dressed, after the manner of famous chiefs, with the utmost care.
His short military coat of fine blue cloth bore a silver epaulet
on either shoulder. His head was not bare, disclosing the scalp
lock, like those of the other Indians; it was covered instead
with a small hat of felt, round and laced. Hanging carelessly
over one shoulder was a blanket of blue cloth with a red border.
At his side, from a belt of blue leather swung a silver-mounted
small sword. His leggins were of superfine blue cloth and his
moccasins of deerskin. Both were trimmed with small beads of
many colors.

The new chief advanced into the opening amid the dead silence
that still held all, and Timmendiquas stepped forward to meet
him. These two held the gaze of everyone, and what they and they
alone did had become of surpassing interest. Each was haughty,
fully aware of his own dignity and importance, but they met half
way, looked intently for a moment or two into the eyes of each
other, and then saluted gravely.

All at once Henry knew the stranger. He had never seen him
before, but his impressive reception, and the mixture of military
and savage attire revealed him. This could be none other than
the great Mohawk war chief, Thayendanegea, the Brant of the white
men, terrible name on the border. Henry gazed at him eagerly
from his covert, etching his features forever on his memory. His
face, lean and strong, was molded much like that of Timmendiquas,
and like the Wyandot he was young, under thirty.

Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea-it was truly he-returned to the
fire, and once again the trumpet-shaped pipe was smoked by all.