The Indians knew the Blacksnake, as they called Wayne, and some, in their fear, counseled peace. But that was not to be thought of by the chiefs and the young Hotspurs whose first scalps had been torn from the heads of Butler's men. Such sachems as Little Turtle, Blue Jacket, and Bockhougahelas stirred the Indian heart, and not a few words of encouragement came from the British forts on the Maumee. Simon Girty and kindred spirits moved from tribe to tribe underrating Wayne before the august councils, until a united cry of "war to the knife!" ascended to the skies. The chase suddenly lost its charms to the scarlet hunter; the dandy turned from his mirror to the rifle; the very air seemed heavy with war. The older warriors were eager to lay their plans before any one who would listen; they said that Wayne would march with St. Clair's carelessness, and affirmed that the order of Indian battle, so successful on _that_ occasion, would drive the Blacksnake from the territory. Under the Indian banner--if the plume of Little Turtle can be thus designated--the warriors of seven tribes were marshalling. There were the Miamis, the Pottawatamies, Delawares, Shawnees, Chippewas, Ottawas, and Senecas; and in the ranks of each nation stood not a few white renegades. It was a formidable force to oppose the victor of Stony Point, and the reader of our forest romance will learn with what success the cabal met. We have thought best to prelude our story with the glimpses at history just given, as it enables the reader to obtain an idea of the situation of affairs in the locality throughout which the incidents that follow take place. * * * * * It was near the close of a sultry day in July, 1794, that two men reached the right bank of the Maumee about ten miles below Fort Defiance, which Wayne had erected and garrisoned. They looked like Wyandot warriors, painted for the warpath. They were athletic men, and one, as could be seen despite the profusion of paint which his face wore, was at least twenty years the other's senior. Long-barreled rifles were trailed at their sides, and their belts carried the Indian's inseparable companions--the tomahawk and scalping knife. "There goes the sun," said the youngest of the pair in unmistakable and melodious English. "Look at the old planet, Wolf Cap, if you want to see him before he goes to bed. These are dangerous times, and one does not know when the sun sets if he will be permitted to greet it in the morning." "That is so, Harvey," was the reply, in the brusque tone of the rough frontiersman, and the speaker looked at the magnificent god of day whose last streaks of light were crimsoning the water. "There was a time when I didn't care if I never beheld the sun again. It was that night when I came home and found no house to shelter me; but a dead family among a heap of smoking ruins, and in a tree hard by a tomahawk buried to the handle."