oaks.
Many others had been cut down and added to the breastwork. A deep brook
ran at the foot of the hill on which the leaders sat. About the slopes
of this hill and another, a little distance away, sat hundreds of Indian
warriors, all in their war paint, and other hundreds of their white
allies, conspicuous among them Johnson's Royal Greens and Butler's
Rangers. These men made but little noise now. They were resting and
waiting.

Thayendanegea was the first to break the silence in the group at the
fire. He turned his dark face to Sir John Johnson and said in his
excellent English: "The king promised us that if we would take up arms
for him against the Yankees, he would send a great army, many thousands,
to help us. We believed him, and we took up the hatchet for him. We
fought in the dark and the storm with Herkimer at the Oriskany, and many
of our warriors fell. But we did not sulk in our lodges. We have ravaged
and driven in the whole American border along a line of hundreds of
miles. Now the Congress sends an army to attack us, to avenge what we
have done, and the great forces of the king are not here. I have been
across the sea; I have seen the mighty city of London and its people as
numerous as the blades of grass. Why has not the king kept his promise
and sent men enough to save the Iroquois?"

Sir John Johnson and Thayendanegea were good friends, but the soul of
the great Mohawk chief was deeply stirred. His penetrating mind saw the
uplifted hand about to strike-and the target was his own people. His
tone became bitterly sarcastic as he spoke, and when he ceased he looked
directly at the baronet in a manner that showed a reply must be given.
Sir John moved uneasily, but he spoke at last.

"Much that you say is true, Thayendanegea," he admitted, "but the king
has many things to do. The war is spread over a vast area, and he must
keep his largest armies in the East. But the Royal Greens, the Rangers,
and all others whom we can raise, even in Canada, are here to help you.
In the coming battle your fortunes are our fortunes."

Thayendanegea nodded, but he was not yet appeased. His glance fell upon
the two Butlers, father and son, and he frowned.

"There are many in England itself," he said, "who wish us harm, and who
perhaps have kept us from receiving some of the help that we ought to
have. They speak of Wyoming and Cherry Valley, of the torture and of
the slaughter of women and children, and they say that wa