Then it was passed on to all the subchiefs, and everyone smoked it in gravity and silence.

The smoke circled up in rings against the low roof, and every man sat upon his mat of skins, painted, motionless, and wordless.

The young chief, Big Fox, waited.

Though his eyes never turned, he saw every detail of the scene, and he was conscious of the tense and breathless silence.

He was conscious, too, of the immense dangers that surrounded his comrades and himself, but fear was not in his heart.
"My brethren have come to the Miami village with a message from their friends, the Shawnees," said the ancient chief at last.
"It is so," said Big Fox.
"The hearts of the Shawnees are filled with hatred of the white men, who have come into the hunting grounds beyond the Ohio, and who cut down trees and build houses there." "It is so." Big Fox's gaze never wavered.