were in favour
of the Raven's proposition; the elder and more ferocious Indians were
altogether opposed to it.

Speaker succeeded speaker, some urging one side of the question, some
the other.

At last the Stag again rose. 'My brothers,' he said, 'my ears have heard
strange words, and my spirit is troubled. The Raven has told us of the
ways of the whites after a battle; but the Indians' ways are not as the
whites' ways, and the Stag is too old to learn new fashions. He looks
round, he sees many lodges empty, he sees many women who have no husband
to hunt game, he hears the voices of children who cry for meat. He
remembers his brothers who fell before the flying fire and the guns
which loaded themselves, and his eyes are full of blood. The great white
chief has made many wigwams desolate: let there be mourning in the house
of the white chief. Have I spoken well?'

The acclamations which followed this speech were so loud and general
that the party of the Raven was silenced, and the council at once broke
up.

A cry of exultation broke from the women when they heard the decision,
and all prepared for the work of vengeance before them.

At a signal from the Stag, two of the young Indians went to the hut and
summoned Ethel to accompany them. She guessed at once that her death was
decided upon, and, pale as marble, but uttering no cry or entreaty,
which she knew would be useless, she walked between them.

For a moment she glanced at the women around her, to see if there was
one look of pity or interest; but faces distorted with hate and
exultation met her eyes, and threats and imprecations assailed her ears.
The sight, though it appalled, yet nerved her with courage. A pitying
look would have melted her,--this rage against one so helpless as
herself nerved her; and, with her eyes turned upwards and her lips
moving in prayer, she kept along.

The Indians led her to a tree opposite the centre of the village, bound
her securely to it, and then retired.

There was a pause before the tragedy was to begin. Some of the women
brought faggots for the pile, others cut splinters to thrust under the
nails and into the flesh. The old women chattered and exulted over the
tortures they would inflict; a few of the younger ones stood aloof,
looking on pityingly.

The men of the tribe gathered in a circle, but took no part in the
preparations,--the torture of women was beneath them.

At last all was ready. A fire was lit near; the