They had their knives out, but I managed to disarm the one who attacked me, and my horse upset a second, while the Indian, who had no weapon but a stave, cracked the head of the last.

I got nothing worse than a black eye, but the man I had rescued bled from some ugly cuts which I had much ado stanching.

He shook hands with me gravely when I had done, and vanished into the thicket.

He was a Seneca Indian, and I wondered what one of that house was doing in the Tidewater.
Mercer told me his name.

"Shalah will take you to the man you ken.