became more impressive from a sound which blended with,
rather than broke into it; a low monotone, like the sweeping of the wind
over the strings of some rude instrument of music, issued from the lips
of the Pawnee. It became broken, but at no time lost its distinctive
character. It never rose to a high key, and from the beginning to the
end, its variation in tone was no more than two notes of the musical
scale. Had the volume been less, it would have called to mind the
crooning of the housewife by her spinning wheel or over the cradle of
the infant she was lulling to sleep.

But there was a depth, and a certain sonorous resignation in the
death-song of the Pawnee, which rendered it unlike any thing else. The
Shawanoe and Sauk had heard it sung more than once, and, accustomed as
they were to the most dreadful scenes, they were always relieved when it
ended; it was too much like a despairing refrain from the grave itself.

Gradually the volume of the Pawnee's death song deepened. For a time it
was as if the voice were swaying from side to side in the struggle to
free itself from some weight holding it down and smothering it. The
weight was flung off, when, throwing up his head again, the Pawnee
defiantly confronted the Shawanoe. The unspeakably dismal monotone
sounded loud and clear as a trumpet blast borne on the wind, which,
having blown at angles to the line of sound, suddenly becomes favorable,
and throws the notes forward as if on eagles' wings.

The death song was ended; the Pawnee had finished his preparation for
the leap into the dark, and he calmly awaited the pleasure of his
master.

Instead of whirling his tomahawk aloft, Deerfoot slowly brought it above
his head, the blade making a gleaming circle, as it swung over and
finally paused, the handle so held that it pointed upward and backward,
at an angle of forty-five degrees. He seemed to be gathering his muscles
for the supreme effort, which should extinguish life in the defiant
Pawnee as quickly as if he were smitten by a bolt from heaven. But,
before the missile could leave his hand, the Sauk uttered an
exclamation, and, having laid aside his gun, strode forward with both
hands raised in protest.

His first two steps were rapid, and then, making a great bound, he
seized the left arm of Deerfoot with both of his hands. The Shawanoe
seemed to struggle fiercely to free himself, and his voice sounded harsh
and angry as he ordered the other to step aside an