I called to Tawannears as he was led by me.
"What happened? My eyes were shut. I——"
"Your Orenda is powerful, brother," he replied seriously. "It has spread its hand over our heads. Hawenneyu has used it to answer the prayer of Tawannears."
I was no less puzzled by this, but Peter cackled shrilly.
"Look adt your chest," he squeaked.
I bent my head. My chest was bare, unscarred. All it showed was the little deerskin pouch Guanaea had hung around my neck by a thong the day we left Deonundagaa, which had stayed by me through all our adventures. No Indian would have dreamed of taking it from me, for it contained my medicine, and the possibilities for evil inherent in interference with another man's medicine were boundless.
I regarded the pouch idly, my mind occupied with the thought that it was practically the only possession with which I had started upon our journey that was still with me—and I was startled to see a slit in its front. I looked at it more closely. Yes, there was a slit, such a slit as an arrow-head might make.
What had Tawannears said?
"Your Orenda is powerful, brother."
And what had Guanaea said in hanging it there?