“It is true,” said Tayoga gravely, “but a shadow gathers in the north.  The children of Corlear wish to plow the land and raise corn, but the sons of Onontio go into the forest and become hunters and warriors with the Hurons.  It is easy for the man in the woods to shoot down the man in the field.”

“You put it well, Tayoga,” exclaimed Willet.  “That’s the kernel in the nut.  The English settle upon the land, but the French take to the wild life and would rather be rovers.  When it comes to fighting it puts our people at a great disadvantage.  I know that some sort of a wicked broth is brewing at Quebec, but none of us can tell just when it will boil over.”

“Have you ever been to Quebec, Dave?” asked Robert.

“Twice.  It’s a fortress on a rock high above the St. Lawrence, and it’s the seat of the French power in North America.  We English in this country rule our selves mostly, but the French in Canada don’t have much to say.  It’s the officials sent out from France who govern as they please.”

“And you believe they’ll attack us, Dave?”

“When they’re ready, yes, but they intend to choose time and place.  I think they’ve been sending war belts to the tribes in the north, but I can’t prove it.”

“The French in France are a brave and gallant race, Dave, and they are brave and gallant here too, but I think they’re often more cruel than we are.”

It was in David Willet’s mind to say it was because the French had adapted themselves more readily than the English to the ways of the Indian, but consideration for the feelings of Tayoga restrained him.  The wilderness ranger had an innate delicacy and to him Tayoga was always a nobleman of the forest.

“You’ve often told me, Dave,” said Lennox, “that I’ve French blood in me.”

“There’s evidence pointing that way,” said Willet, “and when I was in Quebec I saw some of the men from Northern France.  I suppose we mostly think of the French as short and dark, but these were tall and fair.  Some of them had blue eyes and yellow hair, and they made me think a little of you, Robert.”

Young Lennox sighed and became very thoughtful.  The mystery of his lineage puzzled and saddened him at times.  It was a loss never to have known a father or a mother, and for his kindest and best friends to be of a blood not his own.  The moments of depression, however, were brief, as he had that greatest of all gifts from the gods, a cheerful and hopeful temperament.

The three began to paddle with renewed vigor.  Gasna Gaowo, the canoe in which they sat, was a noble example of Onondaga art.  It was about sixteen feet in length and was made of the bark of the red elm, the rim, however, being of white ash, stitched thoroughly to the bark.  The ribs also were of white ash, strong and flexible, and fastened at each end under the rim.  The prow, where the ends of the bark came together, was quite sharp, and the canoe, while very light and apparently frail, was exceedingly strong, able to carry a weight of more than a thousand pounds.  The Indians surpassed all other people in an art so useful in a land of many lakes and rivers and they lavished willing labor upon their canoes, often decorating them with great beauty and taste.