"As the Indian has no written language, his memory is long.

When we reach Quebec he'll never forget for an instant that it was once Stadacona, a village of the Mohawks, the Keepers of the Eastern Gate, and one of the great nations of the Hodenosaunee." "No, he will not," said Robert, "and look who is waiting to meet us!" Standing before a low house, which was crowded with the goods of a fur trader, were a half-dozen Indians, wild and savage in looks to the last degree, and in the center was one whose shoulder was bound tightly with a great roll of deerskin.

In stature he rose far above the other warriors, and he had a thickness in proportion.

The hate that the rest had shown when they looked upon Tayoga was nothing to his, which was the very concentrated essence of all malice.
"Our good friend, Tandakora, despite his wound seems to have arrived ahead of us," said Willet to Robert.
"Yes, and he shows very clearly that he would like to give Tayoga to the torture with himself as torturer, and yet he must know that it was you who put the bullet through his shoulder." "Quite true, Robert, but he resents the Onondaga more than he does us.
We are strangers, aliens to him, and he makes no comparisons with us, but Tayoga is an Indian like himself, whom he has fought against, and against whom he has failed.

Watch us pass.