"A Mohican Sagamore insults a dirty priest of Amochol! I do you honour by offering you battle, with knife, with hatchet, with rifle, with naked hands! Choose, spawn of Atensi—still-born kitten of Iuskeha, choose! Not one soul except myself will raise hand against you. By Tharon, I swear it! Choose! And the victor passes freely and whither he wills!"
The Erie mocked him from his high perch:
"Squirrels talk! Long since has your Tharon been hurled headlong into Biskoonah by Atensi and her flaming grandson!"
At this awful blasphemy, the Mohican fairly blanched so that under his paint his skin grew ashy for a moment.
The Grey-Feather shouted:
"Lying and degraded priest! Mowawak Cannibal of a Sinako Cat! It is Atensi herself who burns with Iuskeha in Biskoonah; and the sacrilegious fires lick your altars!"
The Erie laughed horribly:
"Where is your fool of a stripling called Loskiel? Is he there with you? Or did my hatchet fetch him such a clip that he died of fright and a bullet in his belly?"
"He is unharmed," replied the Mohican, tauntingly. "A squaw shoots better than a Cat!"
"A lie! I saw my rifle blow a hole in his body!"