ures seem to move and pucker as though
blasted with the flame of satanic fires. A crow, withdrawing his beak
from the sightless eye-holes of one of the skulls, soars upward, black
and demon-like, uttering a weird, raucous croak.

But as the sun touches the far-away sky line the dance suddenly ceases.
In wild hubbub the fighting men stream out of the stockade, through the
awful archway of heads. They are followed by women, bearing
strange-looking baskets and great knives. All are in high spirits,
chattering and laughing among each other.

The forest on this side grows almost to the gate. Just where its shade
begins the crowd halts, clustering eagerly around two trees which stand
a little apart from the rest. But from one to the other of these two
trees is lashed a stout beam, such as butchers might use for hoisting
the carcass of a slain bullock. And look! below are oblong slabs of
massive wood, and upon them is blood. This is the cattle-killing place,
then, and these warriors are about to slaughter the material for a
feast!

Now there is more chatter and hubbub, and all faces are turned towards
the grim gate--are turned expectantly; for the cattle awaited. Then a
shout, an exclamation, goes up. The material for the feast is drawing
near.

The material for the feast! Heavens! No cattle this, but _human beings_!

Human beings! Bound, trussed, helpless, five human bodies are borne
along by their head and heels, and flung down anyhow at the place of
slaughter. The eyeballs of the victims are starting from their heads
with terror and despair as their glance falls upon the grisly
instruments of death. Yet no surprise is there, for they have seen it
all before.

Three of the five are old men. These are seized first, and, a thong
being made fast to their ankles, they are hauled up to the beam, where,
hanging head downwards, they are butchered like calves. And those who
are most active in at any rate preparing them for the slaughter, are
their own children--_their own sons_.

These go about their work without one spark of pity, one qualm of ruth.
Will not their own turn come in the course of years, should they not be
slain in battle or the chase in the interim? Of course. Why then heed
such vain sentiment? It is the custom. Old and useless people are not
kept among this tribe.

The other two, who are not old, but prisoners of war, suffer in like
manner; and then all five of the bodies are flung on to the blocks and
qu