“What?”

“He may be Huron; he may be a Seneca-Huron. But we Indians think differently, Loskiel.”

“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?”