Then all of us sat down and a pipe was lit and handed by the chief to Ringan.

He took a puff and gave it to one of the other Indians, who handed it to me.

With that ceremony over, the tongue of the chief seemed to be unloosed.

"The Sachem comes," he said, and an old man sat himself down beside us.
He was a strange figure to meet in an Indian camp.

A long white beard hung down to his middle, and his unshorn hair draped his shoulders like a fleece.