They did not speak again. The moccasined feet made no noise on the cleared ground, and it seemed a long time before they could hear the log fall from the door. There were voices outside. At last the door swung open, and the Long Arrow, bottle in hand, came clumsily into the hut and stood unsteadily in the square of moonlight. He looked about as if he could not see them. Teganouan had come in behind him; and the door swung to, creaking. "The White Chief is the brother of the Long Arrow," said the chief, speaking slowly and with an effort to make his words distinct. "He loves the Onondagas. Deep in his mind are the thoughts of the young white brave who lived in our villages and hunted with our braves and called the mighty Big Throat his father. He never forgets what the Onondagas have done for him. He has a grateful heart." The effort of speaking was confusing to the chief. He paused, as if to collect his ideas, and looked stupidly at the three silent figures before him. "... grateful heart," he repeated. "The Long Arrow has a grateful heart, too. He remembers the kind words of the white men who come to his village and tell him of the love of the Great Mountain. He never forgets that the Big Buffalo is his brother--he never forgets. When the Big Buffalo took his son from the hunting party of the Onondagas he did not forget." Menard did not listen further. He was looking about the hut with quick, shifting eyes, now at the chief in the moonlight, now at Teganouan, who stood at one side in the shadow, now at the door. Could Teganouan be trusted to help them? He glanced sharply at the warrior, who was looking at his chief with an alert, cunning expression. His musket lay carelessly in the hollow of his arm, his knife and hatchet hung at his waist. The chief had only his knife; in his hand was the bottle, which he held loosely, now and then spilling a few drops of the liquor. "The Long Arrow nev'r f'rgets,"--the chief's tongue was getting the better of him. "His house is lonely, where the fire burns alone and the young warr'r who once laid 's blanket,--laid 's blanket by the fire, no long'r 's there to warm the heart of the Long Arrow. But now his loneliness is gone. Now when he comes from the hunt to 's house he'll find a new fire, a bright fire, and a new squaw to warm 's heart--warm 's heart." He swayed a little as he spoke, and Teganouan took a short step forward; but the chief drew himself up and came slowly across the patch of moonlight. His eyes were unnaturally bright, and they rolled uncertainly from one to another of the little group before him. His coarse black hair was matted and tangled, and the eagle feathers that at the council had stood erect from his head now drooped, straggling, to one side.