of these
rocks the priests up here go forth, waving a flame into the air from
yonder platform. I fear if it were missed, the savages below would
come swarming up to discover the cause. Take a light from the pile,
and wave it yonder."

The stubborn preacher grimly shook his head.

"Nay," he replied. "I have borne part enough in their heathen orgies
already; it will take a lifetime to purge my soul. I bow down to Baal
no more."

It was useless to argue with such as he, nor had I spirit to do it.

"Then keep close guard over the priest," I retorted; and, grasping a
torch from among the burning mass upon the altar, made haste toward the
outer stone.

My eyes have seldom gazed upon a grander view of nature than that which
greeted me, as I crept around the great rock, and peered over the edge
down into that beautiful basin wherein the remnant of the Natchez had
established their home. The early sun had not as yet illumined the
lower levels, and all beneath my dizzy perch remained wrapped in the
sombre gray of promised dawn; the slightly rolling valley was dotted
with numerous square-topped huts of yellow straw, surrounded by
ponderous walls of gray stone or dun-colored earth, and the irregular
green fields were intersected by a silvery ribbon of running water: the
whole composed such a fair picture of restful, peaceful beauty, that
for the moment it held me at the edge in silent contemplation. It
appeared impossible that so sweet, secluded a spot could be the
habitation of savages, vengeful and cruel. Yet those black, moving
dots down yonder, clustering in front of the various lodges, I knew
were naked heathen, blood-thirsty and vindictive. Now that the
earliest rays of sunlight were beginning to tinge with gold the crest
above me, every expectant face in the tribe would be upturned toward my
perch, wondering at the slightest delay in their morning signal. My
eyes becoming accustomed to the distance, could even distinguish those
faint sparks of light where the priests below gathered before the great
altar-house to wave back response. If we would live for even another
day there must be no failure now. Nerving myself for the task, I
stepped forth on to the narrow shelf--no more than the merest black dot
to the watching eyes beneath--and flung forth the flaming torch in
fiery welcome to the Sun. A shrill cry from the throats far below
reached my ears in the merest thread of sound, yet before I drew back
from t