that drifted hither
and thither, passing, repassing, melting into the gloom around, until I
could scarce tell them from the shreds of marsh fog that rose and
floated through the trees around us.

Slowly the heavens turned to palest gold, then to saffron. All about us
shadowy throngs arose to face the rising sun. A moment of intense
stillness, then a far, faint cry, "Koue!" And the glittering edge of
the sun appeared above the wooded heights. Blinding level rays fell on
the painted faces of the sachems of the Long House, advancing to the
forest's edge; the Oneida strode forward, head erect, and I, with a
sign to the girl at my side, followed.

As we walked through the long, dead grass, I, watching sidewise, noted
the absence of the Senecas. Was it for them the condolence? Suddenly it
struck me that to our side of the circle belonged the duty of the first
rites. Who would speak? Not the Oneidas, for there was none, except
Little Otter and myself. Who then? The Cayugas?

I shot a side glance among the slowly moving forms. Ah! that was it! A
Cayuga sachem led the march.

The circle was already forming. I saw the Senecas now; I saw all the
sachems seating themselves in a cleared space where a birch fire
smoldered, sweetening the keen morning air with its writhing, aromatic
smoke; I saw the Oneida cross proudly to his place on our side; and I
seated myself beside him, raising my eyes to the towering figure of
Tahtootahoo, the chief sachem and ensign of the great Bear Clan of the
Onondaga nation, who stood beside the Cayuga spokesman in whispered
conference.

To and fro strode the Cayuga, heavy head bent; to and fro, pacing the
circle like a stupefied panther. Once his luminous eyes gleamed on
mine, shifted blankly to the Oneida, and thence along the motionless
circle of painted faces. Mohawk, Seneca, Onondaga were there, forming
half the circle; Oneida, Cayuga, and Tuscarora welded it to a ring. I
glanced fearfully from ensign to ensign, but saw no Delaware present;
and my heart leaped with hope. Walter Butler had lied to me; the
Lenni-Lenape had never sat at this rite; his mongrel clan had no voice
here. He had lied.

The pipe had been lighted and was passing in grave silence. I received
it from a Tuscarora, used it, and handed it to the Oneida, watching the
chief sachem of the Senecas as he arose to deliver his brief address of
welcome. He spoke in the Seneca dialect, and so low that I could
understand him only with