forgetful of the fashions of his youth."

Further discourse, between these veterans, was interrupted by a
discordant yell, which burst at that moment from the lips of the dozen
withered crones, who have already been mentioned as having forced
themselves into a conspicuous part of the circle. The outcry was excited
by a sudden change in the air of Hard-Heart. When the old men turned
towards the youth, they saw him standing in the very centre of the ring,
with his head erect, his eye fixed on vacancy, one leg advanced and an
arm a little raised, as if all his faculties were absorbed in the act
of listening. A smile lighted his countenance, for a single moment,
and then the whole man sunk again into his former look of dignity and
coldness, suddenly recalled to self-possession. The movement had been
construed into contempt, and even the tempers of the chiefs began to be
excited. Unable to restrain their fury, the women broke into the circle
in a body, and commenced their attack by loading the captive with the
most bitter revilings. They boasted of the various exploits, which their
sons had achieved at the expense of the different tribes of the Pawnees.
They undervalued his own reputation, and told him to look at Mahtoree,
if he had never yet seen a warrior. They accused him of having been
suckled by a doe, and of having drunk in cowardice with his mother's
milk. In short, they lavished upon their unmoved captive a torrent of
that vindictive abuse, in which the women of the savages are so well
known to excel, but which has been too often described to need a
repetition here.

The effect of this outbreaking was inevitable. Le Balafre turned away
disappointed, and hid himself in the crowd, while the trapper, whose
honest features were working with inward emotion, pressed nigher to his
young friend, as those who are linked to the criminal, by ties so strong
as to brave the opinions of men, are often seen to stand about the place
of execution to support his dying moments. The excitement soon spread
among the inferior warriors, though the chiefs still forbore to make
the signal, which committed the victim to their mercy. Mahtoree, who
had awaited such a movement among his fellows, with the wary design of
concealing his own jealous hatred, soon grew weary of delay, and, by a
glance of his eye, encouraged the tormentors to proceed.

Weucha, who, eager for this sanction, had long stood watching the
countenance of the chief, bounde