Chapter I R enno， the white Indian adopted by the Seneca when he was an infant， dreaded each winter and the bone- chilling cold that swept across the land from the lakes that lay to the north and west. The chill seeped into his very marrow， and he was tired of fighting the elements， tired of the constant battle for survival in the raw wilderness of North America. Though this winter， his sixtieth， was coming to an end， he felt the full exhaustion of the struggle against it， and his sleep each night， as this night， was very deep and dream-f dled. In his dream， he found himself standing in a forest glade， and the season was no longer winter. It was summer now. The grass was deep and green and lush， the bushes 1
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