And I see only the eternal wampum lying at my feet--lacking a single belt." With a furious gesture the Red Priest turned and stared at the dancing girls who raised their bare arms, crying: "We have dreamed, O Amochol! Let your Sorceress explain our dreams to us!" And one after another, as their turns came, they leaped up from the ground and sprang forward.

The first, a tawny, slender, mocking thing, flung wide her arms.
"Look, Sorceress! I dreamed of a felled sapling and a wolverine! What means my dream ?" And the slim, white figure, head bowed in her dark hair, answered quietly: "O dancer of the Na-usin, who wears okwencha at the Onon-hou-aroria, yet is no Seneca, the felled sapling is thou thyself.

Heed lest the wolverine shall scent a human touch upon thy breast!" And she pointed at the Andastes.
A dead silence followed, then the girl, horror struck, shrank back, her hands covering her face.
Another sprang forward and cried: "Sorceress! I dreamed of falling water and a red cloud at sunset hanging like a plume!" "Water falls, daughter of Mountain Snakes.

Every drop you saw was a dead man falling.

And the red cloud was red by reason of blood; and the plume was the crest of a war chief." "What chief!" said Amochol, turning his deadly eyes on her.
"A Gate-Keeper of the West." The shuddering silence was broken by the eager voice of another girl, bounding from her place--a flash of azure and jewelled paint.
"And I, O Sorceress! I dreamed of night, and a love song under the million stars.