the warriors recollection of victories for the Iroquois. His eyes took
fire from memory of heroic battle. The councillors shook off their
imperturbable gravity and shouted "Ho, ho!" Each man of them had a
memory of his part in those past glories. And as they applauded, there
glided into the wigwam the mother, singing some battle-song of valor,
dancing and gesticulating round and round the lodge in dizzy,
serpentine circlings, that illustrated in pantomime those battles of
long ago. Gliding ghostily from the camp-fire to the outer dark, she
suddenly stopped, stood erect, advanced a step, and with all her might
threw one belt of priceless wampum at the councillors' feet, one
necklace over the prisoner's head.

Before the applause could cease or the councillors' ardor cool, the
adopted brother sprang up, hatchet in hand, and sang of other
victories. Then, with a delicacy of etiquette which white pleaders do
not always observe, father and son withdrew from the Council Lodge to
let the jury deliberate. The old sachems were disturbed. They had
been moved more than their wont. Twenty withdrew to confer. Dusk
gathered deeper and deeper over the forests of the Mohawk Valley.
Tawny faces came peering at the doors, waiting for the decision.
Outsiders tore the skins from the walls of the lodge that they, too,
might witness the memorable trial of the boy prisoner. Sachem after
sachem rose and spoke. Tobacco was sacrificed to the fire-god. Would
the relatives of the dead Mohawks consider the wampum belts full
compensation? Could the Iroquois suffer a youth to live who had joined
the murderers of the Mohawks? Could the Mohawks afford to offend the
great Iroquois chief who was the French youth's friend? As they
deliberated, the other councillors returned, accompanied by all the
members of Radisson's friendly family. Again the father sang and
spoke. This time when he finished, instead of sitting down, he caught