"Peace, my sons," he said in his grave and dignified manner. "It is not well for those who march with us to taunt each other. Words that may be light in the village, breed ill will on the war path. As head chief of the Shawnees it is for me to say these things to you." As Red Eagle stood up with his arms folded across his broad breast and his scarlet blanket hooked over his shoulder, he looked like a forest Roman. Henry thought him an impressive figure and such a thought, too, was most likely in the mind of Blackstaffe, as he said: "The words of the chief are wise, and I obey. Red Eagle has proved many and many a time that he is the best fitted of all men to be the head chief of the Shawnees. Wyatt, I was only jesting. You and I must be good comrades here." He held out his hand and as Wyatt took it, his face cleared. Then the three turned to animated talk about their plans. It was agreed that they should push on in the morning at all speed, and join the main band and the artillery. Dangerous as these cannon were, Henry saw that the Indians gave them almost magic powers. They would completely blow away the settlements, and the forests would soon grow again, where the white man had cut a little open place for himself with the ax. The conference over, Red Eagle wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down with his feet toward the fire. Again Henry felt an impulse of respect for him. He was true to his race and his inheritance, while the renegades were false in everything to theirs. He did not depart from the customs and thoughts bred into him by many generations, but the renegades violated every teaching of their own race that had brought civilization to the world, and he hated and despised them. He saw Blackstaffe and Wyatt wrap themselves in their blankets and also lie down with their feet to the fire. All the Indians were at rest save two sentinels. Henry watched this strange scene a few minutes longer. The coals were dying fast and now he saw but indistinctly the figures of white men and red men, joined in a compact to destroy his people utterly, from the oldest man and woman to the youngest child. Henry did not know it, but he was as much a knight of chivalry and romance as any mailed figure that ever rode with glittering lance. Beneath the buckskin hunting shirt beat a heart as dauntless as that of Amadis of Gaul or Palmerin of England, although there were no bards in the great forest to sing of his deeds and of the deeds of those like him.