I said coolly: "It must have been Amochol—and his Erie sorcerers! How came you in Catharines-town?"
"I? In Catharines-town!" she faltered. "Was I, then, ever there?"
I pointed at the drawing of the dead white dog.
"Somebody saved you from that hellish sacrifice. I tell you it is plain enough to read. The rite is practiced only by the red sorcerers of the Senecas.... Look! It was because your 'neck' was 'white'! Look again! Here is the symbol of the Cat-People—the Eries—the acolytes of Amochol—here! This spread lynx-pad with every separate claw extended! Yet, it is drawn severed—in symbol of your escape. Lois! Lois! It is plain enough. I follow it all—almost all—nearly—but not quite——"
I hesitated, studying the bark intently, pausing to look at her with a new and keenly searching question in my gaze.
"You have not shown me all," I said.
"All that is written in the Iroquois tongue. But there were other things in the packet with this bark letter." She opened it again upon her lap.
"Here is a soldier's belt-buckle," she said, offering it to me for my inspection.
It was made of silver and there were still traces of French gilt upon the device.
"Regiment de la Reine," I read. "What regiment is that, Lois? I'm sure I've heard of it somewhere. Oh! Now I remember. It was a very celebrated French regiment—cut all to pieces at Lake George by Sir William Johnson in '55. This is an officer's belt-buckle."