“Wonderful! And it may be that you can tell how the arrow was made, O Great Powwow.”
“’Twas headed with an eagle’s claw and tipped with gray feathers. Three blue marks were on it, O Noawama.”
David frowned. “Now as to that I wonder,” he said. “None saw the arrow save we three. How then could you know that the head was not of stone or the horn of the deer?”
“Did I not tell you I could guess your secret?”
“Aye, but methinks you are not guessing, Pikot. And how know you that the messenger came unarmed and wearing a panther-skin?”
“How know you that I speak true?” asked Pikot, smiling.
“I do not know,” replied David ruefully, “but I would almost take oath to it. Saw you this Wachoosett, Pikot?”
Pikot shook his head. “Nay.”
“Then how—”
“The Wachoosetts be fond of panther-skins, David, and the braves wear them much, as I know. As for the knife, an Indian
