thongs that bound him, and he was drawn back to the scaffold.

Past caring whether he lived or died, and in too great agony from the
burns of his feet to realize where he was going, Radisson was conducted
to the Great Council. Sixty old men sat on a circle of mats, smoking,
round the central fire. Before them stood seven other captives.
Radisson only was still bound. A gust of wind from the opening lodge
door cleared the smoke for an instant and there entered Radisson's
Indian father, clad in the regalia of a mighty chief. Tomahawk and
calumet and medicine-bag were in his hands. He took his place in the
circle of councillors. Judgment was to be given on the remaining
prisoners.

After passing the Council Pipe from hand to hand in solemn silence, the
sachems prepared to give their views. One arose, and offering the
smoke of incense to the four winds of heaven to invoke witness to the
justice of the trial, gave his opinion on the matter of life or death.
Each of the chiefs in succession spoke. Without any warning whatever,
one chief rose and summarily tomahawked three of the captives. That
had been the sentence. The rest were driven, like sheep for the
shambles, to life-long slavery.

Radisson was left last. His case was important. He had sanctioned the
murder of three Mohawks. Not for a moment since he was recaptured had
they dared to untie the hands of so dangerous a prisoner. Amid deathly
silence, the Iroquois father stood up. Flinging down medicine-bag, fur
robe, wampum belts, and tomahawk, he pointed to the nineteen scars upon
his side, each of which signified an enemy slain by his own hand. Then
the old Mohawk broke into one of those impassioned rhapsodies of
eloquence which delighted the savage nature, calling back to each of