they have not made of her a priestess — a sorceress — perhaps The Dreaming Prophetess of the Onon-hou-aroria! — by reason of her throat being white!”

“What!” I exclaimed, startled.

“Did not the Erie boast a Prophetess to confound us all?”

“I did not comprehend.”

“Did he not squat, squalling at us from his cave, deriding every secret plan we entertained, and boasting that the Senecas had now a prophetess who could reveal to them everything their white enemies were plotting — because her own throat was white?”

I looked at him in silent horror.

“Hai-ee!” he said grimly.