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"I knew the cave led us from the Sachem's Cave to the Sachem's Mound, and I forgot for a moment how the fellows disposed of their dead. We must search the platform. Peter, make a ladder again." Moore mounted nimbly enough this time. I followed him. The kywash had no more terrors for us, and we penetrated beyond the fleshless dead into the further extremity of the sepulchre.
"Hold on, Peter," I cried, and leaped down to the floor of the cave. "It's all right, Moore," I said. "Don't you remember the picture in old Lafitau's 'Moeurs des Sauvages Americains'? We are in a burying-place of the Cherouines, and the seated man is only the kywash, 'which is an image of woode keeping the deade." "Ass that I am!" cried Moore.
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