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Updated: June 18, 2025
And now it seemed to me that from the very first I had vaguely realized a sense of unwonted comradeship with this Siwanois.
The Erie's lifeless fist still clutched the painted casse-tete with which he had aimed a silently murderous blow at the Sagamore. Grey-Feather drew the death-maul from the dead warrior's grasp, and handed it to the Siwanois.
The Sagamore of the Siwanois Mohicans is welcome in this army and at the headquarters of this regiment. He is now one of us; his pay is the pay of a captain in the rifles.
Presently the Siwanois checked me and whispered: "Yonder squats your Wyandotte sentinel." "Where? I can not see him." "On that flat rock by the deep water, seeming a part of it." "Are you certain?" "Yes, Loskiel." "You saw him move?" "No. But a Siwanois of the Magic Clan makes nothing of darkness. He sees where he chooses to see. "Mayaro," said I, "what do you make of this Wyandotte?"
In every trail they stand, these ghosts of the Kanonsi, Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga ghosts of the Tuscarora. The Mohawk beasts who wear the guise of men are there. Mayaro spits upon them! And upon their League! And upon their Atotarho the Siwanois spit!" Suddenly his arm shot out and he grasped the hilt of my knife, drew it from my belt, and then slowly returned it.
Nor did I even hint my suspicions, because distrust in the mind of such a man as Boyd would be very difficult to eradicate, and the slightest mishandling of our delicate situation might alienate the Sagamore forever. Yet, of one thing I had become almost convinced: the Siwanois, while we slept, met and held communication with somebody outside our camp.
And I saw that the compliment had told. "Mayaro has heard," he said, without the slightest emphasis of resentment. Then, proudly and delicately yielding me reason, and drawing his superb figure to its full and stately height: "When a Mohican Sagamore listens, all Algonquins listen, and the Siwanois clan grow silent in the still places. When a real man speaks, real men listen with respect.
For only a Sagamore of the Enchanted Clan might stand as witness to the mystery, where now the awful, viewless form of Tharon was supposed to stand, white winged and plumed, and robed like the Eight Thunders in snowy white. "Listen, Loskiel," he said, "my younger brother, blood-brother to a Siwanois. Listen, also, O Rosy-Throated Pigeon of the Woods home from the unseen flight to mate at last!"
But I knew he had seen me somewhere, and preferred not to admit it. Indian caution, thought I, and I said: "Is my brother Siwanois or Mohican?" A cunning expression came into his features: "If a Siwanois marries a Mohican woman, of what nation are the children, my new brother, Loskiel?"
"With my honour, General." "Very well, sir.... And your Mohican Loup he can perform what he has promised? Guide us straight to Catharines-town, I mean?" "He has said it." "Aye but what is your opinion of that promise?" "A Siwanois Sagamore never lies." "You trust him?" "Perfectly. We are blood-brothers, he and I." "Oho!" said the General, nodding. "That was cunningly done, sir." "No, sir.
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