It is Ok-wa-ho's voice,' they said proudly, 'and it is the cry of
victory. We may never hear that cry again, for the white man's law and
rule begins to-day.' Which was true, for after that the Mohawks came
under the governmental laws of Canada. It was the last time the red
man's native law of justice, of 'blood for blood,' was ever enacted in
Ontario. This is history--Canadian history--not merely a tale of horror
with which to pass this winter afternoon." Again Queetah ceased
speaking, and again the boy persisted.

"But the silver chain?"

With a dreamy, far-away look the Indian continued:

"One never uses an avenging knife again. The blade even must not be
wiped; it is a dark deed, even to an Indian's soul, and the knife must
be buried on the dark side of a tree--the north side, where the sun
never shines, where the moss grows thickest. Ok-wa-ho buried his
blood-stained knife, slipping it blade downwards beneath the moss,
took his unused tomahawk, and returned to his people. 'The red man's
law is ended,' he said.

"'Yes, we must be as white men now,' replied the older men, sadly.

"That night Ok-wa-ho beat into this handle these small silver hearts.
They are the badge of brotherhood with all men. The next day white men
came, explaining the new rule that must hold sway in the forest. 'If
there is bloodshed among you,' they said, 'the laws of Canada will
punish the evil-doer. Put up your knives and tomahawks, and be at
peace.'

"And as the years went on and on, these ancient Indian customs all
dropped far into the past. Only one thing remained to remind Ok-wa-ho of
his barbarous, boyish deed: it was the top branch of a tall tree waving
above its fellows. As he fished and paddled peacefully miles up the
river, he could see that treetop, and his heart never forgot what was
lying at its roots. He grew old, old, until he reached the age of
eighty-nine, but the tree-top still waved and the roots still held their
secret.

"He came to me then. I was but a boy myself, but his grandson, and he
loved me. He told me this strange tale, adding: 'Queetah, my feet must
soon travel up the long trail. I would know what peace is like before I
go on the journey--come, we will unearth the knife.' I followed where he
led. We found the weapon three feet down in the earth, where the years
had weighted it. In places the steel was still bright, but in others
dark patches of rust covered the scarlet of Black Star's blood, [Fact.]
fresh s