During the whole of this conversation, War–Eagle sat in unmoved silence, occasionally puffing out a whiff from the fragrant herb in his pipe. Reginald met the unexpected danger with the straightforward, daring courage which was the characteristic of his mind; Baptiste with the cool resolution which was the result of a life of stratagems, perils, and escapes. “War–Eagle,” said the former, “you speak true; Grande–Hâche and I have shut our eyes and ears; but they are now open; I see your warriors.” The Indian turned his searching eye full upon the speaker; he met a look bold, open, fearless as his own. “Where can my white brother see warriors?” he inquired. “Their guns are across yonder log,” said Reginald; “and their muzzles are pointed here.” “It is so,” said War–Eagle; “the red men are on the war–path; they seek blood; is my white brother not afraid?” “War–Eagle is a chief,” replied the young man; “he cannot lie,—he has said that his white brother is as safe as in the wigwam of his father!” Again the Indian bent a scrutinising look upon the countenance of the speaker, and again met the same smile of fearless confidence. With more emotion than he had yet shown, he said, “The Great Spirit has given to my white brother the big heart of a Lenapé!” He now made a signal to his ambuscade to come forth, on which they started up from behind the large fallen tree which had hitherto screened them, and advanced slowly towards the camp. They were three in number; two of them active looking men, of moderate stature, but of symmetrical proportions; the third a lad, apparently about seventeen years old; the faces of the two former were painted with black stripes, which gave them an appearance at once fierce and grotesque; they were lightly clad in hunting–shirts, leggins, and mocassins, all of elk–skin, and each carried a tomahawk, scalp–knife, and the gun before mentioned; the young lad carried no other weapon but the gun; his hunting–shirt was fancifully ornamented with tassels of porcupine quills, and was fastened at the waist by a belt studded with party–coloured beads; his leggins were fringed, and his mocassins were also braided with the quills of the porcupine; in figure he was slight and tall; as he drew near, Reginald thought his countenance even more remarkable than that of War–Eagle: indeed its beauty would have been almost effeminate, had it not been for the raven blackness of the hair, and the piercing fire of the dark eyes. The three came forward in silence, the lad being rather in advance of the others, and stood before the War–Eagle.