unners
of the Burnt Woods, they passed back and forth among the fires, and
presently McElroy caught the gleam of liquid that shone like rubies or
topaz in the evening light.

"Aha!" he said, "these Bois-Brules that have joined our captors appear
to have had dealings with the whites. Yonder is the source of your
discovered animation. Whiskey, as I live, and circling fast among the
braves. It bodes ill for us, my friend."

"So? Why so?"

"Because never was redskin yet who could hold fire-water and himself
at the same time. No matter how determined they are to reach
their stamping-ground before the ceremonies of our despatch, their
determination will evaporate like morning mists before the sun in
the warmth of the spirit, or I know not Indian nature. Prepare for
something, M'sieu."

As the evening fell and the fires leaped against the darkness, sounds
increased in the camp. Groups of warriors gathered and broke, voices
rose; and shrill yells began to cut above the melee of the noise.

From time to time a brave would come running out of the bustle and,
stopping near, glare ferociously at the captives. Twice a hatchet
came flittering through the firelight, its bright blade flashing as
it circled, to fall perilously close, and several times a squaw or two
prodded one or the other with a moccasined toe.

Once a young brave, his black eyes alight with devilishness, sprang out
from the bushes behind and caught McElroy's face in a pinching clasp
of fingers. With one bound the factor was on his feet and had dealt
the stripling a blow which sent him sprawling with his oiled head in
a squaw's fire. Instantly his long feather was ablaze and his yelp of
dismay brought forth a storm of derisive yells of laughter.

McElroy sat quietly down again.

"It has begun, M'sieu," he said grimly.

All night the liquor circled among the savages, as the spirit fired the
brains in their narrow skulls the uproar became worse. A huge fire was
built in the centre of the camp, tom-toms placed beside it in the hands
of old men, and, forming in a giant circle, the braves began a dance.

At first it was the stamp-dance*, harmless enough, with bending forms
and palms extended to the central fire and the ceaseless "Ah-a,
ah-a-a, ah-a," capable of a thousand intonations and the whole gamut of
suggestion and portent, blood-chilling in its slow excitement.

*I have witnessed this.--V. R.

Without the circle the squaws fought and quarrelled over