Sachem were represented by their bravest chiefs, wisest counsellors, and most renowned braves.

With noiseless footsteps To-cus entered the circle and took his position near the mass of rich furs piled high beneath a rustic arch garlanded with bright flowers.

Among that assemblage of stalwart sons of the forest he was a fine figure, despite the scars that seamed his features. His broad breast, bared, save for the necklace of bears' claws, trophies of his prowess in the chase, bore livid marks of freshly healed wounds, honourable scars which he cared not to conceal, medals which bore the impress of their intrinsic value which all might read.

From his shoulders depended a blanket of scarlet cloth, inwrought with devices in quills and beads, over which his long scalp-lock trailed like a black cloud, and from beneath his heavy brows his eyes blazed with a triumphant light, veiling the deadly fire of anger from which the bravest warrior might well have shrunk, were he a foeman.

There was a strain, soft and sweet as of falling waters, the voices of the maidens chosen by the young princess as her attendants, and the swarthy face of the bridegroom lighted as if by magic.

Just as the flower-bedecked litter upon which Heather Flower was seated, surrounded by her dancing, singing maidens, was borne within the circle of light, there rose an awful cry from the heart of the forest. To the east, to the west, to the north and to the south, the sudden blood-curdling slogan of the Narragansetts pealed out fiercely, and a hundred and fifty plumed warriors, hideous in war-paint, broke from the cover of the night, leaped forward like ravenous beasts, and with irresistible onset began the fearful butchery of the terror-stricken Montauks,

many of whom made desperate but fruitless efforts to escape.

In vain Wyandance rushed like an incarnate spirit of war among his braves, and amidst a storm of arrows besought them to rally, his fierce war-cry ringing out like a clarion. All in vain.

Arrows cut the air like hissing serpents, tomahawks rained, knives flashed. Numbers were transfixed with flint-headed lances, many fell with heads battered by war-clubs or cloven by tomahawks, others, gashed and maimed by knives, lay upon the earth, the green turf and moss streaming with the life-blood flowing from gaping wounds.

The comparatively few in numbers of the Montauks had instantly recognised the war shout of the Narragansetts, but, taken so completely at a disadvantage by their surprise, they could scarcely offer a semblance of resistance.

Like a flash of lightning it had dawned upon all that the abduction of their princess was the prime object of the attack, for almost at the first onset she was seized and borne shoreward by two powerful warriors, who showed not the slightest disposition to do her bodily injury, but on the contrary appeared only anxious to escape with their captive unharmed.

Their retreat was covered by a score of warriors, whose only desire seemed to be to expedite the escape of the abductors, and, perceiving this, the Montauks, led by their Sachem, rushed as one man to rescue their beloved princess, but were overcome by numbers and slaughtered.

Battling with the desperation of despair to reach the captors and wrest his bride from their grasp, To-cus was literally cut in pieces with tomahawks and repeatedly pierced with spears, but to the last he struck out blindly, until crushed to earth by a blow

from a war-club wielded by the arm of a gigantic foeman.

Wyandance fought with the ferocity of a tiger to reach his daughter's side, but was foiled at every point; and yet, as if by design, he received no harm, not even a scratch. He was finally overpowered by numbers, borne down, and securely pinioned to the trunk of a giant oak, but suffered no further indignity except the taunts of his arch enemy, Ninigret: "The great Sachem of the Montauks is a squaw! Let him plant the corn, dress the skins, cook the venison and build the wigwams!"

A defiant yell was the only response from the chief.

The horrible deed was done. Heather Flower was a captive to her father's deadliest foe, To-cus was dead, many of her people slain, and their scalps hung at the belts of their murderers; the fate of her father was unknown to her, and she was upon the dark waters, captive of the fierce and revengeful Ninigret.

The first shock of battle was over, but the carnage that followed was not less terrible, as amid the green aisles and in the dark thickets red-handed Murder stalked.

From the outset, the murderers were indiscriminate as to age or sex. At least a score of squaws and children were among the victims. Their piteous appeals and shrieks were alike disregarded, and one by one, in quick succession, they were impaled upon spears, or their foreheads cleft by the tomahawk, and scarcely were their voices stilled in death ere their scalps hung from the girdles of the red demons. It was truly a saturnalia of blood.

A number, seeing the hopelessness of defence, fled to the dense thickets to hide from the demons who were ravenous for blood. The shrieks of the victims