A cry of exultation broke from the women when they heard the decision, and all prepared for the work of vengeance before them. At a signal from the Stag, two of the young Indians went to the hut and summoned Ethel to accompany them. She guessed at once that her death was decided upon, and, pale as marble, but uttering no cry or entreaty, which she knew would be useless, she walked between them. For a moment she glanced at the women around her, to see if there was one look of pity or interest; but faces distorted with hate and exultation met her eyes, and threats and imprecations assailed her ears. The sight, though it appalled, yet nerved her with courage. A pitying look would have melted her,--this rage against one so helpless as herself nerved her; and, with her eyes turned upwards and her lips moving in prayer, she kept along. The Indians led her to a tree opposite the centre of the village, bound her securely to it, and then retired. There was a pause before the tragedy was to begin. Some of the women brought faggots for the pile, others cut splinters to thrust under the nails and into the flesh. The old women chattered and exulted over the tortures they would inflict; a few of the younger ones stood aloof, looking on pityingly. The men of the tribe gathered in a circle, but took no part in the preparations,--the torture of women was beneath them. At last all was ready. A fire was lit near; the hags lit their firebrands and advanced. The chief gave the signal, and with a yell of exultation they rushed upon their victim, but fell back with a cry of surprise, rudely thrust off by three Indians who placed themselves before the captive. The women retreated hastily, and the men advanced to know the reason of this strange interruption. The Raven and his companions were unarmed. The Indians frowned upon them, uncertain what course to pursue. 'My brothers,' the Raven said, 'I am come to die. The Raven's time is come. He has flown his last flight. He and his brothers will die with the little White Bird. The Raven and his friends are not dogs. They have shed their blood against their enemies, and they do not know how to cry out. But their time has come, they are ready to die. But they must die before the little White Bird. If not, her spirit will fly to the Great Spirit, and will tell him that the Raven and his friends, whom she had sheltered and rescued, had helped to kill her; and the Great Spirit would shut the gates of the happy hunting-grounds against them. The Raven has spoken.' There was a pause of extreme astonishment, followed by a clamour of voices. Those who had before espoused the cause of the Raven again spoke out loudly, while many of the others hesitated as to the course to be pursued.