ief raised his arms, making the
False-Faces' sign.

"Mother," he stammered, "we did not know! We heard that the Stonish
Giants had returned; the Onondagas sent us word, but we did not know
this grove was where they gathered from Biskoona! McCraw sent us here to
await the flag."

"Liar!" hissed the hag.

"It is the truth," muttered the chief, shuddering. "Witness if I speak
the truth, O ensigns of the three clans!"

And a hollow groan burst from the cowering savages. "We witness, mother.
It is the truth!"

"Witch!" cried the officer, in a shaking voice, "what would you do with
my prisoner? You shall not have him, by the living God!"

"Senecas, take him!" howled the hag, pointing at the officer. The fellow
strove to draw his claymore, but staggered and sank to the ground,
covered under a mass of savages. Then, dragged to his feet, they pulled
him back, watching the Toad-woman for a sign.

"To purge this grove! To purge the earth of the Stonish Giants!" she
howled. "For this I ask this prisoner. Give him to me!--to me, priestess
of the six fires! Tiyanoga calls from behind the moon! What Seneca dares
disobey? Give him to me for a sacrifice to Biskoona, that the Stonish
ghosts be laid and the doors of fire be closed forever!"

"Take him! Spare us the dreadful rites, O mother!" answered the chief,
in a quivering voice. "Slay him before us now and let us see the color
of his blood, so that we may depart in peace ere the Stonish Giants ride
forth from Biskoona and leave not one among us!"

"Neah!" cried the hag, furiously. "He dies in secret!"

There was a silence of astonishment. Spite of their superstitious
terror, the Senecas knew that a sacrificial death, to close Biskoona,
could not occur in secret. Suddenly the chief leaped forward and dealt
me a blow with his castete. I fell, but staggered to my feet again.

"Mother!" began the chief, "let him die quickly--"

"Silence!" screamed the hag, supporting me. "I hear, far off, the gates
of Biskoona opening! Hark! Ta-ho-ne-ho-ga-wen! The doors open--the doors
of flame! The Stonish Giants ride forth! O chief, for your sacrilege
you die!"

A horrified silence followed; the chief reeled back, dropping the
death-maul.

Suddenly a horse's iron-shod foot rang out on a stone, close at hand.
Straight through the moonlight, advancing steadily, came a snorting
horse; and, towering in the saddle, a magic shape clad in complete
steel, glittering in the moonlight.

"Oona