The chief of this terrible band was said to have only been six years in America, and yet he knew all the secrets of the desert; he was as clever as the most cunning and astute runner of the woods, quite equal to any redskin in deceit. He was supposed to be a Frenchman, though he spoke English, Spanish, and many Indian languages equally well. He was called Querehard, Sambrun, Magnaud, Tom Mitchell, and various other names. But none knew his real one, though some did whisper that he was the chief of a certain fearful band who had played so terrible a part during the Reign of Terror. Many asserted that he was not so bad as he was painted--that, in fact, though chief of this fearful crew, he always tried to prevent bloodshed, that he never allowed women and children to be ill-treated. He was said to be very generous, and had as many friends as enemies. Whatever the truth, Tom Mitchell was a kind of hero; the American and Spanish Governments had placed a price upon his head; but no one ever ventured to try for the reward of ten thousand dollars. After the medicine council we have recorded, Numank-Charake and his two friends continued their journey. On the seventh day, an hour before the setting of the sun, they reached a village built in the fork of two rivers. The village was surrounded by lofty palisades, with a ditch full of water, and drawbridges. The travellers came up just as these were being removed. They were warmly received by an eager crowd. Since his landing in America this was the first time Oliver had entered a real village of redskins. He was surprised to find it so superior to what he expected. Instead of ordinary bison tents, or huts made with hurdles, mud, and thatch, it consisted of admirably constructed Canadian cabins. These cabins stood in rows, with small gardens in front, while here and there were some real Indian wigwams. Those Canadians who had retreated with their families to the tribe of Bison Hurons had introduced these habits. Hence the rather hybrid character of the village, which was half Canadian and half Indian. Reaching the centre of the village Numank left his companions, while Bright-eye pointed out a most comfortable looking cabin and declared it to be his home. At the entrance stood two men leaning on their rifles. One, nearly a centenarian, but still robust and very tall, had a large white beard; his eyes still shone brightly, his complexion was the colour of brick, while his ropy muscles could be seen through his parchment skin. His expression was gentle and full of courage. This was the grandfather of the hunter, an old soldier of Montcalm. The second was Bright-eye's father, whom he resembled in every particular except age and height. "They indeed appear a noble couple," whispered Oliver. "Come with me," was the laconic reply. In a few minutes they were at the door of the cabin. Bright-eye dismounted and took off his fur cap. "I am back after a long absence. Give me your blessing."