"Cayuga," I replied, wondering. "Cayuga, of course—wait!—why, this is a Seneca war-arrow!—you can see by the shaft and nock and the quills set inside the fibres!"
"I told you!" observed the Weasel, grimly nudging Mount.
Mount stood silent and serious, watching me picking up arrow after arrow from the charred sheaf on my knees.
"Here is a Shawanese hunting-shaft," I said, startled, "and—and this—this is a strange arrow to me!"
I held up a slender, delicate arrow, beautifully made and tipped with steel.
"That," said Mount, gravely, "is a Delaware arrow."
"The Lenape!" I cried, astonished. Suddenly the terrible significance of these blackened arrows came to me like a blow. The Lenni-Lenape had risen, the Senecas and Shawanese had joined the Cayugas. The Long House was in revolt.
"Mount," I said, quietly, "does Colonel Cresap know this?"
The Weasel nodded.
"We abandon the fort to-night," he said. "We can't face the Six Nations—here."