‘Cease to urge me, my son,’ replied the Chief, in a tone of firm determination, that forbad all hope of success.  ’I have said that Coubitant shall die the death he intended for us; and his funeral pile shall light up this spot ere I retire to my lodge.  Salon, also, shall die:  but, as he was deceived by the greater villain, he shall die a warriors death.’

The Sachem rose from his seat, and took a spear that leaned against the trunk of the tree beside him.

‘Now meet the stroke like a man!’ he cried; and gathering his somewhat failing strength, he bore with all his force against the naked breast of Salon.  The life-blood gushed forth, and he fell a corpse upon the earth.

‘Now drive in the stake, and heap the pile!’ exclaimed the aged Chieftain in a clear, loud voice of command, as he withdrew the bloody lance, and waved it high above his head.  He was excited by the scene he was enacting, and the feelings of his race were aroused within him with a violence that had been long unknown to him.  He felt the joy that savage natures feel in revenging themselves on their foes; and he forgot the influence that Henrich’s example and precepts of forbearance had so lung exerted over his conduct, though they had not yet succeeded in changing his heart.

‘Heap the pile high!’ he cried; ’and let the flames bring back the light of day, and show me the death struggles of him who would have slain me, and all I love on earth.  Drag the wretch forward, and bind him strongly.  The searching flames may yet have power to conquer his calm indifference.’

The lighted brand was ready, and the victim was led to the foot of the pile.  A rope was passed around his arms, and the noose was about to be drawn tight, when, quick as lightning, the devoted victim saw that there was yet one chance for life.  The river was rolling beneath his feet.  Could he but reach it!  His arms were snatched from those who held them with a sudden violence, for which they were unprepared; and, with one desperate bound, the prisoner gained the steep bank of the broad dark stream.  Another moment, and a heavy plash was heard in the waters.

Darkness was gathering around the scene; and those who looked into the river could distinguish no human form on its surface.

‘Fire the pile!’ cried Tisquantum; and the flames burst up from the dry crackling wood, and threw a broad sheet of light on the dark stream below.

‘He is there!’ again shouted the infuriated Chieftain.  ’I see the white foam that his rapid strokes leave behind him.  Send your arrows after him, my brave warriors, and suffer him not to escape.  Ha! will Mahneto let him thus avoid my vengeance?’

The bow-strings twanged, and the arrows flew over the water.  Where did they fall?  Not on Coubitant’s struggling form; for he had heard the Sachem’s command, and had dived deeply beneath the surface of the water, and changed his course down the stream.  When he rose again, it was in a part of the river that the flames did not illuminate; and those who sought his life saw him no more.