hair, braided half-way
with crimson silk shot with silver, then hanging a cloudy shock of black
to the belted waist?

Here was no Iroquois youth--no adolescent of the Long House attired for
any rite I ever heard of. The hip-leggings were of magnificent Algonquin
work; the quill-set, sinew-embroidered moccasins, too. That stringy,
iridescent veil of rose, scarlet, and gold wampum on the naked body was
_de fantasie_; the belt and knife-sheath pure Huron. As for the
gipsy-like arrangement of the hair, no Iroquois boy ever wore it that
way; it hinted of the _gens de prairie_. What on earth did it mean?
There was no paint on limb or body to guide me. Never had I seen such a
being so dressed for any rite or any practise in North America! Oh, if
Little Otter were only here! I stole a glance out of the loop, but saw
nothing save the pale sunshine on the weeds. If the Oneida had arrived,
he had surely already found my horse tied in the lilac thicket, and
surely he would follow me where the weeds showed him I had passed. He
might wait for a while; but if I emerged not from the house I knew he
would be after me, smelling along like a wolfhound until he had tracked
me to a standstill. Should I wait for him? I looked at the kneeling
figure. So absorbed was the strange young Indian in the document on the
floor that I strained my eyes to make out its script, but could not
decipher even the corner of the paper exposed to my view. Then it
occurred to me that it was a strange thing for an Indian to read. Scarce
one among the Iroquois, save Brant and the few who had been to Dr.
Wheelock's school, knew A from Zed, or could more than scrawl their
clan-mark to a birchen letter.

Suspicious lest, after all, I had to do with a blue-eyed Indian or
painted Tory, I examined the unconscious reader thoroughly. And, after
a little while, a strange apprehension settled into absolute conviction
as I looked. So certain was I that every gathered muscle relaxed; I
drew a deep, noiseless breath of relief, smiling to myself, and stepped
coolly forward, letting the secret door swing to behind me with a
deadened thud.

Like a startled tree-cat the figure sprang to its feet, whirling to
confront me. And I laughed again, for I was looking into the dark,
dilated eyes of a young girl.

"Have no fear," I began quietly; and the next instant the words were
driven into my throat, for she was on me in one bound, hunting-knife
glittering.

Round the walls we re