ltaneously. They heard in the water the unmistakable ripple made by
a paddle, and then the sound of several more. They crept to the edge of
the bank and crouched down among the bushes. Then they saw a singular
procession.

A half-dozen Iroquois canoes were moving slowly up the stream. They were
in single file, and the first canoe was the largest. But the aspect of
the little fleet was wholly different from that of an ordinary group
of Iroquois war canoes. It was dark, somber, and funereal, and in
every canoe, between the feet of the paddlers, lay a figure, stiff
and impassive, the body of a chief slain in battle. It had all the
appearance of a funeral procession, but the eyes of the three, as they
roved over it, fastened on a figure in the first canoe, and, used as
they were to the strange and curious, every one of them gave a start.

The figure was that of a woman, a wild and terrible creature, who half
sat, half crouched in the canoe, looking steadily downward. Her long
black hair fell in disordered masses from her uncovered head. She wore a
brilliant red dress with savage adornments, but it was stained and torn.
The woman's whole attitude expressed grief, anger, and despair.

"Queen Esther!" whispered Henry. The other two nodded.

So horrifying had been the impression made upon him by this woman at
Wyoming that he could not feel any pity for her now. The picture of the
great war tomahawk cleaving the heads of bound prisoners was still too
vivid. She had several sons, one or two of whom were slain in battle
with the colonists, and the body that lay in the boat may have been one
of them. Henry always believed that it was-but he still felt no pity.

As the file came nearer they heard her chanting a low song, and now she
raised her face and tore at her black hair.

"They're goin' to land," whispered Shif'less Sol.

The head of the file was turned toward the shore, and, as it approached,
a group of warriors, led by Little Beard, the Seneca chief, appeared
among the trees, coming forward to meet them. The three in their covert
crouched closer, interested so intensely that they were prepared to
brave the danger in order to remain. But the absorption of the Iroquois
in what they were about to do favored the three scouts.

As the canoes touched the bank, Catharine Montour rose from her
crouching position and uttered a long, piercing wail, so full of grief,
rage, and despair that the three in the bushes shuddered. It wa