old Indian wavered, hesitated, then said desperately,
"I promise."

The missionary arose, removed his hat, and lifting his white face to
heaven, prayed aloud, "God help me, make me strong and fearless to do
this thing." But at his side was Wampum, his clinging brown fingers
clutching the black-coated arm. He had overheard all the conversation,
and his young face took on grayish shadows and lines of anxiety as he
said, "No, no, Mr. Nelson, _not you_! They may kill you. Your wife,
your girl babies--remember them. Think of them. This is _my_ work, not
yours." Instantly he dashed outside, returning with the axe he had
hidden in the wagon. Without a glance in any direction, he strode into
the centre of the log lodge, the dark worshippers fell aside, surprised
into silence, and the slender Mohawk boy braced his shoulders, lifted
his head, and--

"Don't, don't, Wampum, boy!" choked the missionary, "It is wild, it is
useless. Stop, oh, stop!"

But he might as well have ordered a hurricane to stop. With a splendid
sweep of strong young arms, the boy whirled the axe in a circle above
his shoulders and brought it down crashing with full force on the idol.
The figure split from top to base, the neck was severed, and the painted
wooden head rolled ingloriously to the floor. Then, amid a stony
silence, more menacing than any words, the boy stood with squared
shoulders and uplifted chin, his fierce beauty more imperial, more
majestic, than ever before.

For an instant the black eyes of a hundred Delaware warriors glared at
him with hate and bloodshed in their depths. Then, with a furious yell,
they turned to their chief for his commands, but old Single-Pine sat
with bowed head, his face hidden in his hands, his lips silent. A sullen
murmur ran through the throng, but they knew their chief had at last
taken the great step into Christianity; and while Wampum yet stood alone
and unafraid, his axe in his hand, and the head of the ruined idol at
his feet, the entire tribe filed past, and one by one shook hands with
the white-haired old missionary, for, as faithful followers of their
chief, they, too, must embrace the white man's faith.

It was Fire-Flower who spoke first, touching the boy's hand. Wampum
started, as if from a dream.

"Boy," said the old hunter, "I have seen no man so brave."

Wampum shuddered. "My uncle," he said proudly, "I have lived among brave
people, but--" here he shuddered again, for he was only a boy, after