not know; only I judge by the boasting of that vile Erie Cat that she has bought her life of them by dreaming for their Red Priest. And if she has done this thing, and has deceived them until this day, then it is very plain to me that they believe her to be a witch. For it is true, Loskiel, that those who dream wield heavy influences among all Indians — and among the Iroquois in particular. Yet, with all this, I doubt not that, if she truly be alive, her life hangs by a single thread, ever menaced by the bloody knife of Amochol.”

“I can not understand,” said I, “why she sent out no appeal during her long captivity. Before this war broke, had her messengers to Lois gone to Sir William Johnson, or to Guy Johnson, with word that the Senecas held in their country a white woman captive, she had