him.

He enlarged upon his theme. He showed to them what a victorious France
would do. If Quebec prevailed, the fair promises the priest and the
chevalier had made to the Hodenosaunee would be forgotten. Even as the
Mohawks had lost Quebec and other villages they would lose now their
castles, the Upper, the Lower and the Middle, the Cayugas and the
Oneidas would be crushed, and with them their new brethren the
Tuscaroras. The French would burst with fire and sword into the sacred
vale of Onondaga itself, they would cut down the council grove and burn
the Long House, then their armies would go forth to destroy the Senecas,
the Keepers of the Western Gate.

The thousands, swayed by uncontrollable emotion, sprang to their feet
and a tremendous shout burst from them all. St. Luc, seeing the
Hodenosaunee slipping from his hands and from those of France, leaped
up, unable to contain himself, and cried:

"Do not listen to him! Do not listen to him! What he says cannot come to
pass!"

The people were in a turmoil, and the council strove in vain for order,
but the young speaker raised his hand and silence came again.

"The Chevalier de St. Luc and Father Drouillard, who have spoken to you
in behalf of France, are brave and good men," he said, "but they cannot
control the acts of their country. They tell you what I say cannot come
to pass, but I tell you that it can come to pass, and what is more it
has come to pass. Behold!"

He took from beneath his deerskin tunic a tomahawk, large and keen, and
held it up. Its shining blade was stained red with the blood of a human
being. The silence was now so intense that it became heavy and
oppressive. Everyone in the crowd expected something startling to
follow, and they were right.

He swung the tomahawk about in a circle that all might see it, and the
blood upon its blade. His feeling for the dramatic was strong upon him,
and he knew that the right moment had come.

"Do you know whose tomahawk this is?" he cried.

The crowd was silent and waiting.

"It is the tomahawk of Tandakora, the Ojibway, the friend and ally of
the French."

A fierce shout like a peal of thunder from the crowd, and then the same
intense, waiting silence.

"Do you know whose blood stains the tomahawk of Tandakora, the Ojibway,
the friend and ally of the French?"

A deep breath from the crowd.

"It is the blood of Hosahaho, the Onondaga. You knew him well, one of
your swiftest runners, a skillful