men, chiefs, also-came at times and talked with them. But these
two, proud, dominating, both singularly handsome men of the
Indian type, were always there. Henry was almost ready to steal
away when he saw a new figure approaching the two chiefs. The
walk and bearing of the stranger were familiar, and HENRY knew
him even before his face was lighted tip by the fire. It was
Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, who had escaped the great battles on
both the Ohio and the Mississippi, and who was here with the
Iroquois, ready to do to his own race all the evil that he could.
Henry felt a shudder of repulsion, deeper than any Indian could
inspire in him. They fought for their own land and their own
people, but Braxton Wyatt had violated everything that an honest
man should hold sacred.

Henry, on the whole, was not surprised to see him. Such a chance
was sure to draw Braxton Wyatt. Moreover, the war, so far as it
pertained to the border, seemed to be sweeping toward the
northeast, and it bore many stormy petrels upon its crest.

He watched Wyatt as he walked toward one of the fires. There the
renegade sat down and talked with the warriors, apparently on the
best of terms. He was presently joined by two more renegades,
whom Henry recognized as Blackstaffe and Quarles. Timmendiquas
and Thayendanegea rose after a while, and walked toward the
center of the camp, where several of the bark shelters had been
enclosed entirely. Henry judged that one had been set apart for
each, but they were lost from his view when they passed within
the circling ring of warriors.

Henry believed that the Iroquois and Wyandots would form a