“Zane, they’re havin’ a council,” whispered a voice in Isaac’s ear.  Isaac turned and recognized Girty.  “I want to prepare you for the worst.”

“Is there, then, no hope for me?” asked Isaac.

“I’m afraid not,” continued the renegade, speaking in a low whisper.  “They wouldn’t let me speak at the council.  I told Cornplanter that killin’ you might bring the Hurons down on him, but he wouldn’t listen.  Yesterday, in the camp of the Delawares, I saw Col.  Crawford burnt at the stake.  He was a friend of mine at Pitt, and I didn’t dare to say one word to the frenzied Indians.  I had to watch the torture.  Pipe and Wingenund, both old friends of Crawford, stood by and watched him walk round the stake on the red-hot coals five hours.”

Isaac shuddered at the words of the renegade, but did not answer.  He had felt from the first that his case was hopeless, and that no opportunity for escape could possibly present itself in such a large encampment.  He set his teeth hard and resolved to show the red devils how a white man could die.

Several speeches were made by different chiefs and then an impressive oration by Big Tree.  At the conclusion of the speeches, which were in an unknown tongue to Isaac, Cornplanter handed a war-club to Half Town.  This chief got up, walked to the end of the circle, and there brought the club down on the ground with a resounding thud.  Then he passed the club to Big Tree.  In a solemn and dignified manner every chief duplicated Half Town’s performance with the club.

Isaac watched the ceremony as if fascinated.  He had seen a war-club used in the councils of the Hurons and knew that striking it on the ground signified war and death.

“White man, you are a killer of Indians,” said Cornplanter in good English.  “When the sun shines again you die.”

A brave came forward and painted Isaac’s face black.  This Isaac knew to indicate that death awaited him on the morrow.  On his way back to his prison-lodge he saw that a war-dance was in progress.

A hundred braves with tomahawks, knives, and mallets in their hands were circling round a post and keeping time to the low music of a muffled drum.  Close together, with heads bowed, they marched.  At certain moments, which they led up to with a dancing on rigid legs and a stamping with their feet, they wheeled, and uttering hideous yells, started to march in the other direction.  When this had been repeated three times a brave stepped from the line, advanced, and struck his knife or tomahawk into the post.  Then with a loud voice he proclaimed his past exploits and great deeds in war.  The other Indians greeted this with loud yells of applause and a flourishing of weapons.  Then the whole ceremony was gone through again.

That afternoon many of the Indians visited Isaac in his lodge and shook their fists at him and pointed their knives at him.  They hissed and groaned at him.  Their vindictive faces expressed the malignant joy they felt at the expectation of putting him to the torture.