rine Montour closed her horrible little
eyes, threw back her head, and, marking time with her flat foot,
began to chant.

She chanted the glory of the Long House; of the nations that drove the
Eries, the Hurons, the Algonquins; of the nation that purged the earth
of the Stonish Giants; of the nation that fought the dreadful battle of
the Flying Heads. She sang the triumph of the confederacy, the bonds
that linked the Elder Brothers and Elder Sons with the Esaurora, whose
tongue was the sign of council unity.

And the circle of savages began to sway in rhythm to her chanting,
answering back, calling their challenge from clan to clan; until,
suddenly, the Senecas sprang to their feet and drove their hatchets into
the war-post, challenging the Lenape with their own battle-cry:

"Yoagh! Yoagh! Ha-ha! Hagh! Yoagh!"

Then the Mohawks raised their war-yelp and struck the post; and the
Cayugas answered with a terrible cry, striking the post, and calling out
for the Next Youngest Son--meaning the Tuscaroras--to draw
their hatchets.

"Have the Seminoles made women of you?" screamed Catrine Montour,
menacing the sachems of the Tuscaroras with clinched fists.

"Let the Lenape tell you of women!" retorted a Tuscarora sachem, calmly.

At this opening of an old wound the Oneidas called on the Lenape to
answer; but the Lenape sat sullen and silent, with flashing eyes fixed
on the Mohawks.

Then Catrine Montour, lashing herself into a fury, screamed for
vengeance on the people who had broken the chain-belt with the Long
House. Raving and frothing, she burst into a torrent of prophecy, which
silenced every tongue and held every Indian fascinated.

"Look!" whispered Mount. "The Oneidas are drawing their hatchets! The
Tuscaroras will follow! The Iroquois will declare for war!"

Suddenly the False-Faces raised a ringing shout:

"Kree! Ha-ha! Kre-e!"

And a hideous creature in yellow advanced, rattling his yellow mask.

Catrine Montour, slavering and gasping, leaned against the painted
war-post. Into the fire-ring came dancing a dozen girls, all strung with
brilliant wampum, their bodies and limbs painted vermilion, sleeveless
robes of wild iris hanging to their knees. With a shout they chanted:

"O False-Faces, prepare to do honor to the truth! She who Dreams has
come from her three sisters--the Woman of the Thunder-cloud, the Woman
of the Sounding Footsteps, the Woman of the Murmuring Skies!"

And, joining hands, they cri