I rose. "The wolf can do more than snap; his fangs are poisoned. Listen, my brother. This tree of friendship is dear to me. I have given labor to preserve it; I have watered it; I have killed the insects and small pests that would have nibbled at its branches. Now that I see its roots threatened, my heart is heavy and the sun looks dim. Can my brother brighten the world for me? Can he tell me that my fears are light as mist?" Longuant looked at the ground. In repose his face was very sad, as are the faces of most savage leaders. "I have only two eyes, two ears," he crooned monotonously. "My brother has as many. Let him use them." "And you will not lift your hatchet to save the tree?" Longuant raised his eyes. "The hatchet of the Ottawas is always bright. My brethren will hold it in readiness. If the tree looks strong and worth saving, they will raise the hatchet and defend it. If the tree is unsound, they will put the hatchet at its roots." Well, I had my answer. And, to be just, I could not blame them. The Ottawas were never a commanding people. Their chief was wise to throw his vote with the winning side. But I turned away saddened. Longuant followed. "There is always a bed in the lodges of the Ottawas for my brother of the red heart. Will he sleep in it?" I turned. "Would my head be safer if I did, O brother of the wise tongue?" "My brother has said it." I took a Flemish knife from my pocket and handed it to him. "Take it, my brother, for my gratitude. It shall not cut the friendship between us. It shall cut any stranger that would come between your heart and mine. Longuant, I have a wife. She is fair, and stars shine in her eyes. She has loved a daughter of your people. I cannot hide in your lodge,--a man who carries a sword must use it,--but will you take my wife and keep her? Will you keep her with Singing Arrow for a few days?" Longuant thought a moment. He looked at the knife as if it were a talisman to teach him how much he could trust me; he tried its edge, put it in his pouch, and made up his mind. "My brother is keen and true as the blade of the knife. I will tell him a story, a story that the birds sang. The eagle once married. He married one of the family of the hawk. But the hawk found the eagle's nest too high, so she flew lower to a nest near her own kin. Listen. So long as the hawk stays near the hawk and is not seen with the eagle, the wolf will spare her. But when she comes back to the eagle's nest in the high tree, then let her beware. I have spoken. Now let my brother go on his way and see what his eyes and ears can teach him." But I went my way with thought busier than eyes. So I must keep away from the woman. I went to my room, found paper and a quill, and wrote to her. It was the first time I had written her name. It seemed foreign to me, almost a sad jest, as it flowed out under my hand.