find the Sagamore, when a shape loomed up on my left. And I reached out and rested my hand on the shadowy shoulder, and stood so, swaying against the stream.
Suddenly a voice said, in the Seneca dialect:
“Is it thou, Butler?”
And every drop of blood froze in my body.
God knows how I found voice to answer “Yes,” and how I found courage to let my hand remain upon my enemy’s shoulder.
“It is I, Hiokatoo,” said the low voice.
“Move forward,” I said; and dropped my hand from his shoulder.
Somehow, although I could see nothing, all around me in the water I felt the