It was now late in the night, and entering that part of the town in which the Indians were mostly crowded together, he found them still excited and dissatisfied:—all had their arms, and none seemed at all disposed to rest. Here he remained for some time, mingling promiscuously with the crowd, and learned that their present excitement was owing to an attempt on their part to have another council called, and the mode of attack which had been agreed upon in the early part of the evening, changed. They wished to substitute in its place a night attack. They were anxious for immediate battle;—they were now more clamorous than they had been before, and some even hinted, that as the whites were under the very walls of their town, they could not escape them, and that it would be wise to disobey the commands of the Prophet; because, in so doing, they could satiate at once their thirst for vengeance. Oloompa, fearing that some immediate steps would be taken, which would tend to operate against the escape of the captive, and, having been absent nearly long enough to allow her to assume her disguise, returned again to the cabin, and withdrew the attention of the sentinel from its inmates, by describing to him the feelings and wishes of the warriors he had left, and his belief that they would force the Prophet to change the plan which had been adopted, and lead them against the whites before the day dawned. While thus conversing, he walked to and fro before the door, and saw one who seemed an Indian maiden press the hand of Netnokwa, and then throw herself on the bosom of Miskwa. Oloompa was agitated,—he felt that the moment of trial was come, and he renewed his effort to interest the sentinel. As he again passed before the door, he discovered Miskwa pressing forward the captive, in order to make her leave the lodge. He stopped, and standing just before the warrior, directed his attention to the heavens, and asked him the hour of the night. A moment passed,—there was the rustling of a garment heard,—a maiden left the lodge, and looking carelessly about her, walked farther into the town. “The old woman's daughter is fond of moonlight,” said the sentinel, as she passed on; “she likes not her cage.”