"We Mohicans have never understood Iroquois wampum.

Let the Lenape of the Kansonsionni bear Iroquois belts!" "In the Long House," said I, "the light is dim.

Perhaps the Canienga's ambassadors can no longer perceive the red belts in the archives of the Lenape." It had so far been a careful and cautious exchange of subtlest metaphor between this proud and sensitive Mohican and me; I striving to win him to our cause by recalling the ancient greatness and the proud freedom of his tribe, yet most carefully avoiding undue pressure or any direct appeal for an immediate answer to Boyd's request.

But already I had so thoroughly prepared the ground; and the Sagamore's responses had been so encouraging, that the time seemed to have come to put the direct and final question.

And now, to avoid the traditional twenty-four hours' delay which an Indian invariably believes is due his own dignity before replying to a vitally important demand, I boldly cast precedent and custom to the four winds, and once more seized on allegory to aid me in this hour of instant need.
I began by saluting him with the most insidious and stately compliment I could possibly offer to a Sagamore of a conquered race--a race which already was nearly extinct--investing this Mohican Sagamore with the prerogatives of his very conquerors by the subtlety of my opening phrase: "O Sagamore! Roya-neh! Noble of the three free clans of a free Mohican people! Our people have need of you.