I thought I knew you, there at Major Lockwood's house in Poundridge.

It was your name, Loskiel, and your knowledge of your red brothers, that stirred my suspicions.

And when I learned that Guy Johnson had sheltered you, then I was surer still." "Who, then, am I ?" I asked, bewildered.
The three Indians were staring at me as though that murderer aloft on his eyrie did not exist.

I, too, had forgotten him for the moment; and it was only the loud explosion of his smooth-bore that shocked us to the instant necessity of the situation.
The bullet screamed through the leaves above us; we clapped our rifles to our cheeks, striving to glimpse him.

Nothing moved on the rocky shelf.
"He fired to signal his friends," whispered the Mohican.