"At this our fire--for alas! no fire shall burn again at Onondaga, nor at Oneida Lake, nor at The Wood's Edge, nor at Thendara--I, Thiohero, Sorceress of Askalege, and _Oyaneh_, salute an Oneida chief and Sachem. Hail Royaneh!" "Hai! Royaneh!" shouted the young warriors in rising excitement. The girl come to me slowly, stooped and tore from the ground a strand of club-moss. Then, straightening up, she lifted her arms and held the chaplet of moss over my head,--symbol of the chief's antlers. "O nen ti eh o ya nen ton tah ya qua wen ne ken...." Her young voice faltered, broke: "Tah o nen sah gon yan nen tah ah tah o nen ti ton tah ken yahtas!" she added in a strangled voice: "Now I have finished. Now show me the _man_!" "He is here!" cried the excited Oneidas. "He wears the antlers!" Tahioni stretched out his hand; it was trembling when he touched the red foot sewed on my hunting shirt. "What is his name, O Thiohero, whom you have raised up among the Oneida? Who mourn a great man dead?" A deep silence fell among them; for what their prophetess had done meant that she must have knowledge that a great man and chief among the Oneida lay dead somewhere at that very moment. Slowly the girl turned her head from one to another; a veiled look drowned her gaze; the young men were quivering in the imminence of a revelation based upon knowledge which could be explained only by sorcery. Then the Little Maid of Askalege took a dry stick from the pretended fire, crumbled it, touched her lips with the powder in sign of personal and intimate mourning. "Spencer, Interpreter and Oneida Chief, shall die this week in battle," she said in a dull voice. A murmur of horror and rage, instantly checked and suppressed, left the Oneidas staring at their prophetess. "Therefore," she whispered, "I acquaint you that we have chosen this young man to take his place; we lift the antlers; we give him the same name,--Hahyion!"[38] [Footnote 38: Haghriron, of the Great Rite, in the Canienga dialect.] "Haih! Hahyion!" shouted the Oneidas with up-flung hands. I was dumb. I could not speak. I dared not ask this girl why and by what knowledge she presumed to predict the death of Spencer, and to raise me up in his place and give me the same name. In spite of me her magic made me shudder. But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must act quickly. "Come, then," said I in a shaky voice, "we People of the Rock must march on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!" The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly hid our heavier baggage. Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest. "March," I said in a low voice.