CHAPTER XIX
AMOCHOL
By daybreak we had salted our parched corn, soaked, and eaten it, andmy Indians were already freshening their paint. The Sagamore, strippedfor battle, barring clout and sporran, stood tall and powerfullymagnificent in his white and vermilion hue of war. On his broad chestthe scarlet Ghost Bear reared; on his crest the scarlet feathersslanted low. The Yellow Moth was unbelievably hideous in the poisonoushue of a toad-stool; his crest and all his skin glistened yellow,shining like the sulphurous belly of a snake. But the Grey-Feather wasghastly; his bony features were painted like a skull, spine, ribs, andlimb-bones traced out heavily in yellowish white so that he seemed astalking and articulated skeleton as he moved in the dim twilight ofthe trees. And I could see that he was very proud of the effect.
As for the young and ambitious Night Hawk, he had simply made onemurderous symbol of himself--a single and terrific emblem of his entirebody, for he was painted black from head to foot like an Iroquoisexecutioner, and his skin glistened as the plumage of a sleek crowshines in the sunlight of a field. Every scalp-lock was neatly braidedand oiled; every crown shaven; every knife and war-axe and rifle-barrelglimmered silver bright under the industrious rubbing; flints had beenrenewed; with finest priming powder pans reprimed; and now all myIndians squatted amiably together in perfect accord, very loquacious intheir guarded voices, Iroquois, Mohican, and Stockbridge, foregatheringas though there had never been a feud in all the world.
Through the early dusk of morning, Lois had stolen away, havingdiscovered a spring pool to bathe in, the creek water being dark andbitter; and I had freshened myself, too, when she returned, her softcheeks abloom, and the crisp curls still wet with spray.
When we had eaten, the Sagamore rose and moved noiselessly down theheight of land to the trail level, where our path entered the ghostlygloom of the evergreens. I followed; Lois followed me, springinglightly from tussock to rotting log, from root to bunchy swale, swift,silent footed, dainty as a lithe and graceful panther crossing a morassdry-footed.
Behind her trotted in order the Yellow Moth, Tohoontowhee, and lastlythe Grey-Feather--"Like Father Death herding us all to destruction,"whispered Lois in my ear, as I halted while the Sagamore surveyed thetrail ahead with cautious eyes.
As we moved forward once more, I glanced around at Lois and thought Inever had seen such fresh and splendid vigor in any woman. Nor had Iever seen her in such a bright and happy spirit, as though the nearnessto the long sought goal was changing her every moment, under my veryeyes, into a lovelier and more radiant being than ever had trod thiswar-scarred world.
While we had eaten our hasty morning meal, I had told her what I hadlearned of the Vale Yndaia; and this had excited her more than anythingI ever saw to happen to her, so that her grey eyes sparkled withbrilliant azure lights, and the soft colour flew from throat to brow,waxing and waning with every quick-drawn breath.
She wore also, and for the first time, the "moccasins for flyingfeet"--and ere she put them on she showed them to me with eager andtender pride, kissing each soft and beaded shoe before she drew it overher slender foot. Around her throat, lying against her heart, nestledher father's faded picture. And as we sped I could hear her murmuringto herself:
"Jean Coeur! Jean Coeur! Enfin! Me voici en chemin!"
North, always north we journeyed, moving swiftly on a level runway, or,at fault, checked until the Sagamore found the path, sometimes pickingour dangerous ways over the glistening bog, from swale to log, nowleaping for some solid root or bunch of weed, now swinging acrossquicksands, hanging to tested branches by our hands.
Duller grew the light as the foliage overhead became denser, until wecould scarce see the warning glimmer of the bog. Closer, taller, moreunkempt grew the hemlocks on every hand. In the ghostly twilight wecould not distinguish their separate spectral trunks, so close theygrew together. And it seemed like two solid walls through which wound adusky corridor of mud and bitter tasting water.
Then, far ahead a level gleam caught my eye. Nearer it grew andbrighter; and presently out of the grewsome darkness of the swamp westepped into a lovely oval intervale of green ferns and grasses, setwith oak trees, and a clear, sweet thread of water dashing through it,and spraying the tall ferns along its banks so that they quivered andglistened with the sparkling drops. And here we saw a little birdflitting--the first we had seen that day.
At the western end of the oval glade a path ran straight away as far aswe could see, seeming to pierce the western wall of the hills. Thelittle brook followed at.
As Lois knelt to drink, the Sagamore whispered to me:
"This is the pass to the Vale Yndaia! You shall not tell her yet--nottill we have dealt with Amochol."
"Not till we have dealt with Amochol," I repeated, staring at thenarrow opening which crossed this black and desolate region like astreak of sunshine across burnt land.
Tahoontowhee examined the trail; nothing had passed since the lastrain, save deer and fox.
So I went over to where Lois was bathing her flushed face in the tinystream, and lay down to drink beside her.
"The water is cold and sweet," she said, "not like that bitter water inthe swamp." She held her cupped hands for me to drink from. And Ikissed the fragrant cup.
As we rose and I shouldered my rifle, the Grey-Feather began to sing ina low, musical, chanting voice; and all the Indians turned merry facestoward Lois and me as they nodded time to the refrain:
"Continue to listen and hear the truth, Maiden Hidden and Hidden Youth. The song of those who are 'more than men'! *Thi-ya-en-sa-y-e-ken!"
[* "They will (live to) see it again!"]
"It is the chant of the Stone Throwers--the Little People!" saidMayaro, laughing. "Ye two are fit to hear it."
"They are singing the Song of the Hidden Children," I whispered toLois. "Is it not strangely pretty?"
"It is wild music, but sweet," she murmured, "--the music of the LittlePeople--che-kah-a-hen-wah."
"Can you catch the words?"
"Aye, but do not understand them every one."
"Some day I will make them into an English song for you. Listen! 'TheVoices' are beginning! Listen attentively to the Chant of*Ta-neh-u-weh-too!"
[* "Hidden in the Husks."]
The Night Hawk was singing now, as he walked through the sunlit glade,hip-deep in scented ferns and jewel-weed. Two brilliant humming-birdswhirled around him as he strode.
A VOICE
"Who shall find my Hidden Maid Where the tasselled corn is growing? Let them seek her in Kandaia, Let them seek her in Oswaya, Where the giant pines are growing, Let them seek and be afraid! Where the Adriutha flowing Splashes through the forest glade, Where the Kennyetto flowing Thunders through the hemlock shade, Let them seek and be afraid, From Oswaya To Yndaia, All the way to Carenay!"
ANOTHER VOICE
"Who shall find my Hidden Son Where the tasselled corn is growing? Let them seek my Hidden One From the Silver Horicon North along the Saguenay, Where the Huron cocks are crowing, Where the Huron maids are mowing Hay along the Saguenay; Where the Mohawk maids are hoeing Corn along the Carenay, Let them seek my Hidden Son, West across the inland seas, South to where the cypress trees Quench the flaming scarlet flora Of the painted Esaurora, Drenched in rivers to their knees! *Honowehto! Like Thendara! [* "They have vanished."] Let them hunt to Danascara Back along the Saguenay, On the trail to Carenay, Through the Silver Horicon Till the night and day are one! Where the Adriutha flowing Sings below Oswaya glowing. Where the sunset of Kandaia Paints the meadows of Yndaia, Let them seek my Hidden Son 'Till the sun and moon are one!"
*TE-KI-E-HO-KEN [* "Two Voices (together)."]
* "Nai Shehawa! She lies sleeping, [* "Behold thy children!"] Where the green leaves closely fold her! He shall wake first and behold her Who is given to his keeping; He shall strip her of her leaves Where she sleeps amid the sheaves, Snowy white, without a stain, Nothing marred
of wind or rain. So from slumber she shall waken, And behold the green robe shaken From his shoulders to her own! *Ye-ji-se-way-ad-kerone!" [* "So ye two are laid together."]
The pretty song of the Hidden Children softened to a murmur and diedout as our trail entered the swamp once more, north of the oval glade.And into its sombre twilight we passed out of the brief gleam ofsunshine. Once more the dark and bitter water coiled its tortuouschannel through the slime; huge, gray evergreens, shaggy andforbidding, towered above, closing in closer and closer on every side,crowding us into an ever-narrowing trail.
But this trail, since we had left the sunny glade, had become harderunder foot, and far more easy to travel; and we made fast time alongit, so that early in the afternoon we suddenly came out into that vastbelt of firm ground and rocky, set with tremendous oaks and pines andhemlocks, on the northern edge of which lies Catharines-town, on bothbanks of the stream.
And here the stream rushed out through this country as thoughfrightened, running with a mournful sound into the northern forest; andthe pines were never still, sighing and moaning high above us, so thatthe never ceasing plaint of wind and water filled the place.
And here, on a low, bushy ridge, we lay all day, seeing in the forestnot one living thing, nor any movement in that dim solitude, save wherethe grey and wraith-like water tossed a flat crest against some fallentree, or its dull and sullen surface gleamed like lead athwart thevalley far ahead.
My Indians squatted, or sprawled prone along the ridge; Lois lay flaton her stomach beside me, her chin resting on her clasped hands. Wetalked of many things that afternoon--of life as we had found it, andwhat it promised us--of death, if we must find it here in these woodsbefore I made her mine. And of how long was the spirit's trail toGod--if truly it were but a swift, upward flight like to the rushing ofan arrow already flashing out of sight ere the twanging buzz of thebow-string died on the air. Or if it were perhaps a long, slow, painfuljourney through thick night, toilsome, blindly groping, wings adrooptrailing against bruised heels. Or if we two must pass by hell, withinsight and hearing of the thunderous darkness, and feel the rushing windof the pit hot on one's face.
Sometimes, like a very child, she prattled of happiness, which she hadnever experienced, but meant to savour, wedded or not--talked to methere of all she had never known and would now know and realize withinher mother's tender arms.
"And sometimes, Euan, dreaming of her I scarce see how, within myheart, I can find room for you also. Yet, I know well there is room forboth of you, and that one without the other would leave my happinessbut half complete.... I wonder if I resemble her? Will she know me--andI her? How shall we meet, Euan--after more than a score of years? Shewill see my moccasins, and cry out! She will see my face and know me,calling me by name! Oh, happiness! Oh, miracle! Will the night nevercome!"
"Dear maid and tender! You should not build your hopes too high, sothat they crush you utterly if they must fall to earth again."
"I know. Amochol may have slain her. We will learn all when you takeAmochol--when God delivers him into your hands this night.... How willyou do it, Euan?"
"Take him, you mean?"
"Aye."
"We lie south, just outside the fire-ring's edge. Boyd watches themfrom the north. His signal to us begins the business. We leap straightfor the altar and take Amochol at its very foot, the while Boyd's heavyrifles deal death on every side, keeping the others busy while we aresecuring Amochol. Then we all start south for the army, God willing,and meet our own people on the high-ridge east of us."
"But Yndaia!"
"That we will scour the instant we have Amochol."
"You promise?"
"Dearest, I promise solemnly. Yet--I think--if your mother lives--shemay be here in Catharines-town tonight. This is the Dream Feast, Lois.I and my Indians believe that she has bought her life of Amochol bydreaming for them. And if this be true, and she has indeed become theirProphetess and Interpreter of Dreams, then this night she will besurely here to read their dreams for them."
"Will we see her before you begin the attack?"
"Little Lois, how can I tell you such things? We are to creep up closeto the central fire--as close as we dare."
"Will there be crowds of people there?"
"Many people."
"Warriors?"
"Not many. They are with Hiokatoo and Brant. There will be hunters andSachems, and the Cat-People, and the Andastes pack, and many women. TheFalse Faces will not be there, nor the Wyoming Witch, nor the ToadWoman, because all these are now with Hiokatoo and Walter Butler. Forwhich I thank God and am very grateful."
"How shall I know her in this fire-lit throng?" murmured Lois, staringahead of her where the evening dusk had now veiled the nearer treeswith purple.
Before I could reply, the Sagamore rose from his place on my left, andwe all sprang lightly to our feet, looked to our priming, covered ourpans, and trailed arms.
"Now!" he muttered, passing in front of me and taking the lead; and weall filed after him through the open forest, moving rapidly, almost ona run, for half a mile, then swung sharply out to the right, where thetrees grew slimmer and thinner, and plunged into a thicket of hazel andosier.
"I smell smoke," whispered Lois, keeping close to me.
I nodded. Presently we halted and stood in silence, minute afterminute, while the purple dusk deepened swiftly around us, and overheada few stars came out palely, as though frightened.
Then Mayaro dropped noiselessly to the ground and began to crawlforward over the velvet moss; and we followed his example, feeling ourway with our right hands to avoid dry branches and rocks. From time totime we paused to regain our strength and breathe; and the last time wedid so the aromatic smell of birch-smoke blew strong in our nostrils,and there came to our ears a subdued murmur like the stirring ofpine-tops in a steady breeze. But there were no pines around us now,only osier, hazel, and grey-birch, and the deep moss under foot.
"A house!" whispered the Yellow Moth, pointing.
There it stood, dark and shadowy against the north. Another loomeddimly beyond it; a haystack rose to the left.
We were in Catharines-town.
And now, as we crawled forward, we could see open country on our left,and many unlighted houses and fields of corn, dim and level against theencircling forest. The murmur on our right had become a sustained anddistinct sound, now swelling in the volume of many voices, nowsubsiding, then waxing to a dull tumult. And against the borders of thewoods, like a shining crimson curtain shifting, we could see the redreflection of a fire sweeping across the solid foliage.
With infinite precautions, we moved through the thicket toward it, theglare growing yellower and more brilliant as we advanced. And now weremained motionless and very still.
Massed against the flare of light were crowded many people in a vast,uneven circle ringing a great central fire, except at the southern end.And here, where the ring was open so that we could see the huge fireitself, stood a great, stone slab on end, between two round mounds ofearth. It was the altar of Amochol, and we knew it instantly, where itstood between the ancient mounds raised by the Alligewi.
The drums had not yet begun while we were still creeping up, but theybegan now, muttering like summer thunder, the painted drummers marchinginto the circle and around it twice before they took their places tothe left of the altar, squatting there and ceaselessly beating theirhollow sounding drums. Then, in file, the eight Sachems of thedishonoured Senecas filed into the fiery circle, chanting and timingtheir slow steps to the mournful measure of their chant. All wore theSachem's crest painted white; their bodies were most barbarouslystriped with black and white, and their blankets were pure white,crossed by a single blood-red band.
What they chanted I could not make out, but that it was some blasphemywhich silently enraged my Indians was plain enough; and I laid aquieting hand on the Sagamore's shaking arm, cautioning him; and hetouched the Oneidas and the Stockbridge, one by one, in warning.
Oppo
site us, the ruddy firelight played over the massed savages, women,children, and old men mostly, gleaming on glistening eyes, sparkling onwampum and metal ornaments. To the right and left of us a few knivesand hatchets caught the firelight, and many multi-coloured plumes andblankets glowed in its shifting brilliancy.
The eight Sachems stood, tall and motionless, behind the altar; thedrumming never ceased, and from around the massed circle rose a lowsing-song chant, keeping time to the hollow rhythm of the drums:
* "Onenh are oya Egh-des-ho-ti-ya-do-re-don Nene ronenh 'Ken-ki-ne ne-nya-wenne!"
[* "Now again they decided and said: 'This shall be done!'"]
Above this rumbling undertone sounded the distant howling of dogs inCatharines-town; and presently the great forest owls woke up, yelpinglike goblins across the misty intervale. Strangely enough, the dulledpandemonium, joined in by dog and owl and drum and chanting savages,made but a single wild and melancholy monotone seeming to suit the timeand place as though it were the voice of this fierce wilderness itself.
Now into the circle, one by one, came those who had dreamed and must beanswered--not as in the old-time and merry Feast of Dreams, where therites were harmless and the mirth and jollity innocent, if rough--forAmochol had perverted the ancient and innocent ceremony, making of afourteen-day feast a sinister rite which ended in a single night.
I understood this more clearly now, as I lay watching the proceedings,for I had seen this feast in company with Guy Johnson on the Kennyetto,and found in it nothing offensive and no revolting license orblasphemy, though others may say this is not true.
Yet, how can a rite which begins with three days religious services,including confession of sins on wampum, be otherwise than decent? Asfor the rest of the feast, the horse-play, skylarking, dancing,guessing contests--the little children's dance on the tenth day, theDance for Four on the eleventh, the Dance for the Eight Thunders on thethirteenth--the noisy, violent, but innocent romping of the FalseFaces--all this I had seen in the East, and found no evil in it and nodebauchery.
But what was now already going on I had never seen at any Iroquoisfeast or rite, and what Amochol had made of this festival I dared notconjecture as I gazed at the Dreamers now advancing into the circlewith an abandon and an effrontery scarcely decent.
Six young girls came first, naked except for a breadth of fawn-skinfalling from waist to instep. Their bodies were painted vermilion frombrow to ankle; they carried in their hands red harvest apples, whichthey tossed one to another as they move lightly across the open spacein a slow, springy, yet not ungraceful dance.
Behind them came a slim maid, wearing only a black fox-head, and thesoft pelt dangling from her belt, and the tail behind. She was painteda ruddy yellow everywhere except a broad line of white in front, like afox's belly; and, like a fox, too, her feet and hands were paintedblack.
Following her came eight girls plumed in spotless white and clothedonly in white feathers--aping the Thunders, doubtless; but even to me,a white man and a Christian, it was a sinister and evil sight to seethis mockery as they danced forward, arms entwined, and the snowyplumes floating out in the firelight, disclosing the white paintedbodies which the firelight tinted with rose and amber lights.
Then came dancing other girls, dressed in most offensive mockery of theharmless and ancient rite--first the Fire Keeper, crowned with oakleaves instead of wild cherry, and wearing a sewed garment made of oaktwigs and tufted leaves, from which the acorns hung. Followed two girlsin cloaks of shimmering pine-needles, and wearing wooden masks,dragging after them the carcasses of two white dogs, to "Clothe theMoon Witch!" they cried to the burly Erie acolyte who followed them,his heavy knife shining in his hand.
Then the Erie disemboweled the strangled dogs, cast their entrails intothe fire, and kicked aside the carcasses, shouting:
"Atensi stands naked upon the Moon! What shall she wear to cover her?"
"The soft hide of a Hidden Child!" answered a Sachem from behind thealtar. "We have so dreamed it."
"It shall be done!" cried the Erie; and, lifting himself on tip toe, hethrew back his brutal head and gave the Panther Cry so that his voicerang hideously through the night.
Instantly into the circle came scurrying the Andastes, some wearing theheads of bulls, some of wolves, foxes, bears, their bodies paintedhorribly in raw reds and yellows, and running about like a pack ofloosened hounds. All their movements were wild and aimless, and likeanimals, and they seemed to smell their way as they ran about hitherand thither, sniffing, listening, but seldom looking long or directlyat any one thing.
I was sorely afraid that some among them might come roving and muzzlinginto the bushes where we lay; but they did not, gradually gatheringinto an uneasy pack and settling on their haunches near the dancinggirls, who played with them, and tormented them with branches of hazel,samphire and green osier.
Suddenly a young girl, jewelled with multi-coloured diamonds of paint,and jingling all over with little bells, came dancing into the ring,beating a tiny, painted drum as she advanced. She wore only a narrowsporran of blue-birds' feathers to her knees, glistening blue moccasinsof the same plumage, and a feathered head dress of the scarletfire-bird. Behind her filed the Cat-People, Amochol's hideous acolytes,each wearing the Nez Perce ridge of porcupine-like hair, the lynx-skincloak and necklace of claws; and all howling to the measure of thelittle painted drum. I could feel Mayaro beside me, quivering witheagerness and fury; but the time was not yet, and he knew it, as didhis enraged comrades.
For behind the Eries, moving slowly, came a slender shape, shrouded inwhite. Her head was bent in the shadow of her cowl; her white woolvestments trailed behind her. Both hands were clasped together underher loose robe. On her cowl was a wreath of nightshade, with its dullpurple fruit and blossoms clustering around her shadowed brow.
"Who is that?" whispered Lois, beginning to tremble, "God knows," Isaid. "Wait!"
The shrouded shape moved straight to the great stone altar and stoodthere a moment facing it; then, veiling her face with her robe, sheturned, mounted the left hand mound, and seated herself, head bowed.
Toward her, advancing all alone, was now approaching a figure, painted,clothed, and plumed in scarlet. Everything was scarlet about him, hismoccasins, his naked skin, the fantastic cloak and blanket, girdle,knife-hilt, axe shaft, and the rattling quiver on his back--nay, thevery arrows in it were set with scarlet feathers, and the loopedbowstring was whipped with crimson sinew.
The Andastes came moaning, cringing, fawning, and leaping about hisknees; he noticed them not at all; the Cat-People, seated in asemicircle, looked up humbly as he passed; he ignored them.
Slowly he moved to the altar and laid first his hand upon it, thenunslung his bow and quiver and laid them there. A great silence fellupon the throng. And we knew we were looking at last upon the ScarletPriest.
Yes, this was Amochol, the Red Sachem, the vile, blaspheming,murderous, and degraded chief who had made of a pure religion a horror,and of a whole people a nation of unspeakable assassins.
As the firelight flashed full in his face, I saw that his features werenot painted; that they were delicate and regular, and that the skin waspale, betraying his French ancestry.
And good God! What a brood of demons had that madman, Frontenac, begotto turn loose upon this Western World! For there appeared to be aMontour in every bit of devil's work we ever heard of--and it seemed asthough there was no end to their number. One, praise God, had beenslain before Wyoming--which some said enraged the Witch, his mother, tothe fearsome deeds she did there--and one was this man's sister, LynMontour--a sleek, lithe girl of the forest, beautiful and depraved. Butthe Toad Woman, mother of Amochol, was absent, and of all the Montoursonly this strange priest had remained at Catharines-town. And him wewere now about to take or slay.
"Amochol!" whispered the Sagamore in my ear.
"I know," I said. "It is strange. He is not like a monster, after all."
"He is beautiful," whispered Lois.
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I stared at the pale, calm face over which the firelight played. Thefeatures seemed almost perfect, scarcely cruel, yet there was in theeyes a haunting beauty that was almost terrible when they became fixed.
To his scarlet moccasins crept the Andastes, one by one, and squattedthere in silence.
Then a single warrior entered the ring. He was clad in the ancientarrow-proof armour of the Iroquois, woven of sinew and wood. His facewas painted jet black, and he wore black plumes. He mounted the easternmound, strung his bow, set an arrow to the string, and seated himself.
The red acolytes came forward, and the slim Prophetess bent her headtill the long, dark hair uncoiled and fell down, clouding her to thewaist in shadow.
"Hereckenes!" cried Amochol in a clear voice; and at the sound of theirancient name the Cat-People began a miauling chant.
"Antauhonorans!" cried Amochol.
Every Seneca took up the chant, and the drums timed it softly andsteadily.
"Prophetess!" said Amochol in a ringing voice. "I have dreamed that theMoon Witch and her grandson Iuskeha shall be clothed. With what, then,shall they be clothed, O Woman of the Night Sky? Explain to my peoplethis dream that I have dreamed."
The slim, white-cowled figure answered slowly, with bowed head,brooding motionless in the shadow of her hair:
"Two dogs lie yonder for Atensi and her grandson. Let them be paintedwith the sun and moon. So shall the dream of Amochol come true!"
"Sorceress!" he retorted fiercely. "Shall I not offer to Atensi andIuskeha two Hidden Children, that white robes may be made of theirunblemished skins to clothe the Sun and Moon?"
"Into the eternal wampum it is woven that the soft, white skins shallclothe their bodies till the husks fall from the silken corn."
"And then, Witch of the East? Shall I not offer them when the husks arestripped?"
"I see no further than you dream, O Amochol!"
He stretched out his arm toward her, menacingly:
"Yet they shall both be strangled here upon this stone!" he said."Look, Witch! Can you not see them lying there together? I have dreamedit."
She silently pointed at the two dead dogs.
"Look again!" he cried in a loud voice. "What do you see?"
She made no reply.
"Answer!" he said sharply.
"I have looked. And I see only the eternal wampum lying at myfeet--lacking a single belt."
With a furious gesture the Red Priest turned and stared at the dancinggirls who raised their bare arms, crying:
"We have dreamed, O Amochol! Let your Sorceress explain our dreams tous!"
And one after another, as their turns came, they leaped up from theground and sprang forward. The first, a tawny, slender, mocking thing,flung wide her arms.
"Look, Sorceress! I dreamed of a felled sapling and a wolverine! Whatmeans my dream?"
And the slim, white figure, head bowed in her dark hair, answeredquietly:
"O dancer of the Na-usin, who wears okwencha at the Onon-hou-aroria,yet is no Seneca, the felled sapling is thou thyself. Heed lest thewolverine shall scent a human touch upon thy breast!" And she pointedat the Andastes.
A dead silence followed, then the girl, horror struck, shrank back, herhands covering her face.
Another sprang forward and cried:
"Sorceress! I dreamed of falling water and a red cloud at sunsethanging like a plume!"
"Water falls, daughter of Mountain Snakes. Every drop you saw was adead man falling. And the red cloud was red by reason of blood; and theplume was the crest of a war chief."
"What chief!" said Amochol, turning his deadly eyes on her.
"A Gate-Keeper of the West."
The shuddering silence was broken by the eager voice of another girl,bounding from her place--a flash of azure and jewelled paint.
"And I, O Sorceress! I dreamed of night, and a love song under themillion stars. And of a great stag standing in the water."
"Had the stag no antlers, little daughter?"
"None, for it was spring time."
"You dreamed of night. It shall be night for a long while--for ages andages, ere the stag's wide antlers crown his head again. For the antlerswere lying upon a new made grave. And the million stars were the lightsof camp-fires. And the love-song was the Karenna. And the water youbeheld was the river culled Chemung."
The girl seemed stunned, standing there plucking at her fingers,scarlet lips parted, and her startled eyes fixed upon the white-drapedsibyl.
"Executioner! Bend your bow!" cried Amochol, with a terrible stare atthe Sorceress.
The man in woven armour raised his bow, bent it, drawing the arrow tothe tip. At the same instant the Prophetess rose to her feet, flungback her cowl, and looked Amochol steadily in the eyes from the shadowof her hair.
So, for a full minute in utter silence, they stared at each other; thenAmochol said between his teeth:
"Have a care that you read truly what my people dream!"
"Shall I lie?" she asked in even tones. And, quivering with impotentrage and superstition, the Red Priest found no word to answer.
"O Amochol," she said, "let the armoured executioner loose his shaft.It is poisoned. Never since the Cat-People were overthrown has apoisoned arrow been used within the Long House. Never since theAtotarho covered his face from Hiawatha--never since the snakes werecombed from his hair--has a Priest of the Long House dared to doubt theProphetess of the Seneca nation. Doubt--and die!"
Amochol's face was like pale brown marble; twice he half turned towardthe executioner, but gave no signal. Finally, he laid his hand flat onthe altar; the executioner unbent his bow and the arrow drooped fromthe painted haft and dangled there, its hammered iron war-head glintingin the firelight.
Then the Prophetess turned and stood looking out over the throngthrough the thick, aromatic smoke from the birch-fire, and presentlyher clear voice rang through the deathly silence:
"O People of the Evening Sky! Far on the Chemung lie many dead men. Isee them lying there in green coats and in red, in feathers and inpaint! Through forests, through mountains, through darkness, have myeyes beheld this thing. There is a new thunder in the hills, and redfire flowers high in the pines, and a hail falls, driving earthward iniron drops that slay all living things.
"New clouds hang low along the river; and they are not of the watermist that comes at twilight and ascends with the sun. Nor is this newthunder in the hills the voice of the Eight White Plumed Ones; nor isthe boiling of the waters the stirring of the Serpent Bride.
"Red run the riffles, yet the sun is high; and those who would cross atthe ford have laid them down to dam the waters with their bodies.
"And I see fires along the flats; I see flames everywhere, towns onfire, corn burning, hay kindling to ashes under a white ocean ofsmoke--the Three Sisters scorched, trampled, and defiled!" She liftedone arm; her spellbound audience never stirred.
"Listen!" she cried, "I hear the crashing of many feet in northwardflight! I hear horses galloping, and the rattle of swords. Many who runare stumbling, falling, lying still and crushed and wet with blood. I,Sorceress of the Senecas, see and hear these things; and as I see andhear, so must I speak my warning to you all!"
She whirled on Amochol, flinging back her hair. Her skin was as whiteus my own!
With a stifled cry Lois sprang to her feet; but I caught her and heldher fast.
"Good God!" I whispered to the Sagamore. "Where is Boyd?"
The executioner had risen, and was bending his bow; the Sorceressturned deathly pale but her blue eyes flashed, never swerving from thecruel stare of Amochol.
"Where is Boyd?" I whispered helplessly. "They mean to murder her!"
"Kill that executioner!" panted Lois, struggling in my arms. "In God'sname, slay him where he stands!"
"It means our death," said the Sagamore.
The Night Hawk came crouching close to my shoulder. He had unslung andstrung his little painted bow of an adolescent, and was fitting thenock of a slim arr
ow to the string.
He looked up at me; I nodded; and as the executioner clapped his heelstogether, straightened himself, and drew the arrow to his ear, we hearda low twang! And saw the black hand of the Seneca pinned to his own bowby the Night Hawk's shaft.
So noiselessly was it done that the fascinated throng could not atfirst understand what had happened to the executioner, who sprang intothe air, screamed, and stood clawing and plucking at the arrow whilehis bow hung dripping with blood, yet nailed to his shrinking palm.
Amochol, frozen to a scarlet statue, stared at the contortions of theexecutioner for a moment, then, livid, wheeled on the Prophetess,shaking from head to foot.
"Is this your accursed magic?" he shouted. "Is this your witchcraft,Sorceress of Biskoonah? Is it thus you strike when threatened? Then youshall burn! Take her, Andastes!"
But the Andastes, astounded and terrified, only cowered together in aswaying pack.
Restraining Lois with all my strength, I said to the Mohican:
"If Boyd comes not before they take her, concentrate your fire onAmochol, for we can not hope to make him prisoner----"
"Hark!" motioned the Sagamore, grasping my arm. I heard also, and sodid the others. The woods on our left were full of noises, the trampleof people running, the noise of crackling underbrush.
We all thought the same thing, and stood waiting to see Boyd's onsetbreak from the forest. The Red Priest also heard it, for he had turnedwhere he stood, his rigid arm still menacing the White Sorceress.
Suddenly, into the firelit circle staggered a British soldier, hatless,dishevelled, his scarlet uniform in rags.
For a moment he stood staring about him, swaying where he stood, thenwith a hopeless gesture he flung his musket from him and passed ashaking hand across his eyes.
"O Amochol!" cried the Sorceress, pointing a slim and steady finger atthe bloody soldier. "Have I dreamed lies or have I dreamed the truth?Hearken! The woods are full of people running! Do you hear? And have Ilied to you, O Amochol?"
"From whence do you come?" cried Amochol, striding toward the soldier.
"From the Chemung. Except for the dead we all are coming--Butler andBrant and all. Bring out your corn, Seneca! The army starves."
Amochol stared at the soldier, at the executioner still writhing andstruggling to loose his hand from the bloody arrow, at the Sorceresswho had veiled her face.
"Witch!" he cried, "get you to Yndaia. If you stir elsewhere you shallburn!"
He had meant to say more, I think, but at that moment, from thesouthern woods men came reeling out into the fire-circle--ghastly,bloody, ragged creatures in shreds of uniforms, green, red, andbrown--men and officers of Sir John's regiment, men of Butler'sRangers, British regulars. On their heels glided the Seneca warriors,warriors of the Cayugas, Onondagas, Caniengas, Esauroras, and here andthere a traitorous Oneida, and even a few Hurons.
Pell-mell this mob of fighting men came surging through thefire-circle, and straight into Catharines-town, while I and my Indianscrouched there, appalled and astounded.
I saw Sir John Johnson come up with the officers of his two battalionsand a captain, a sergeant, a corporal, and fifteen British regulars.
"Clear me out this ring of mummers!" he said in his cold, penetratingvoice. "And thou, Amochol, if this damned town of thine be stocked,bring out the provisions and set these Eries a-roasting corn!"
I saw McDonald storming and cursing at his irregulars, where the poorbrutes had gathered into a wavering rank; I saw young Walter Butlerharanguing his Rangers and Senecas; I saw Brant, calm, noble, stately,standing supported by two Caniengas while a third examined his woundedleg.
The whole place was a tumult of swarming savages and white men; alreadythe Seneca women, crowding among the men, were raising the death wail.The dancing girls huddled together in a frightened and half-nakedgroup; the Andastes cowered apart; the servile Eries were staggeringout of the corn fields laden with ripe ears; and the famished soldierswere shouting and cursing at them and tearing the corn from their armsto gnaw the raw and milky grains.
How we were to withdraw and escape destruction I did not clearly see,for our path must cross the eastern belt of forest, and it was stillswarming with fugitives arriving, limping, dragging themselves in fromthe disaster of the Chemung.
Hopeless to dream of taking or slaying Amochol now; hopeless to thinkof warning Boyd or even of finding him. Somewhere in the North he hadmet with obstacles which delayed him. He must scout for himself, now,for the entire Tory army was between him and us.
"There is but one way now," whispered the Mohican.
"By Yndaia," I said.
My Indians were of the same opinion.
"I should have gone there anyway," said Lois, still all a-quiver, andshivering close to my shoulder. I put my arm around her; every muscleof her body was rigid, taut, yet trembling, as a smooth and finelyturned pointer trembles with eagerness and powerful self-control.
"Amochol has driven her thither," she whispered. "Shall we not be onour way?"
"Can you lead, Mayaro?" I whispered.
The Mohican turned and crawled southward on his hands and knees, movingslowly.
"For God's sake let them hear no sound in this belt of bush," Iwhispered to Lois.
"I am calm, Euan. I am not afraid."
"Then fallow the Sagamore."
One by one we turned and crept away southward; and I was ever fearfulthat some gleam from the fire, catching our rifle-barrels or axe-heads,might betray us. But we gained the denser growth undiscovered, thenrose to our feet in the open forest and hurried forward in file,crowding close to keep in touch.
Once Lois turned and called back in a low, breathless voice;
"I thank Tahoontowhee from my heart for his true eye and his avengingarrow."
The young warrior laughed; but I knew he was the proudest youth in allthe West that night.
The great cat-owls were shrieking and yelping through the forest as wesped southward. My Indians, silent and morose, their vengeance unslakedand now indefinitely deferred, moved at a dog trot through the forest,led by the Sagamore, whose eyes saw as clearly in the dark as my own byday.
And after a little while we noticed the stars above us, and felt fernsand grass under our feet, and came out into that same glade from whenceruns the trail to Yndaia through the western hill cleft.
"People ahead!" whispered the Sagamore. "Their Sorceress and six Eries!"
"Are you certain?" I breathed, loosening my hatchet.
"Certain, Loskiel. Yonder they are halted within the ferns. They are atthe stream, drinking."
I caught Lois by the wrist.
"Come with me--hurry!" I said, as the Indians darted away and began tocreep out and around the vague and moving group of shadows. And as wesped forward I whispered brokenly my instructions, conjuring her toobey.
We were right among them before they dreamed of our coming; not awar-cry was uttered; there was no sound save the crashing blows ofhatchets, the heavy, panting breathing of those locked in a deathstruggle, the deep groan and coughing as a knife slipped home.
I flung a clawing Erie from me ere his blood drenched me, and he fellfloundering, knifed through and through, and tearing a hole in myrifle-cape with his teeth as he fell. Two others lay under foot; myOneidas were slaying another in the ferns, and the Sagamore's hatchet,swinging like lightning, dashed another into eternity.
The last one ran, but stumbled, with three arrows in his burly neck andspine; and the Night Hawk's hatchet flew, severing the thread of lifefar him and hurling him on his face. Instantly the young Oneida leapedupon the dead man's shoulders, pulled back his heavy head, and tore thescalp off with a stifled cry of triumph.
"The Black-Snake!" said the Sagamore at my side, breathing heavily fromhis bloody combat, and dashing the red drops from the scalp he swung."Look yonder, Loskiel! Our little Rosy Pigeon has returned at last!"
I had seen it already, but I turned to look. And I saw the WhiteSorceress and my sweetheart
close locked in each other's arms--so closeand motionless that they seemed but a single snowy shape there underthe lustre of the stars.