a few of these howling devils out of the world, but the cunning imps have measured the distance accurately enough- Great Heavens! they are about

to inflict some hellish torture!"

"Throw tomahawk!" exclaimed Canady.

A powerful savage stepped back and hurled his tomahawk; over and over, describing circles in its flight, the weapon sped, barely missing the captive's head, and falling at a short distance beyond the trunk of the tree to which the Major was bound.

A tall, cruel-faced savage stood apart from a line drawn up, evidently the master-of-ceremonies, for at his signal, a wave of the arm, a second brave stepped forward, hurled his hatchet and stepped to the rear; he, too, had barely missed the living target.

Sine-rong-ni-rese!" exclaimed Canady, through his set teeth.

And is yon monster the dreaded war-chief whose name is a terror to both white and red men?" asked Captain Lawrence, as he looked through his glass.

"That him-that Sine-rong-ni-rese," replied the Indian. "Um kill sister, kill father."

Like automatons, the warriors obeyed the unspoken command of their chief, the imperative gesture. Tomahawk after tomahawk whirled through the air, each missing the captive's head or body by a narrow margin, many by but a hair's breadth, as it seemed, while, roused from the stupor into which he appeared to have fallen, the Major raised his head and stretched his arms toward the dwelling where he believed white men were watching, for with eyes sharpened by despair he had noticed every demonstration, the sudden blaze of the fire at windows and doors, and its as sudden quenching as the streams of water flooded the combustibles.

It was a fearful scene upon which the watchers

gazed adown the broad vista bordered by tall pines fast crystallising in a glittering coat of ice, the long arms crashing and creaking, tossed by the stinging blasts, the glistening sleet whirling in a fantastic dance swallowed by the camp-fire, which threw up great clouds of grey smoke, through which a broad sheet of flame waved, lighting up the ice-paved earth like to a carpet of frosted silver.

Amid the white whirl the red blaze streamed across the pale, set features of the man chained to the tree trunk, looming above his head a pillar of crystal.

"Mohawk make sport-not fling tomahawk to

kill."

a

Scarcely had the words passed Canady's lips when the scene changed. Sine-rong-ni-rese uttered peculiar cry, and the screeching, dancing horde stood still, as if petrified by an enchanter's wand. The chief raised his hand and appeared to be haranguing his followers, concluding his oration by a sweep of the tomahawk above his head, a signal which Canady recognised as an order for an execution by torture.

A fiendish yell that fairly curdled the blood of the listening white men broke forth, rolling back in hollow echoes, the leaping savages circling in the horrid contortions of the war-dance, brandishing their weapons, threatening the captive at every turn, while to the right and left the head of the wretched man moved instinctively, to avoid the knife and spear thrusts, the demons gloating over the terror of the pale-face, and the spectators within the shelter of the beleaguered dwelling, powerless to aid, gazing in the dumb fascination of horror.

The frightful orgies were brought to a termination in a most unexpected manner.

From the forest on the right two streams of fire burst simultaneously, and two Mohawks, leaped up

ward with a convulsive shudder and fell upon their faces.

Conspicuous among his warriors loomed up the powerful figure of Sine-rong-ni-rese, his dancing plume and elaborate adornment of necklace, belt and embroidered robe glancing under the red light. And as the warriors fell, almost at his feet, he raised his head and gave utterance to a long-drawn cry, that was taken up by his followers, which Canady interpreted as a signal for retreat. And at that instant a terrific presence issued from the depth of the wood, a monster, black as night, with long tail lashing the air, great hoofs spurning the ice-coated earth at every bound, and bearing upon his back a monstrous figure, a giant in bulk, uncouth in shape as a shade from Tartarus, with four arms outstretched, hydraheaded and hideous, squat as the idols of a Hindoo temple, the two faces corpse-hued, with wide open jaws in each ashen visage, from which issued fitful gleams of fire alternately lighting and fading.

Straight across the fire-lit arena rushed the awful apparition, the monster beast with lowered head, a tremendous hollow bellow rolling out like the rumble of thunder.

The Mohawks heard the thud and crash of the great hoofs upon the ice-bound turf, the storm of icicles and the clash of the frozen underbrush as the behemoth swooped down upon them, and the horrible cry of the rider, discordant, frightful, continuous.

Into the thicket upon the opposite side of the arena plunged the uncanny object, only to wheel and reappear, and at the second sight of the terrible phantom the Mohawks fled at their utmost speed. "Ho-bam-o-koo! Ho-bam-o-koo!"

The cry of dread floated back as the gigantic

apparition dashed straight to the blazing camp-fire, wheeled sharply, circling about the blaze, tossing its horned head and bellowing defiance, but finally stopping short and tearing up the earth with its thick hoofs, and again rushing round the circle.

Two of the four arms of the rider tugged at the thong which was passed through a ring in the nozzle of the beast, which came to a sudden halt, its broad flanks quivering, a long roar rolling out like the rumble of a volcano on the verge of an eruption, and mingling with the unearthly shriek of the rider.

Then a most singular transformation occurred; the dual figure separated, two forms leaped to the ground, each with the corpse-like visage, and while the stouter of the twain held the rawhide thong and patted the bellowing steed, the second severed the captive's bonds, and raising the limp, senseless Major in its arms, lifted him to the back of the now quiet animal.

Covering the burden with the flowing mantle that had clothed their own forms, the twain moved rapidly up the avenue, disappearing in the rear of the mansion.

The Mohawks had decamped, not a sound was audible save the voice of the storm. The sharp crackle of the frozen twigs under their moccasined feet had died away in the distance. The siege was raised.

CHAPTER XXXIX

AN EFFECTIVE MASQUERADE

"He shuddered, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 'tis that doth appal.
How odd a single hobgoblin's nonentity

Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity."

"And Hamlet's father from the tomb,
And Faustus from the Devil."

HE awful phantom that had so terrified the superstitious savages as to cause them to beat a precipitate retreat was distinctly visible to the watchers within the mansion, and on the instant William Lawrence, Elizabeth and McGregor recognised the animal as "Whisper," Richard Smith's bovine steed-but the rider, who was he? Nether Smith nor the Colonel had been missed, for, as we know, the room was dark, and those within spoke only at intervals, and then in whispers or the lowest murmurs.

Even the learned of the European nations were deeply imbued with a belief in the ghostly and uncanny and with all the superstitions of the age, a credulity that held the savage tribes in a thrall and awe more potent than musket ball or edged sword. No wonder, then, that at first sight of the singular spectacle the onlookers shivered, and, believing the animal was bestridden by some terrible spectre, their hands trembled and their knees smote together with a sudden weakness; but their awe gave place to what