“Give him to us!” they muttered, under their breath.  “The flag has not come; they will hang your Walter Butler!  Give him to us!  The Legion cavalry is driving your riders into the west!  Give him to us!  We wish to see how the Oriskany man can die!”

Dragged, pulled from one to another, I scarcely felt their clutch; I scarcely felt the furtive blows that fell on me.  The officer clung to me, fighting the savages back with fist and elbow.

“Wait for McCraw!” he panted.  “The flag may come yet, you fools!  Would you murder him and lose Walter Butler forever?  Wait till McCraw comes, I tell you!”

“McCraw is riding for his life!” said a chief, fiercely.

“It’s a lie!” said the officer; “he is drawing them to ambush!”

“Give the prisoner to us!” cried the savages, closing in.  “After all, what do we care for your Walter Butler!” And again they rushed forward with a shout.

Twice the officer drove them back with kicks and blows, cursing their treachery in McCraw’s absence; then, as they drew their knives, clamoring, threatening, gathering for a last rush, into their midst bounded an unearthly shape—­a squat and hideous figure, fluttering with scarlet rags.  Arms akimbo, the thing planted itself before me, mouthing and slavering in fury.

“The Toad-woman!  Catrine Montour!  The Toad-witch!” groaned the Senecas, shrinking back, huddling together as the hag whirled about and pointed at them.

“I want him!  I want him!  Give him to me!” yelped the Toad-woman.  “Fools!  Do you know where you are?  Do you know this grove of maple-trees?”

The Indians, amazed and cowed, slunk farther back.  The hag fixed her blazing eyes on them and raised her arms.

“Fools!  Fools!” she mouthed, “what madness brought you here to this grove?—­to this place where the Stonish Giants have returned, riding out of Biskoona!”

A groan burst from the Indians; a chief raised his arms, making the False-Faces’ sign.

“Mother,” he stammered, “we did not know!  We heard that the Stonish Giants had returned; the Onondagas sent us word, but we did not know this grove was where they gathered from Biskoona!  McCraw sent us here to await the flag.”

“Liar!” hissed the hag.

“It is the truth,” muttered the chief, shuddering.  “Witness if I speak the truth, O ensigns of the three clans!”

And a hollow groan burst from the cowering savages.  “We witness, mother.  It is the truth!”

“Witch!” cried the officer, in a shaking voice, “what would you do with my prisoner?  You shall not have him, by the living God!”

“Senecas, take him!” howled the hag, pointing at the officer.  The fellow strove to draw his claymore, but staggered and sank to the ground, covered under a mass of savages.  Then, dragged to his feet, they pulled him back, watching the Toad-woman for a sign.

“To purge this grove!  To purge the earth of the Stonish Giants!” she howled.  “For this I ask this prisoner.  Give him to me!—­to me, priestess of the six fires!  Tiyanoga calls from behind the moon!  What Seneca dares disobey?  Give him to me for a sacrifice to Biskoona, that the Stonish ghosts be laid and the doors of fire be closed forever!”