rs. The
Indians were excited with the wine and the variety and splendor of the
presents. A young chief, Yahnundasis, a Shawnee, sprang from the table
and burst into a triumphant chant:

The great chief beyond the seas
Sends us the rifle and the knife;
He bids us destroy the hated Yengees,
And the day of our wrath has come.

We search the forest for white scalps;
The cannon, the great guns will help us,
Not a foe in Kentucky will be left,
None can escape the rage of the warriors.

He sang other verses in the Shawnee tongue, and all the while he was
growing more excited with his chant and leapings. He drew his tomahawk
and swung it in a glittering circle above his head. The red and black
paint upon his face, moistened by his own perspiration, dripped slowly
upon his shoulders. He was a wild and terrible figure, a true exponent
of primitive savagery, but no one interfered with him. In the minds of
the renegades he awoke corresponding emotions.

Caldwell at the foot of the table looked inquiringly at de Peyster at
the head of it, but de Peyster raised neither hand nor voice to stay
dance and song. It may be that the wine and the intoxication of so wild
a scene had gone to his own head. He listened attentively to the song,
and watched the feet of the dancer, while he drummed upon the table with
his forefingers. One of the chiefs took from his robe a small whistle
made of the bone of an eagle, and began to blow upon it a shrill
monotonous tune. This inflamed the dancer still further, and he grew
wilder and wilder. The note of the whistle, while varying but little,
was fierce, piercing, and abundant. It thrilled the blood of red men and
white, all save Timmendiquas, who sat, face and figure alike unmoving.

Yahnundasis now began to gaze steadily at Henry. However he gyrated, he
did not take his eyes from those of the captive youth. Henry's blood
chilled, and for a moment stopped its circulation. Then it flowed in its
wonted tide, but he understood. Yahnundasis was seeing red. Like the
Malay he was amuck. At any moment he might throw the glittering hatchet
at the prisoner. Henry recognized the imminence of his danger, but he
steeled his nerves. He saw, too, that much depended upon himself, upon
the power of the spirit that radiated from his eyes. Hence, he, too,
looked steadily into the eyes of Yahnundasis. He poured all his nervous
strength and force into the gaze.

He felt that he was