Clan of the Mohawks. The little silver token she gave me then is not to
be gauged or appraised by any craftsman method known to trade.

From that day, twenty odd years ago, our friendship continued to the
end, and it is the last sad privilege of brotherhood to write this brief
comment on her personality. I do it with a special insight, for I am
charged with a message from Tekahionwake herself. "Never let anyone call
me a white woman," she said. "There are those who think they pay me a
compliment in saying that I am just like a white woman. My aim, my joy,
my pride is to sing the glories of my own people. Ours was the race that
gave the world its measure of heroism, its standard of physical prowess.
Ours was the race that taught the world that avarice veiled by any name
is crime. Ours were the people of the blue air and the green woods,
and ours the faith that taught men to live without greed and to die
without fear. Ours were the fighting men that, man to man--yes, one to
three--could meet and win against the world. But for our few numbers,
our simple faith that others were as true as we to keep their honor
bright and hold as bond inviolable their plighted word, we should have
owned America to-day."

If the spirit of Wetamoo, the beautiful woman Sachem, the Boadicea of
New England, ever came back, it must have been in Tekahionwake the
Mohawk. The fortitude and the eloquence of the Narragansett Chieftainess
were born again in the Iroquois maiden; she typified the spirit of
her people that flung itself against the advancing tide of white
encroachment even as a falcon might fling himself against a horde of
crows whose strength was their numbers and whose numbers were without
end, so all his wondrous effort was made vain.

"The Riders of the Plains," the "Legends of Vancouver," "Flint and