The murmur from the Miamis became deep and long, but Big Fox gazed once more at the fire, painted, silent, and immovable.
"It was war when I was in the Shawnee village, a moon ago," said a chief, Yellow Panther, "and it was war belts that we expected.

Why have the Shawnees changed their minds ?" Murmurs of approval greeted his words, but Big Fox never stirred.
"The old men, the wise men of the Shawnees have so decided," he replied.
"It is not for the bearer of the belts to question their wisdom." "If the Shawnees wish to wait long to prepare, the Miamis must wait, too," said the chief, Gray Beaver, in whose veins flowed the cold and languid blood of old age.
The younger chiefs murmured again.

Big Fox was conscious that a powerful faction of the Miamis wished to go on a winter war path, and strike the settlements at once.

But Big Fox was still unafraid.

He was a forest diplomatist as well as a forest warrior, and he played for the most precious of all stakes, the lives of his people.
"The great chiefs of the Shawnees have lived long," he said.