“Amen,” said the Mole, lifting his calm eyes to the roof of leaves above.

An owl began to hoot — one of those great, fierce cat-owls of the North. Every Indian listened.

The Sagamore said pleasantly to the Wyandotte:

“It is as though he were calling the lynxes together — as Amochol the Accursed summons his Cat-People to the sacrifice.”

“I know nothing of Amochol and his sacrifices,” said the Wyandotte carelessly.

“Yet you Wyandottes border the Western Gate.”

The Huron shrugged.

“Hear the Eared One squall,” said Grey-Feather, as the great owl yelled through the darkening forest.