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Updated: May 24, 2025
It was here that the Sagamore made his kill just beyond the first house, in some alders; and he came back with a Seneca scalp at his girdle, as did the Grey-Feather also. "Hiokatoo's warriors," remarked the Oneida briefly, wringing out his scalp and tying it to his belt. I looked up at the hills in sickened silence.
I asked incredulously. "We Indians of different nations are asking that question of each other, Loskiel." "What is the mind of the Grey-Feather concerning this?" I asked, horrified. "Oneida and Stockbridge begin to believe as I believe." "That this creature is a spy engaged to lead us to our deaths? Do they believe that this self-styled Wyandotte is an infamous Erie?" "We so believe, Loskiel.
As I ascended the rocky pulpit, both the Grey-Feather and the Stockbridge were standing erect and wide awake, packs strapped and slung, rifles in hand. "Senecas," I said. "Too many for us." "Are we not to strike?" asked the Oneida wistfully, as the Mohican came swiftly up the rock followed by the Wyandotte, who seemed inclined to lag. "Why did you quit your post?" I asked him bluntly.
At this awful blasphemy, the Mohican fairly blanched so that under his paint his skin grew ashy for a moment. The Grey-Feather shouted: "Lying and degraded priest! Mowawak Cannibal of a Sinako Cat! It is Atensi herself who burns with Iuskeha in Biskoonah; and the sacrilegious fires lick your altars!" The Erie laughed horribly: "Where is your fool of a stripling called Loskiel?
As we rose and I shouldered my rifle, the Grey-Feather began to sing in a low, musical, chanting voice; and all the Indians turned merry faces toward Lois and me as they nodded time to the refrain: "Continue to listen and hear the truth, Maiden Hidden and Hidden Youth. The song of those who are 'more than men'! *Thi-ya-en-sa-y-e-ken!"
"One man will never draw fire from an ambush," said the Grey-Feather cunningly. "The wild drake swims first into the net; the flock follows." "Why does my younger brother of the Oneida believe that we need fear any ambush at yonder ford?" asked the Wyandotte so frankly that again I felt that I could credit no ill of any man who spoke so fairly. "Listen to the crows," returned the Oneida.
The Grey-Feather, unable any longer to retain his self-control, was getting to his feet, staring wildly up at the cliff; but the Mohican drew him back into his form and held him there with powerful grip. "Listen," he hissed, "to what this warlock blabbs." The Erie laughed, evidently awaiting a retort. None came, and he laughed again triumphantly.
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