend of the Delawares. He reminded them how, only the past winter, he had brought their women and children food while the able men were away for the fighting that had taken place. With a suppressed sigh as he saw how little impression he had made on the hostile faces round him, John sat down.

In an instant Lone-Elk was on his feet. With head thrown back and flashing eyes he repeated the story of the cloud which drifted over the lake—repeated again the whole miserable tale he had told so many times before. Then he exhibited the hatchet taken from the shock of corn on which a crow of most strange appearance had the same day been seen.

“Lone-Elk well knows who put the tomahawk where he got it, Captain Pipe,” the prisoner found courage to say. But for doing so the warriors beside him smartly rapped his head with their knuckles, and the Seneca gave him a look of hate so fierce, so vindictive it startled him.

“The white brother’s time for speech is over,” the chief made answer coldly, and Lone-Elk now resuming his seat, he said: “The Delawares will hear any who wish to speak further.”

A travel-stained figure glided swiftly from the door to Captain Pipe’s side and spoke to him in quick, low tones that few could hear. It was Fishing Bird.

“There are Palefaces who wait with a white flag, Palefaces who wish to be heard,” the chief announced, in the Delaware tongue. “Fishing Bird may bring them here.”

Lone-Elk, with glaring eyes, rose hastily and would have remonstrated but with a kindly, yet imperious wave of his hand Captain Pipe motioned to him to sit down, and he obeyed.

In another minute Return Kingdom, followed by five other white men, stepped into the Council House.

“Captain Pipe,” said Kingdom at once, “we have put down our guns and come here without arms to say a few words to the Delawares which they may be surprised to hear. The Delawares are in council and it is a proper time to speak to them. We ask nothing more than that you let us be heard.”

“The Delawares will listen to White Fox,” the chief answered. “While the council lasts we shall be as friends. When it is over the Paleface brothers may go their way.”

“We thank Captain Pipe and all the Delawares,” Kingdom answered in clear, loud, friendly tones. “We have come to you with important news. We are received as your friends and we shall be such while in your village. The news we bring will not be pleasant to all of you. For the Delawares have been deceived. There is one here who has led Captain Pipe and many of his people to believe he knew of a secret mine from which he could supply them with much lead and with bullets.”

Kingdom paused for an instant, and as he did so Lone-Elk for the first time caught sight of Lobb standing between two of the woodsmen. The look he darted toward the fellow was venomous. There is no doubt but what he thought the Englishman had revealed his secret, then led the white men thither to betray him.

But after the one quick, black look the Seneca seemed quite indifferent to the presence of any of the white men. He concealed his thoughts completely and the Delawares who cast questioning glances toward him were amazed at his composure. Not so with Captain Pipe, however. He had seen on Lone-Elk’s brow the awful scowl which came and went so quickly, and to him it spoke volumes.

The pause in Kingdom’s speech was very short, and few of the Delawares noticed for a time the effect his words had produced upon their chief. It was not until later that they saw on his face the fixed expression of stony coldness dreaded by all of them.

“There is one among you who has sought to advance himself and his own ambitions by taking advantage of the other Indians,” Kingdom went on. “Three white men were sent from Detroit with lead, bullets, powder and gold for the Delawares and other warriors hereabouts. To one Indian only were the lead and bullets and powder given. True, he gave them to the Delawares, but he led them to believe that from a secret mine did he obtain the supplies he brought them. So did he gain power and influence with Captain Pipe’s people.

“Now, hear me further. Two of the three men sent by the British to carry stores from Detroit for the Delawares and others have been murdered. The third man killed them. He has confessed his crime and told the whole story of why the Indians did not all share equally in the goods brought for them. This man is here!”

Putting all the emphasis he could muster into his closing sentences, Kingdom signalled his friends as he concluded, and Lobb, trembling and ashy pale, was pushed into the foreground.

“You have heard what I have told the Delawares,” Kingdom quietly said. “Do you know if it is true?”

The boy’s voice was calm and low, but in the death-like silence of the Council House every word was plainly heard by all, and with intensest interest the savages awaited the answer.

“Yes; it’s true,” muttered Lobb with a look half of terror, half of appeal and apology toward the Seneca.

“Now point to the one who received the gifts intended for all the Indians, not for him alone,” Kingdom commanded.

The murderer looked anxiously about him. He trembled so he could hardly stand, but made no other move.

“Point!” thundered Kingdom. “You know him well!”

“There!” came with a groan from the frightened fellow’s lips, and his outstretched finger indicated Lone-Elk.

On the Seneca’s face there was an expression so threatening that even Kingdom was alarmed. But he continued his talk boldly.

“He who has deceived the Delawares in one way will deceive them in another. Will they listen when his voice is raised against one who has always been their friend? Will the Delawares allow him to shield himself from suspicion by telling them Big Buffalo was killed by witchcraft? Will they do this? Are the Delawares men? Have they not honor and fairness?”

Kingdom would have said more, and trouble would most certainly have followed, had Captain Pipe permitted it. The Indians were becoming dangerously excited. Jim Small and the other woodsmen, too, were anticipating a row, while John Jerome was on the verge of cheering.

The Delaware chief may have seen what the talk was leading toward; at any rate he quickly rose, commanding silence, and straightway began an address such as his people never before had heard and which no one present could ever forget. His voice was not loud. His tones were those of sorrow rather than anger, but he put into them so much of stern honesty and both reproof and reproach, that his every word was like a knife point. He said:

“There came to the Delawares a fugitive and an outcast. In a moment of anger he had taken the life of one who was raised up over him by his people, the noble Senecas. Still he proved himself in heavy fighting a loyal Indian and a mighty warrior. So did the Delawares open their doors to him. He was given places of honor. When time had passed, and the scar of his crime was old, a present of white wampum was sent to the kindred of the dead Seneca asking their forgiveness.

“This very day have the messengers of the Delawares returned bringing pardon full and free for the stranger among them. Yet this very day do the Delawares learn that they have been treated as children; deceived and misled by him they helped.

“They would have adopted him as one of their own nation, but he has returned their hospitality with lies, their kindest thoughts with evil.

“Of the death of Big Buffalo the Delawares will now inquire among themselves. Witchcraft is an enemy if it exists. The Delawares will learn the truth. But the Seneca must go. Let him leave the town and the hunting grounds of our people forever. Go!”

Waving his right hand haughtily toward Lone-Elk, Captain Pipe concluded, and a flush of anger awful to see came to his face as the Seneca sat still, his whole attitude one of indifference and contempt.

As the chieftain was about to repeat his stern command in even sterner tones, Lone-Elk rose to his feet. For a second or two he toyed with the tomahawk he still held in his hands. Then in insolent tones, both contemptuous and contemptible, and, glaring up and down the rows of faces upturned to him, he said:

“Lone-Elk is a Seneca. Never had he a thought of becoming a Delaware. Why should a Seneca warrior put himself among squaws? For food; for rest. Nothing more. Lone-Elk did not so much as ask that the belt of white wampum be sent to the friends of a Seneca that is dead. He asked no favors of any Delaware. Some of your foolish young men pointed their fingers at Lone-Elk when Big Buffalo was found dead in the bushes by the water. For his amusement Lone-Elk told them of a witch. Like squaws they heard every word. Like children they must hear over and over again and could not have enough. Like children, too, did the Delaware’s open their ears and their eyes to hear a legend of a hidden mine of lead. Ugh! A warrior sickens over them and is glad to go.”

For a full second the Seneca paused and looked disdainfully about him. There was anger in every Delaware’s face.

But suddenly Lone-Elk’s demeanor changed. An exclamation of wrath awful to hear burst from his lips.

“There stands the two-tongued Paleface squaw who killed your dead Big Buffalo!” he cried, and shook his fist toward the quaking Lobb. “Lone-Elk trusted a two-faced black dog of a Paleface! That is the Seneca’s crime! When the Harvest Festival was held this dog was hiding in the brushes. Big Buffalo stumbled upon him there and kicked him, like the dog that he is. They seized each other by the throats. The grip of the dog was stronger than the warrior’s grip. Big Buffalo was killed. Lone-Elk has long known this. But why should he tell the Delawares? Why tell the Delawares, to save two Paleface spies, cheating and lying to the Indians and hunting on their land?

“Still, the Delawares are but squaws. They have no place among the mighty nations. Lone-Elk is glad to leave them. The Delawares will never see him again. Let them, then, tell their children that once a mighty warrior lived among them.”

Not deigning to glance again toward Captain Pipe or any of the others present, but with his eyes fixed on Lobb alone, the Seneca quickly turned toward the door.

Before his intention was suspected, he swiftly raised the tomahawk in his right hand, high above his head and brought it down on the skull of the white murderer.

With a stifled cry that ended in a sickening groan, Lobb sunk to the ground, and the Indian strode haughtily into the open air, still clutching the blood-stained hatchet.