XXII
WE MEET RED DEATH AND BLACK DEATHThe crashing of branches sounded as some heavy body ran along the Doom Trail.
"Did ye hear that screech?" shouted a rough voice.
"Yaas, Red, me hear him. He bery much like feller feel something he not like."
Peter nudged me, and Ta-wan-ne-ars seized the bow and quiver of one of the dead Keepers. We crouched beside the bodies behind the sumac screen. My gun was still where I had left it in the gully by which I had approached the lair of the watchers. In its stead I selected the musket of the man the Seneca had just knifed.
"Funny they don't answer us—'nless that was an answer we heard," continued the rough voice. "Give 'em another hail in their own lingo."
A third voice was raised—in the Cahnuaga dialect, which was a corruption of the Iroquois sp
