Four messengers from the Swampy Land People had come to beg the Great Chief of the Onondagas not to raid them any longer.

We will give you anything you ask of us. Food, baskets, canoes, anything we make. We only ask to be allowed enough to live, the Swampy Land spokesman had pleaded. Take one out of four of our women and our children. Only leave enough of us so that we may survive as a people.

Hah, Atatarho had laughed. What enjoyment will there be in that for us? Why do you think your offer means anything? We are strong and can take whatever we want from you, you who are as weak as rabbits. We, who are wolves, we will come whenever we decide. If you do not fight us—as we wish you to—we will just kill all of your men and take your women and children to be ours. They will die—just as three of you will die now.

Then he had made a fist and waved it at the three Swampy Land men behind the man who had stepped forward to speak. Without hesitation, his bodyguards had raised their clubs and leaped upon the unarmed Swampy Land messengers, killing those three and leaving only the spokesman who had begged for peace.

Now, Atatarho had said to the shocked survivor, carry my message back to your people.

The memory of what had been done to those pitiful Swampy Land messengers was the reason that only Holds the Door Open and Burnt Hair had been sent to speak to Atatarho. If his decision was to kill, leaving one alive to carry back his message, then just one man would die.

Burnt Hair and Holds the Door Open stood there, backs still straight, waiting for the cruel chief to break the silence. The midday heat from Elder Brother Sun beat down upon them. Okwaho could see beads of sweat running down their foreheads.

Atatarho’s men also waited, looking down at their own feet. Over the Creek, the tall, scarred man who had been close to both of them, was trying to show no emotion, but the way he kept sucking in his lips showed Okwaho that the thought of killing one of his former friends must be troubling him.

Then Atatarho leaned over and smiled down at them. It was a smile that held no kindness. It was more like the expression on the face of a bear as it shows its teeth before attacking.

“Ask your question,” he said, his voice as deep and ominous as a roll of thunder.

Holds the Door Open took a step forward, hands held out before him with his palms up.

“If we abandon our new village and return to Onondaga, what will happen?”