e endurance of the Indians themselves, but Adele, in spite
of her former journeys, was footsore and weary before evening. It was a
relief to De Catinat, therefore, when the red glow of a great fire beat
suddenly through the tree-trunks, and they came upon an Indian camp in
which was assembled the greater part of the war-party which had been
driven from Sainte Marie. Here, too, were a number of the squaws who
had come from the Mohawk and Cayuga villages in order to be nearer to
the warriors. Wigwams had been erected all round in a circle, and
before each of them were the fires with kettles slung upon a tripod of
sticks in which the evening meal was being cooked. In the centre of all
was a very fierce fire which had been made of brushwood placed in a
circle, so as to leave a clear space of twelve feet in the middle.
A pole stood up in the centre of this clearing, and something all
mottled with red and black was tied up against it. De Catinat stepped
swiftly in front of Adele that she might not see the dreadful thing, but
he was too late. She shuddered, and drew a quick breath between her
pale lips, but no sound escaped her.

"They have begun already, then," said Onega composedly. "Well, it will
be our turn next, and we shall show them that we know how to die."

"They have not ill-used us yet," said De Catinat. "Perhaps they will
keep us for ransom or exchange."

The Indian woman shook her head. "Do not deceive yourself by any such
hope," said she. "When they are as gentle as they have been with you it
is ever a sign that you are reserved for the torture. Your wife will be
married to one of their chiefs, but you and I must die, for you are a
warrior, and I am too old for a squaw."

Married to an Iroquois! Those dreadful words shot a pang through both
their hearts which no thought of death could have done. De Catinat's
head dropped forward upon his chest, and he staggered and would have
fallen had Adele not caught him by the arm.

"Do not fear, dear Amory," she whispered. "Other things may happen but
not that, for I swear to you that I shall not survive you. No, it may
be sin or it may not, but if death will not come to me, I will go to
it."

De Catinat looked down at the gentle face which had set now into the
hard lines of an immutable resolve. He knew that it would be as she had
said, and that, come what might, that last outrage would not befall
them. Could he ever have believed that the time would