He ran his eyes over the silent, watching Hurons, and then back to the sombre face of their leader.
Thundercloud sat rigid upon his stallion; his head held high; every muscle tense and strong for instant action.

He was ready and eager for the fray.

He, and every one of his warriors, would fight like a thousand tigers for their Princess--the pride of the proud race of Wyandots.

Cornplanter saw this and he felt that on the eve of important marches he dared not sacrifice one of his braves for any reason, much less a worthless pale face; and yet to let the prisoner go galled the haughty spirit of the Seneca chief.
"The Long Knife is not worth the life of one of my dogs," he said, with scorn in his deep voice.

"If Cornplanter willed he could drive the Hurons before him like leaves before the storm.