The scalp dance went on, but it had lost some of its fire and vigor.
Shif'less Sol felt relieved.
"She's gone," he whispered to Paul, and the boy, too, then opened his eyes.

The rest of it, the mad whirlings and jumpings of the warriors, was becoming a blur before him, confused and without meaning.
Neither he nor Shif'less Sol knew how long they had been sitting there on the ground, although it had grown yet darker, when Braxton Wyatt thrust a violent foot against the shiftless one and cried: "Get up! You're wanted!" A half dozen Seneca warriors were with him, and there was no chance of resistance.

The two rose slowly to their feet, and walked where Braxton Wyatt led.

The Senecas came on either side, and close behind them, tomahawks in their hands.

Paul, the sensitive, who so often felt the impression of coming events from the conditions around him, was sure that they were marching to their fate.