"Indian, thou hast discovered--I know not how--that I once bore the name you have mentioned. It was given to me in the days of madness and folly by the western tribes. But, my hands are unstained by any blood, save what was shed in fair and open warfare." "Ha! Onontio hath forgotten the fight in the night of storms, on the banks of the Yellow Wabash, when the sister of Ohquamehud was slain and his brother pierced by the knife of the accursed pale face, with the curling-hair." "Indian! I sought to save the maiden's life. I can show the scar I received in her defence. As for thy brother, I know naught of him. If he fell by me, it was in the manner in which one brave warrior meets another." "It is a lie! The heart of the pale-face is fainting. He is a weasel, that tries to creep through a small hole." "If I were armed thou wouldst not dare to speak thus," said Holden, some of the spirit of his youthful years flashing up. "But, go; thou art a coward to come armed against a defenceless man." "Onontio is a fool! Who told him to leave his rifle in his lodge? He knoweth not so much as a beast or a reptile. When the bear roameth in the forest, doth he leave his claws in his den, or the rattlesnake, his teeth in the hole in the rocks? Let Onontio sing his death-song, but, softly, lest the north wind bear it to the cub, who is waiting for the second bullet in the pouch of Ohquamehud." A pang of inexpressible agony cut, like a knife, through the heart of Holden. He could brave death himself, but, good God! that his son should be murdered by the savage! The thought was too horrible. For a moment, the courageous heart almost stopped, and, with quivering lips, he commended the young man to the protection of Providence. But the momentary weakness soon passed away, as the dogma of divine decrees or fate occurred to his mind. The blood flowed freer in his veins; his form straightened, and with a dignified gesture, he answered-- "Heathen! I have no death-song to sing. The Christian goeth not to his Maker, boasting of his fancied merits, but, like a child, hiding its face in its mother's bosom, and asking to be forgiven. And know that of thyself thou art powerless. Thou canst do only what is permitted." "It is well!" exclaimed Ohquamehud, a glow of admiration, at the courage with which Holden met his fate, flashing--in spite of himself--across his countenance, and which he vainly tried to conceal. "The dog of a pale-face is tired of his life, and will thank Ohquamehud for sending him to the spirits of his fathers."