, who handed it to me. With that ceremony over, the tongue
of the chief seemed to be unloosed. "The Sachem comes," he said, and an
old man sat himself down beside us.

He was a strange figure to meet in an Indian camp. A long white beard
hung down to his middle, and his unshorn hair draped his shoulders like
a fleece. His clothing was of tanned skin, save that he had a belt of
Spanish leather, and on his feet he wore country shoes and not the
Indian moccasins. The eyes in his head were keen and youthful, and
though he could not have been less than sixty he carried himself with
the vigour of a man in his prime. Below his shaggy locks was a high,
broad forehead, such as some college professor might have borne who had
given all his days to the philosophies. He seemed to have been
disturbed in reading, for he carried in his hand a little book with a
finger marking his place. I caught a glimpse of the title, and saw that
it was Mr. Locke's new "Essay on the Human Understanding."

Ringan spoke to the chief in his own tongue, but the Sioux language was
beyond me. Mr. Lawrence joined in, and I saw the Indian's eyes kindle.
He shook his head, and seemed to deny something. Then he poured forth a
flood of talk, and when he had finished Ringan spoke to me.

"He says that the Tuscaroras are stirring. Word has come down from the
hills to be ready for a great ride between the Moon of Stags and the
Corngathering."

Lawrence nodded. "That's an old Tuscarora habit; but somehow these
ridings never happen." He said something in Sioux to one of the
warriors, and got an emphatic answer, which he translated to me. "He
thinks that the Cherokees have had word from farther north. It looks
like a general stirring of the Long House."

"Is it the fighting in Canada?" I asked.

"God knows," he said, "but I don't think so. If that were the cause we
should have the Iroquois pushed down on the top of the Cherokees. But
my information is that the Cherokees are to move north themselves, and
then down to the Tidewater. It is not likely that the Five Nations have
any plan of conquering the lowlands. They're a hill people, and they
know the white man's mettle too well. My notion is that some devilry is
going on in the West, and I might guess that there's a white man in
it." He spoke to the chief, who spoke again to his companion, and
Lawrence listened with contracting brows, while Ringan whistled between
his teeth.

"They've got a queer story," said