"I suppose Naomi is a big girl and so you won't feel the need of nieces to write long letters about nothing. Is Rodney talking war? Poor papa, he was worrying, when I left him in New York, about the talk being made against our rightful sovereign. Well, I now will write him a long, cheerful letter, so thank you for being an aunt to me once more. "Your ob't and affectionate niece, "ELIZABETH DANESFORD." Did she but know it, her father stood in need of cheerful letters, for the bitterness of the rising war spirit was daily making feuds between former friends, and all who talked loyalty to the king and condemned Henry, Jefferson and Washington soon discovered they were champions of an unpopular cause. CHAPTER VIII THE CHIEF WHO DEMANDED THE TRUTH Four days of intense excitement, without proper food or sleep, subjected to peril of life, would test the hardiest person. Rodney Allison felt like breaking down and weeping hysterically. To add to his discomfort he believed the hut to be alive with vermin, not an uncommon condition in any Indian's wigwam, and this one looked filthy. His unpleasant reflections were interrupted by the return of the little boy, Louis, who cried, "Ahneota, he say you come right away." "The redskin who threw me in here said he would kill me if I left." "_Ce n'est rien_, Ahneota says come." Under the circumstances Rodney decided to run the risk, for evidently the little chap was the only friend he had found, so he said, "Well, you don't want me killed, do you?" "_Non._ I will have you to play with me. Ahneota is my friend. He will give you to me." They went to a wigwam at the farther end of the village and found awaiting them an old chief. He was tall and gaunt. His face was long, the nose sharply aquiline, and his eyes were as keen and bright as those of a youth. The chief's manner was very, dignified, even stern. Louis began his plea, but was ordered to call the Indian, Caughnega. Then, turning to Rodney, the chief asked: "Why come to Indian country and kill game? White man's game below big river." Rodney hesitated. What could he say? He feared to confess that he already had escaped from Indians, it would not be a helpful introduction, to say the least; neither would he lie. "I was lost and hungry. The bear was hungry, too. I had to shoot," he finally said. The searching look of the Indian embarrassed him. "The pigeon dropped by the eagle spoke not truth but said he fell." Rodney flushed under the fierce gaze of the bright eyes of the aged chief. Then lifting his head he resolutely replied: "I have told you the truth, but not all of it. I am here through no fault of my own and am trying to get back to the big river and my people." "The big river is many days' journey. There is blood on the pigeon," replied Ahneota, pointing to Rodney's wrists, which yet bore the marks of the thongs with which he had been bound.