I was now free, but by no means satisfied with the manner in which my liberty had been procured. What meant this mysterious influence of a fair young Christian girl over a haughty savage chieftain? What were those whispered words which had wrought the sudden charm? Had she yielded to some request, or given some pledge in order to make her prayer effectual? My mind was racked with torments scarce less poignant than those which just before had threatened to assail my body. I resolved at all hazards to see the end of it; and, therefore, in defiance of fire and faggot, concealed myself at a point close by, which commanded a full view of the neighborhood. I had not been long in my hiding place when I saw a procession, with Tamaque at its head, move from the camp in the direction of this mountain. I conjectured at once that they were coming here to consult the conjurer, and resolved to follow them. When they had descended the face of the precipice to the spot where we are now sitting, I crept cautiously forward on the rock above, and found myself in full hearing of their consultation. “How often have I warned you,” said the conjurer, “against the teachings of the white men. I told you they only wished to rob you of your courage that they might destroy you the more easily; but you refused to listen to me.” “Well, well,” said Tamaque, “that is past; there is no help for it now. Let us talk of the future.” “Last year,” continued the conjurer, “when no game was to be found, and when the corn all withered away, I told you the Great Spirit was angry because you were forsaking the customs of your fathers; but you turned a deaf ear to my words.” “I remember it all,” said Tamaque, “but go on, and tell us of the future.” “They promised you,” persisted the conjurer, “that if you would worship their God you should go to their heaven when you died. I told you that your spirits and theirs could never live in peace in the same spirit-land; but you would not believe me.” “Come, come, I am tired of this,” said Tamaque. “No forests, no rivers, no deer, no hunting and no war,” continued the conjurer, “what would the Indian warrior do in the white man’s heaven?” “Cease your babbling!” cried Tamaque, in a tone no longer to be disregarded. “If you can foretell our fortunes in this war speak; if not, out on your boasted wisdom!” The conjurer seemed to feel that it was necessary to come to the point. After a long pause, he asked: “What have you done with the white stranger that came to your camp last evening?” The old impostor had no doubt seen me at the same time I had seen him as I crossed the mountain, but he was determined to make a mystery of it. Tamaque seemed puzzled. “How did you know of his coming?” he inquired. “Tamaque doubts the conjurer’s wisdom,” he replied. “No!” said Tamaque, “you would not tell me what I come to hear. Go on, now, and I’ll believe you.” “Has the stranger been put to death?” “He is gone,” said Tamaque.