Doubt--and die!" Amochol's face was like pale brown marble; twice he half turned toward the executioner, but gave no signal.

Finally, he laid his hand flat on the altar; the executioner unbent his bow and the arrow drooped from the painted haft and dangled there, its hammered iron war-head glinting in the firelight.
Then the Prophetess turned and stood looking out over the throng through the thick, aromatic smoke from the birch-fire, and presently her clear voice rang through the deathly silence: "O People of the Evening Sky! Far on the Chemung lie many dead men.

I see them lying there in green coats and in red, in feathers and in paint! Through forests, through mountains, through darkness, have my eyes beheld this thing.

There is a new thunder in the hills, and red fire flowers high in the pines, and a hail falls, driving earthward in iron drops that slay all living things.
"New clouds hang low along the river; and they are not of the water mist that comes at twilight and ascends with the sun.

Nor is this new thunder in the hills the voice of the Eight White Plumed Ones; nor is the boiling of the waters the stirring of the Serpent Bride.
"Red run the riffles, yet the sun is high; and those who would cross at the ford have laid them down to dam the waters with their bodies.
"And I see fires along the flats; I see flames everywhere, towns on fire, corn burning, hay kindling to ashes under a white ocean of smoke--the Three Sisters scorched, trampled, and defiled!" She lifted one arm; her spellbound audience never stirred.
"Listen!" she cried, "I hear the crashing of many feet in northward flight! I hear horses galloping, and the rattle of swords.