Already the wild dance of the Indians had begun.  Frightful yells and whoops filled the air, and even women and little dusky children clapped their hands and shouted with excitement and delight.  They brought armfuls of brush and laid it close to the pile.  Nothing was needed to complete the deed but to apply the fatal torches, now sending forth hot, fierce gleams into the pale air, and brandished by a dozen yelling savages.

At a signal from an aged chief, the brush was lighted.  The fire cracked and snapped; soon its snake-like wreaths curled about the pile, sending thick smoke around the screaming victims, when, suddenly, old Ka-te-qua—­she who had taken charge of the children—­rushed from the neighboring forest.  Tearing through the crowd, she flew to the pile of fagots, and with vigorous strokes scattered the blazing wood in every direction.

Then, turning toward the astonished savages, who had retreated a few paces to escape the burning brands, she addressed them passionately in the Indian tongue: 

“The Great Spirit,” she cried, “scowls upon you—­the very flames hiss in the wet grass.  The sons of Ka-te-qua are gone to the happy hunting grounds of the dead.  Her wigwam is dark.  The young pale-faces are to her like the water-lilies of the stream.  Why, when she was in the forest gathering herbs for the sick of her tribe, did ye steal them from her lodge like dogs?

“Is the tongue of Ka-te-qua forked?  Has she not said that no warrior need hunt the deer for the young pale-faces?  With her they shall grow like hickory saplings, towering with strength.  The deer shall not be more fleet than they, nor the songs of the birds more glad.  The sun shall paint their white skins.  The love of the red man shall enter their hearts:  they shall be as the young of our tribe.  Unbind them!  Give them to Ka-te-qua, or by the next moon a burning fever shall fall upon you.  Like panthers will you bite the dust.  All the waters of the great cataract cannot quench your thirst, and your mightiest hunters will be as women.”

She paused.  A fine-looking chieftain arose and spoke: 

“The sister of the great Medicine-man has spoken well.  She dwells alone in her wigwam Her arm is strong.  Her eye is keen, like the hawk’s.  The deer fall before her, and her arrow can find the heart of the grizzly bear.  Her corn stands higher than the grass of the prairie.  She can feed the young pale-faces.  The Great Spirit gives them to her.  Let it be so.”

A council was held at once.  This time more than half the chieftains passed the club on in silence, for Ka-te-qua, as I have said, was respected among them; she had great powers of healing, and many of the Indians regarded her with a superstitious reverence.

The children were unbound and borne in state to the old squaw’s wigwam.  From that hour, though they were closely watched and guarded, their lives were safe.

[Footnote 1:  Mystery-man or Indian prophet.]