"Brother," she said in her soft Oneida tongue, "I am an Athabascan of the Heron Clan, adopted into the Oneida nation. My name is Thiohero,[7] and my privilege is Oyaneh.[8] Brother, I come as a friend to liberty, and to help you fight your great war against your King. [Footnote 7: The River-reed.] [Footnote 8: The noble or honourable one. The feminine of Royaneh, or Sachem, in the Algonquin.] "Brother, I have spoken," she concluded, with lowered eyes. Surprised and charmed by this young girl's modesty and quiet speech, but not knowing how to act, I thanked her as I had the young men, and offered her my hand. She took it, lifted her deep, wide eyes unabashed, looked me calmly and intelligently in the face, and said in English: "My adopted father is Thomas Spencer, the friend to liberty, and Oneida interpreter to your General Schuyler. My adopted uncle is the great war-chief Skenandoa, also your ally. The Oneida are my people. And are now become your brothers in this new war." "Your words make our hearts light, my sister." "Your words brighten our sky, my elder brother." Our clasped hands fell apart. I turned to Tahioni: "Brother, why are you in battle-paint?" I demanded. At that the eyes of the Oneida youths began to sparkle and burn; and Tahioni straightened up and struck the knife-hilt at his belt with a quick, fierce gesture. "Give me a name that I may know my brother," he said bluntly. "Even a tree has a name." And I flushed at this merited rebuke. "My name is John Drogue, and I am lieutenant of our new State Rangers," said I. "And this is my comrade, Nicholas Stoner, of Fonda's Bush, and first sergeant in my little company." "Brother John," said he, "then listen to this news we Oneidas bring from the North: a Canada war-party is now on the Iroquois trail, looking for Sir John to guide them to the Canadas!" Taken aback, I stared at the young warrior for a moment, then, recovering composure, I translated for Nick what he had just told me. Then I turned again to Tahioni, the Wolf: "Where is this same war-party?" I demanded, still scarce convinced. "At West River, near the Big Eddy," said he. "_They have taken scalps._" "Why--why, then, it _is_ war!" I exclaimed excitedly. "And what people are these who have taken scalps in the North? Are they Caniengas?" "Mohawks!" He fairly spat out the insulting term, which no friendly Iroquois would dream of using to a Canienga; and the contemptuous word seemed to inflame the other Oneidas, for they all picked up their rifles and crowded around me, watching my face with gleaming eyes. "How many?" I asked, still a little stunned by this reality, though I had long foreseen the probability. "Thirty," said the girl Thiohero, turning from Nick, to whom she had been translating what was being said in the Oneida tongue. Now, in a twinkling, I found myself faced with an instant crisis, and must act as instantly.