“He’s every inch a warrior,” Ross replied quietly. “And every inch a man,” was the quick rejoinder. “But a savage, still.” “Yes. But a savage whose valor is equaled by his honor, whose thirst for fame and power is tempered by his sense of right and justice. He has the good of his people at heart; he believes their cause is just——” “Can you say as much for the English, who are urging the Indians to take up the hatchet against the Americans?” Douglas interrupted. “Have they the good of the savages at heart?” Bradford laughed a forced, uneasy laugh as he answered: “Please don’t interrupt me with ill-timed questions. That’s a matter of national ethics—a problem that you and I cannot grasp or solve. It would be useless for us to discuss it. We look at it from different standpoints. You’re an American; I’m an——” “American, also,” Ross interjected. The older man sharply eyed his companion for a half minute. Then he said slowly: “You’re a keen and intuitive observer. By birth I _am_ an American; but I’m in the service of the British, and bound to do their will. To return to Tecumseh, he’s the noblest Indian I’ve ever met. He is the soul of honor—the personification of manly courage. His word is as good as his bond. His people trust him, love him. Had he been at the Prophet’s Town there would have been no battle. He wished to avoid a conflict until he was ready for it. But a general Indian war is coming—inevitably. The Americans will be arrayed on one side; the Indians and British on the other. The Americans will fight to hold what they have gained; the savages, to regain what they have lost; the English, to add to their territory. You have learned much since you’ve been a prisoner. It wouldn’t do to have you escape and return to your people. A captive you must remain.” Bradford ceased speaking, but Douglas offered no word in reply. The former resumed: “Tenskwatawa, also, is a wonderful man. He’s eloquent, cunning, forceful.” “He’s a cowardly scoundrel!” Ross said savagely. “Yes,” Bradford admitted, “he’s a coward. I don’t admire him. He’s a hypocritical knave. But he’s devoted to La Violette, and you can’t deny that he’s shrewd and eloquent.” “No.” “Nor can you explain the power he exercises over his people.” Ross shook his head. “It’s something wonderful, startling, uncanny. The more I see of it, the more I’m puzzled. I have felt it——” “And I.” “You?” “Yes.” “When?” “To-day.” “Ah! And yet you cannot understand it?” “No.” “It _is_ strange—very,” Bradford remarked musingly. “He says he receives his power from the Great Spirit. I’m not a believer in miracles; yet, for all I know, he tells the truth. But he has the power—there’s no gainsaying that. You didn’t come completely under his influence?” “No; but I should have done so if I hadn’t exerted all my will-power and removed my eyes from the talisman—his sign.” “I understand. Well, I’m hungry. Let’s hunt something to eat.” “Where did he obtain the ring?”