The Indian, a Mohawk, came within ten yards of them, but he did
not see the five figures among the vines, blending darkly with
the dark growth, and presently, satisfied that the sound he had
heard was of no importance, he walked in another direction, and
passed out of sight.
The five, not daunted at all by this living proof of risk, crept
to the very edge of the clusters of grapevines, and looked upon
an open space, beyond which stood some houses made of wood; but
their attention was centered upon a figure that stood in the
open.
Although the distance was too great and the light too poor to
disclose the features, every one of the scouts recognized the
figure. It could be none other than that of Timmendiquas, the
great White Lightning of the Wyandots. He was pacing back and
forth, somewhat in the fashion of the white man, and his manner
implied thought.
"I could bring him down from here with a bullet," said Shif'less
Sol, "but I ain't ever goin' to shoot at the chief, Henry."
"No," said Henry, "nor will I. But look, there's another."
A second figure came out of the dark and joined the first. It
was also that of a chief, powerful and tall, though not as tall
as Timmendiquas.
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