Young spoke again in a voice which had lost its passion, and was singularly sweet in its richness.

“Beloved Christians, if it is God’s will that we must die to prove our faith, then as we have taught you how to live, so we can show you how to die—–­”

“Spang!”

Again a whistling sound came with the bellow of an overcharged rifle; again the sickening thud of a bullet striking flesh.

Young fell backwards from the platform.

The missionaries laid him beside Edwards, and then stood in shuddering silence.  A smile shone on Young’s pale face; a stream of dark blood welled from his breast.  His lips moved; he whispered: 

“I ask no more—­God’s will.”

Jim looked down once at his brother missionaries; then with blanched face, but resolute and stern, he marched toward the platform.

Heckewelder ran after him, and dragged him back.

“No! no! no!  My God!  Would you be killed?  Oh!  I tried to prevent this!” cried Heckewelder, wringing his hands.

One long, fierce, exultant yell pealed throughout the grove.  It came from those silent breasts in which was pent up hatred; it greeted this action which proclaimed victory over the missionaries.

All eyes turned on Half King.  With measured stride he paced to and fro before the Christian Indians.

Neither cowering nor shrinking marked their manner; to a man, to a child, they rose with proud mien, heads erect and eyes flashing.  This mighty chief with his blood-thirsty crew could burn the Village of Peace, could annihilate the Christians, but he could never change their hope and trust in God.

“Blinded fools!” cried Half King.  “The Huron is wise; he tells no lies.  Many moons ago he told the Christians they were sitting half way between two angry gods, who stood with mouths open wide and looking ferociously at each other.  If they did not move back out of the road they would be ground to powder by the teeth of one or the other, or both.  Half King urged them to leave the peaceful village, to forget the paleface God; to take their horses, and flocks, and return to their homes.  The Christians scorned the Huron King’s counsel.  The sun has set for the Village of Peace.  The time has come.  Pipe and the Huron are powerful.  They will not listen to the paleface God.  They will burn the Village of Peace.  Death to the Christians!”

Half King threw the black war-club with a passionate energy on the grass before the Indians.

They heard this decree of death with unflinching front.  Even the children were quiet.  Not a face paled, not an eye was lowered.

Half King cast their doom in their teeth.  The Christians eyed him with unspoken scorn.

“My God!  My God!  It is worse than I thought!” moaned Heckewelder.  “Utter ruin!  Murder!  Murder!”

In the momentary silence which followed his outburst, a tiny cloud of blue-white smoke came from the ferns overhanging a cliff.