se with arching neck and flying mane. Astride him
sat a plumed warrior, who waved his rifle high in the air. Again
that shrill screeching yell came floating to the ears of the
astonished Indians.

The prisoner had seen that horse and rider before; he had heard that
long yell; his heart bounded with hope. The Indians knew that yell;
it was the terrible war-cry of the Hurons.

A horse followed closely after the leader, and then another appeared
on the crest of the hill. Then came two abreast, and then four
abreast, and now the hill was black with plunging horses. They
galloped swiftly down the slope and into the narrow street of the
village. When the black horse entered the oval the train of racing
horses extended to the top of the ridge. The plumes of the riders
streamed gracefully on the breeze; their feathers shone; their
weapons glittered in the bright sunlight.

Never was there more complete surprise. In the earlier morning the
Hurons had crept up to within a rifle shot of the encampment, and at
an opportune moment when all the scouts and runners were round the
torture-stake, they had reached the hillside from which they rode
into the village before the inhabitants knew what had happened. Not
an Indian raised a weapon. There were screams from the women and
children, a shouted command from Big Tree, and then all stood still
and waited.

Thundercloud, the war chief of the Wyandots, pulled his black
stallion back on his haunches not twenty feet from the prisoner at
the stake. His band of painted devils closed in behind him. Full two
hundred strong were they and all picked warriors tried and true.
They were naked to the waist. Across their brawny chests ran a broad
bar of flaming red paint; hideous designs in black and white covered
their faces. Every head had been clean-shaven except where the scalp
lock bristled like a porcupine's quills. Each warrior carried a
plumed spear, a tomahawk, and a rifle. The shining heads, with the
little tufts of hair tied tightly close to the scalp, were enough to
show that these Indians were on the war-path.

From the back of one of the foremost horses a slender figure dropped
and darted toward the prisoner at the stake. Surely that wildly
flying hair proved this was not a warrior. Swift as a flash of light
this figure reached the stake, the blazing fagots scattered right
and left; a naked blade gleamed; the thongs fell from the prisoner's
wrists; and the front ranks of the Hurons