Tayoga took from a pocket in his deerskin tunic eight buttons about three quarters of an inch in diameter and made of polished and shining elk’s horn, except one side which had been burned to a darker color.  From another pocket he drew a handful of beans and laid them in one heap.  Then he shook the buttons in the palm of his hand, and put them down in the center of the table.  Six white sides were turned up and taking two beans from the common heap he started a pile of his own.  He threw again and obtained seven whites.  Then he took four beans.  A third throw and all coming up white twenty beans were subtracted from the heap and added to his own pile.  But on the next throw only five of the whites appeared, and as at least six of the buttons had to be matched in order to continue his right of throwing he resigned his place to Robert, who threw with varying fortune until he lost in his turn to Tayoga.

“A crude Indian game,” said de Mezy in a sneering tone, and the two satellites, Nemours and Le Moyne, laughed once more.  Robert and Tayoga did not pay the slightest attention to them, concentrating their whole attention upon the sport, but Willet said quietly: 

“I’ve seen wise chiefs play it for hours, and the great men of the Hodenosaunee would be great men anywhere.”

Angry words gathered on the lips of de Mezy, but they were not spoken.  He saw that he was at a disadvantage, and that he would lose prestige if he kept himself in a position to be snubbed before his own people by two strange youths.  At length he said:  “Farewell until morning,” and stalked out, followed by his satellites.  Others soon followed but Robert and Tayoga went on with their game of the deer buttons.  They were not interrupted until Monsieur Berryer bowed before them and asked if they would have any more refreshment.

“No, thank you,” said Robert, and then he added, as if by afterthought, although he did not take his eyes from the buttons:  “What sort of a man at sword play is this de Mezy?”

“Very good!  Very good, sir,” replied the innkeeper, “that is if his eyes and head are clear.”

“Then if he is in good condition it looks as if I ought to be careful.”

“Careful, sir!  Careful!  One ought always to be careful in a duel!”

“In a way I suppose so.  Monsieur Berryer.  But I fancy it depends a good deal upon one’s opponent.  There are some who are not worth much trouble.”

Monsieur Berryer’s eyes stood out.  Robert had spoken with calculated effect.  He knew that his words uttered now would soon reach the ears of Jean de Mezy, and it was worth while to be considered a miraculous swordsman.  He had read the count’s mind when he stood at his elbow, shuddering a little at the thought that a prodigy with the blade might be sitting there, and he was resolved to make the thought return once more and stay.

“And, sir, you distinguish between swordsmen, and find it necessary to make preparation only for the very best?  And you so young too!” said the wondering innkeeper.