wers to be set up in place of the red altar
stained with human blood. He was attended by some seven thousand native
allies from tribes considered by the Aztecs as wild barbarians. His
daring behavior and military successes had all been reported to
Moteczuma by the picture-writing of his scribes. There was a tradition
among the Aztecs that some day white bearded strangers would come,
destroy the worship of the old gods of blood and terror, and restore the
worship of the fair god Quetzalcoatl. Before the white men landed there
had been earthquakes, meteors and other omens. Would the old gods
destroy the invaders and all who joined them, or was this the great
change which the prophets foretold? Who could say?

In the beautiful, terrible city Cortes moved alert and silent, courteous
to all, every nerve as sensitive to new impressions as a leaf to the
wind. He knew that strong as the priesthood of the fierce gods
undoubtedly was, there was surely an undercurrent of rebellion against
their cruelty and their unlimited power. In a fruitless attempt to keep
the Spaniards out of the city by the aid of the gods, three hundred
little children had been sacrificed. If Cortes failed to conquer, by
peaceful means or otherwise, nothing was more certain than that he and
all of his followers not killed in the fighting would be butchered on
the top of those terrible pyramids sooner or later. Yet he looked about
him and said, under his breath,

"This is the most beautiful city in the world."

"And you think we shall win it for the Cross and the King?" asked
Saavedra in the same quiet tone.

"We must win," said Cortes, with a spark in his eyes like the flame in
the heart of a black opal. "There is nothing else to do."

NOTE

In the spelling of the Aztec Emperor's name Cortes' own form is
used,--"Moteczuma," instead of the commoner "Montezuma." One must read
Prescott's "Conquest of Mexico" for even an approximately adequate
account of this extraordinary campaign.

MOCCASIN FLOWER

Klooskap's children, the last and least,
Bidden to dance at his farewell feast,
Under the great moon's wizard light,
Over the mountain's drifted white,
The Winag'mesuk, the wood-folk small,
Came to the feasting the last of all!

Magic snowshoes they wore that night,
Woven of frostwork and sunset light,
Round and trim like the Master's own,--
Their lances of reed, with a point of bone,
Their oval