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But the Grey-Feather was ghastly; his bony features were painted like a skull, spine, ribs, and limb-bones traced out heavily in yellowish white so that he seemed a stalking and articulated skeleton as he moved in the dim twilight of the trees. And I could see that he was very proud of the effect.
Boyd was a prisoner, together with Sergeant Parker; all the others were dead to a man, excepting possibly my three Indians, Mayaro, Grey-Feather, and Tahoontowhee, who Boyd had sent in to report us before we had sighted the Senecas, and who might possibly have escaped the ambuscade.
I ventured to remind him of the General's instructions that we find the Chinisee Castle and report at sunrise. "Damn it, I know it," he retorted impatiently, "but I have my own plans; and the General will bear me out when I fling Amochol's scalp at his feet." The Grey-Feather drew me aside and said in a low, earnest voice: "We are too many to surprise Amochol.
As the last arrow fell, flared a moment, then merely smoked, an insulting laugh came from aloft, and my Indians uttered fierce exclamations and cuddled their rifle-stocks close to their cheeks, fairly trembling for a shot. "Dogs of Oneidas!" called the Erie. "Go howl for your dead pig of a Stockbridge slave." "The Mole wears his scalp with Tharon!" retorted the Grey-Feather, choking with fury.
Then we noiselessly summoned the Grey-Feather, and he crept up to the log defence, rifle in hand, to sit there alone until his three hours' duty was finished, when the Yellow Moth and Tahoontowhee should take his place. It was already after sunrise when I was awakened by the tinkle of a cow-bell.
"He is with his God Tharon or Christ, whichever it may be, Loskiel." "The Mole must not be scalped," said Tahoontowhee softly. "If the Senecas pass that way they will have at last one thing to boast of." I said to the Mohican: "Hold the Erie. The Night-Hawk and I will go back and bury our dead against Seneca profanation." "Let the Grey-Feather go, Loskiel." "No. The Mole was Christian.
"Men in the woods," he whispered, "creeping up from the South. They saw no fire and prowled no nearer than panthers prowl when they know a camp is awake." "Senecas," I said briefly. "We make a night march of it. Remain on guard here. The Grey-Feather will bring your pack to you when we pick you up."
Judge, therefore, O Sagamore, judge, you Yellow Moth, and you Oneidas Grey-Feather, with your war-chief's feather and your Sachem's ensign, Tahoontowhee, chieftain to be judge, all of you, where the real glory lies whether behind us in the rifle smoke or before us in the red glare of Amochol's accursed altar!" They had been listening to every word as I walked beside them.
I had been asleep but a few moments, it seemed to me, when the Grey-Feather awoke me for my turn at guard duty; and the Mohican and I rose from our blankets, reprimed our rifles, crept out from under the laurel and across the shadowy rock-strewn knoll to our posts. The rocky slope below us was almost clear to the river, save for a bush or two. Nothing stirred, no animals, not a leaf.
We had been walking swiftly while we spoke together in low and guarded tones; now I nodded my comprehension, sheered off to the right, took the trail-lead, replacing the Stockbridge Mole, and signalled the nearest Oneida, Grey-Feather, to join Mayaro on the left flank.
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