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.