The Ensign, Loskiel, laughed, asking what forest-flies were buzzing at his ear.

Loskiel spits on Cats, and brushes their flying hatchets from his ears as others brush mosquitos!" "Let him speak, then, to prove it!" shouted the Erie, incredulously.
But I remained silent.
Then the Erie's ferocious laugh rang out from the cliff.
"Now, you Mohican slave and you Oneida dogs, you shall know the power of Amochol.

For what was done to Loskiel and to the Praying Mole, will be done to you all on the last day of this month, when the Dream Feast is held at Catharines-town! You shall die.

And others shall die--not as you, but on the red altar of the Great Sachem Amochol! Strangled, disemboweled, sacrificed to clothe Atensi!" The Grey-Feather, unable any longer to retain his self-control, was getting to his feet, staring wildly up at the cliff; but the Mohican drew him back into his form and held him there with powerful grip.
"Listen," he hissed, "to what this warlock blabbs." The Erie laughed, evidently awaiting a retort.

None came, and he laughed again triumphantly.
"Amochol's arm is long, O you Oneida dogs who howl outside the Long House gates! Amochol's eyes are like the white-crested eagle's eyes, seeing everything, and his ears are like the red buck's ears, so that nothing stirs unheard by him.
"Phantoms arise and walk at night; Amochol sees.