hill. The most distinguished of them all in looks was a young
Indian chief of great height and magnificent build, with a noble and
impressive countenance. He wore nothing of civilized attire, the
nearest approach to it being the rich dark-blue blanket that was flung
gracefully over his right shoulder. It was none other than the great
Wyandot chief, Timmendiquas, saying little, and listening without
expression to the words of the others.

Near Timmendiquas sat Thayendanegea, dressed as usual in his mixture
of savage and civilized costume, and about him were other famous Indian
chiefs, The Corn Planter, Red jacket, Hiokatoo, Sangerachte, Little
Beard, a young Seneca renowned for ferocity, and others.

On the other side of the fire sat the white men: the young Sir John
Johnson, who, a prisoner to the Colonials, had broken his oath of
neutrality, the condition of his release, and then, fleeing to Canada,
had returned to wage bloody war on the settlements; his brother-in-law,
Colonel Guy Johnson; the swart and squat John Butler of Wyoming infamy;
his son, Walter Butler, of the pallid face, thin lips, and cruel heart;
the Canadian Captain MacDonald; Braxton Wyatt; his lieutenant, the dark
Tory, Coleman; and some others who had helped to ravage their former
land.

Sir John Johnson, a tall man with blue eyes set close together, wore the
handsome uniform of his Royal Greens; he had committed many dark deeds
or permitted them to be done by men under his command, and he had
secured the opportunity only through his broken oath, but he had lost
greatly. The vast estates of his father, Sir William Johnson, were being
torn from him, and perhaps he saw, even then, that in return for what he
had done he would lose all and become an exile from the country in which
he was born.

It was not a cheerful council. There was no exultation as after Wyoming
and Cherry Valley and the Minisink and other places. Sir John bit his
lip uneasily, and his brother-in-law, resting his hand on his knee,
stared gloomily at the fire. The two Butlers were silent, and the dark
face of Thayendanegea was overcast.

A little distance before these men was a breastwork about half a mile
long, connecting with a bend of the river in such a manner that an enemy
could attack only in front and on one flank, that flank itself being
approached only by the ascent of a steep ridge which ran parallel to the
river. The ground about the camp was covered with pine and scrub