Richard let slip an admiration-oath under his breath.  “There’s a fine bit of strategy for you!” he whispered.  “That wily Jack-at-a-pinch of ours will befool them into believing that he is a runner from the Cowee Towns.  ’Tis our cue to lie close; he will halt them just here, and there will be roving eyes in the heads of the two who have not to talk.”

We had not long to wait.  Our cunning ally timed his halting of the emissaries to a nicety, and when the three Cherokees drew rein they were within easy blade’s reach.  The powwow, lengthened by Uncanoola till we were near bursting with impatience, was spun out wordily, and presently we saw the pointing of it.  The Catawba was affecting to doubt the protests of the emissaries and would have them dismount and prove their good faith by smoking the peace-pipe with him.

I give you fair warning, my dears, that you may turn the page here and skip what follows if you are fain to be tender-hearted on the score of these savage enemies of ours.  It was in the very summer solstice of the year of violence; a time when he who took the sword was like to perish with the sword; and we thought of little save that Margery and her handmaiden were in deadliest peril, and that these Indians had five horses which we must have.

And as for my own part in the fray, when I recognized in the five-feathered chieftain of the three that copper-hued imp of Satan who had been the merciless master of ceremonies at the torturing of my poor black Tomas, the decent meed of mercy which even a seasoned soldier may cherish died within me, and I made sure the steel would find its mark.

So, when Uncanoola drew forth his tobacco pipe and made the three doomed ones sit with him in the path to smoke the peace-whiff all around, we picked out each his man and smote to slay.  The scythe-like sweep of Jennifer’s mighty claymore left the five-feathered chieftain the shorter by a head in the same pulse-beat that the Ferara scanted a second of the breath to yell with; though now I recall it, the gurgling death-cry of the poor wretch with the steel in his throat was more terrible to hear than any war-whoop.  As for the old borderer, he was more deliberate.  Being fair behind and within arm’s reach of his man, he seized him by the scalp-lock, bent the head backward across his knee—­but, faugh! these are the merest butcher details, and I would spare you—­and myself, as well.

While yet this most merciless deed was a-doing, the Catawba bounded to his feet and made sure of the horses which were rearing and snorting with affright.  That done, he must needs gloat, Indian-wise, over his fallen adversary, turning the headless body with his foot and gibing at it.

“Wah!  Call hisself the Great Bear, hey?  Heap lie; heap no bear; heap nothing, now.  Papoose bear no let hisself be trap’ that way.  No smoke peace-pipe—­”

But now Ephraim Yeates, standing ear a-cock and motionless, like some grim old statue done in leather, cut him short with a sudden, “Hist, will ye!” and a twinkling instant later we had other work to do.