"What do you think?"
"We do not know for certain. But"—and the Mohican's voice became quietly ferocious—"if a war-arrow ever struck this Wyandotte between the shoulders I think every tree-cat in the Long House would squall at the condoling council."
"You think this Wyandotte an Erie in disguise?" I asked incredulously.
"We Indians of different nations are asking that question of each other, Loskiel."
"What is the mind of the Grey-Feather concerning this?" I asked, horrified.
"Oneida and Stockbridge begin to believe as I believe."
"That this creature is a spy engaged to lead us to our deaths? Do they believe that this self-styled Wyandotte is an infamous Erie?"
"We so believe, Loskiel. We are not yet certain."
"But you who have taken Erie scalps should know——"
"We know an Erie by his paint and lock; by his arms and moccasins. But when an Erie wears none of these it is not easy to determine exactly what he might be. There is, in the Western nation, much impure blood, much mixing of captive and adopted prisoners with the Seneca conquerors. If an Erie wear cats' claws at the root of his scalp-lock, even a blind Quaker might know him. If one of their vile priests wear his hair in a ridge, then, unless he be a Nez Perce, there need be no doubt. But this man dresses and paints and conducts like no Erie I have ever seen. And yet I believe him one, and a Sachem at that!"