It was a splendid figure, at
least six feet four inches in height. At that moment some rays
of the setting sun broke through the gray clouds and shone full
upon it, lighting up the defiant scalp lock interwoven with the
brilliant red feather, the eagle face with the curved Roman beak,
and the mighty shoulders and chest of red bronze. It was a
genuine king of the wilderness, none other than the mighty
Timmendiquas himself, the great White Lightning of the Wyandots.
"Ware," he said, "I would speak with you. Let us talk as one
chief to another."
The five were amazed. Timmendiquas there! They were quite sure
that he had come up with the second force, and he was certain to
prove a far more formidable leader than either Braxton Wyatt or
Moses Blackstaffe. But his demand to speak with Henry Ware might
mean something.
"Are you going to answer him?" said Shif'less Sol.
"Of course," replied Henry.
"The others, especially Wyatt and Blackstaffe, might shoot."
"Not while Timmendiquas holds the flag of truce; they would not
dare."
Henry stood up, raising himself to his full height. The same
ruddy sunlight piercing the somber gray of the clouds fell upon
another splendid figure, a boy only in years, but far beyond the
average height of man, his hair yellow, his eyes a deep, clear
blue, his body clothed in buckskin, and his whole attitude that
of one without fear.
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