nduct itself towards
our new friends."

"Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young men into the woods,
and fire his cannon at the earthen house?" demanded the subtle Indian.

"To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your father has been ordered
to drive off these English squatters. They have consented to go, and now
he calls them enemies no longer."

"'Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it with blood. It is now
bright; when it is red, it shall be buried."

"But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of France. The enemies of
the great king across the salt lake are his enemies; his friends, the
friends of the Hurons."

"Friends!" repeated the Indian, in scorn. "Let his father give Magua a
hand."

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the warlike tribes he had
gathered was to be maintained by concession rather than by power,
complied reluctantly with the other's request. The savage placed the
finger of the French commander on a deep scar in his bosom, and then
exultingly demanded,--

"Does my father know that?"

"What warrior does not? 'tis where a leaden bullet has cut."

"And this?" continued the Indian, who had turned his naked back to the
other, his body being without its usual calico mantle.

"This!--my son has been sadly injured, here; who has done this?"

"Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and the sticks have left their
mark," returned the savage, with a hollow laugh, which did not conceal
the fierce temper that nearly choked him. Then recollecting himself,
with sudden and native dignity, he added, "Go; teach your young men, it
is peace. Le Renard Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior."

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to wait for any answer, the
savage cast his rifle into the hollow of his arm, and moved silently
through the encampment towards the woods where his own tribe was known
to lie. Every few yards as he proceeded he was challenged by the
sentinels; but he stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the
summons of the soldiers, who only spared his life because they knew the
air and tread no less than the obstinate daring of an Indian.

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the strand, where he had been
left by his companion, brooding deeply on the temper which his
ungovernable ally had just discovered. Already had his fair fame been
tarnished by one horrid scene, and in circumstances fearfully resembling
those under which he now found