"Unless we can stir him to move and expose himself, we must lose him. For his fellows will surely track us to this place."
"Good God! By what unfortunate accident should such a hiding place exist so near!" I said miserably.
The Sagamore's stern visage slightly relaxed.
"It is no accident, Loskiel. Do you not suppose he knew it was here? Else he had never dared attempt what he did."
"The vile Witch-cat has been here many a time," said the Grey-Feather, his ferocious gaze fixed on the cliff.
"Is the Mole dead?" I asked.
"He is with his God—Tharon or Christ, whichever it may be, Loskiel."
"The Mole must not be scalped," said Tahoontowhee softly. "If the Senecas pass that way they will have at last one thing to boast of."
I said to the Mohican:
"Hold the Erie. The Night-Hawk and I will go back and bury our dead against Seneca profanation."