food. The captive ate a little--he had no appetite for more--and then
tried to smooth out his hair and his clothing and to make himself more
presentable. He also straightened his worn figure, and sat more erect.
Tayoga gave silent approval. Here was a man! He might be a prisoner,
and be in a most desperate plight, but he would present the best
possible face to his foes. It was exactly what an Onondaga or a Mohawk
warrior would do, and the young Englishman, though he knew little of
the forest, was living up to its traditions.

"If he has to die," reflected Tayoga, "he will die well. If his people
hear that he has gone they will have no cause to be ashamed of the way
in which he went. Here is the making of a great white warrior."

The Onondaga knew that Robert and Willet were now expecting him back,
but his interest in Grosvenor kept him a while longer, watching at the
cliff's rim. He thought it likely that Tandakora might come, and
he had not long to wait. The huge Ojibway came striding through the
bushes and into the circle of the firelight, his body bare as usual
save for breech cloth, leggins and moccasins, and painted with the
hideous devices so dear to the savage heart.

The warriors received him with deference, indicating clearly to Tayoga
that they were under his authority, but without making any reply to
their salutation he strode up to the prisoner, and, folding his arms
across his mighty breast, regarded him, smiling cruelly. The Onondaga
did not see the smile, but he knew it was there. The man would not be
Tandakora if it were not. In that savage heart, the chivalry that so
often marked the Indians of the higher type found no place.

Grosvenor, worn to the bone and dazed by the extraordinary and fearful