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Updated: June 5, 2025
Catrine Montour closed her horrible little eyes, threw back her head, and, marking time with her flat foot, began to chant. She chanted the glory of the Long House; of the nations that drove the Eries, the Hurons, the Algonquins; of the nation that purged the earth of the Stonish Giants; of the nation that fought the dreadful battle of the Flying Heads.
"Perhaps also the Senecas and Cayugas; for this she-devil, Catrine Montour, is a Huron-Seneca, and her nation will follow her.
He backed off down the road, followed by Redstock, rifles cocked. "An' ye'll bear me out," he shouted, "that there's them wha' hear these words now shall meet their weirds ere a hunter's moon is wasted!" He laughed his insane laugh and, throwing his rifle over his shoulder, halted, facing us. "Hae ye no heard o' Catrine Montour?" he jeered. "She'll come in the night, Andrew Bowman!
She looked at me, dreamily. "There are none ... that I fear." "Not even Catrine Montour?" I asked, to plague her. "No; it turns me cold to think of her running in the forest, but I am not afraid." She stood pensive in the doorway, rolling and unrolling her embroidery. Harry and Cecile came out, flourishing alder poles from which lines and hooks dangled.
She looked up at me thoughtfully; there was not in her face the slightest trace of the deep emotions which had shocked me. "A tribal fire is lighted somewhere," she mused. "Chiefs like Brant do not travel alone unless unless he came to consult that witch Catrine Montour, or to guide her to some national council-fire in the North."
Arms akimbo, the thing planted itself before me, mouthing and slavering in fury. "The Toad-woman! Catrine Montour! The Toad-witch!" groaned the Senecas, shrinking back, huddling together as the hag whirled about and pointed at them. "I want him! I want him! Give him to me!" yelped the Toad-woman. "Fools! Do you know where you are? Do you know this grove of maple-trees?"
No, we veteran riflemen knew that this motley army of Butler and McDonald, if it had indeed lost a few rattles, had however parted with none of its poison fangs. Also, Amochol still lived. And it had been still another Montour of the wily and accursed Frontenac breed "Anasthose the Huron" who had encompassed the destruction of Braddock.
As the canoes touched the bank, Catharine Montour rose from her crouching position and uttered a long, piercing wail, so full of grief, rage, and despair that the three in the bushes shuddered. It was fiercer than the cry of a wolf, and it came back from the dark forest in terrifying echoes. "It's not a woman, but a fiend," whispered Henry; and, as before, his comrades nodded in assent.
Say what you will, my comrade and blood-brother, there is sorcery abroad; and well I know who wrought it, spinning with spiders' webs there by the lost Lake of Kendaia " He shuddered slightly. "There by the black waters of the lake that hag and all her spawn!" "Catharine Montour!" "The Toad-woman herself and all her spawn." "The Senecas?" "And the others," he said in a low voice.
It was when he asked me to apply my taste for genealogical work to his own obscure family history that I made the discovery that he had in him a share of the blood of the Iroquois chief Montour and his French wife, a terrible woman who ruled the savage politics of the tribes of the Wilderness two hundred years ago.
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