The winter, it seemed, was exerting itself to show how fine a day it
could produce. It was cold but dazzling. A gorgeous sun, all red and
gold, was rising, and the light was so vivid and intense that they
could see far in the forest, bare of leaf. Robert clearly discerned
both De Courcelles and Jumonville about six hundred yards away,
standing by one of the fires. Then he saw the gigantic figure of
Tandakora, as the Ojibway joined them. Despite the cold, Tandakora
wore little but the breechcloth, and his mighty chest and shoulders
were painted with many hideous devices. In the distance and in the
glow of the flames his size was exaggerated until he looked like one
of the giants of ancient mythology.
Robert was quite sure the siege would never be raised if the voice of
the Ojibway prevailed in the allied French and Indian councils.
Tandakora had been wounded twice, once by the hunter and once by the
Onondaga, and a mind already inflamed against the Americans and the
Hodenosaunee cherished a bitter personal hate. Robert knew that
Willet, Tayoga and he must be eternally on guard against his murderous
attacks.
The savages built their fires higher, as if in defiance and
triumph.
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