And now, as I ran on, I understood that this accursed road had been made expressly to transport their siege artillery; that their guns were still in transit; that they had masked a cannon and manned it with Hessian chasseurs to keep their gun-road safe against surprise from any party scouting out of Oriska. Lord, what an ambuscade! And what an escape for us! As I jogged on at the heels of my Indians, still dazed and shaken by the deadly surprise of it all, I saw Thiohero, who was some little distance in front of me, reel sideways as though out o' breath, and stand still near a beech tree, holding her scarlet blanket against her body. When I came up to her she was leaning against the tree, clutching her blanket to her face and breast with both hands. But she heard me and lifted her head from the gaily coloured folds. "Hahyion--Royaneh!" she panted, "_this_ was your battle.... And now--it is over ... and you shall live!..." My Oneidas had halted and were looking back at us. And now they returned rapidly and clustered around us. "Are you exhausted, little sister?" I demanded, drawing nearer. "Are you hurt----" "Listen--my brother and--my Captain!" she burst out breathlessly. "_This_ was the battle of my vision!--the strange uniforms--the cannon-cloud--the white shape!... I saw it near you where--where you stood in the cannon smoke!--a shape like mist at sunrise.... Haihee! It was the face and shape of the Caughnawaga girl!... It was Yellow Hair who floated there beside you in the cannon smoke!--covered to her eyes in white and flowers----" The Little Maid of Askalege clutched her gay blanket closer to her breast and began to sway gently on her feet as though the thumping of a distant partridge were a witch-drum. "Haihya Hahyion!" she whispered--"Thiohero Oyaneh salutes--her Captain.... I speak--as one dying.... Haiee! Haie--e! Yellow Hair is--is quite--a witch!----" Her voice failed; down on her knees she sank. And, as I snatched her from the ground and lifted her, she looked up into my face and smiled. Then, in a long-drawn sigh, her soul escaped between my arms that could not stay its flight to Tharon. Her face became as wax; her head fell forward on my breast; her eyes rolled upward. And, as I pressed her in my arms, all my body grew warm and wet with bright blood pouring from her softly parted lips. CHAPTER XXIX THE WOOD OF BRAKABEEN It was the 12th day of August when we came again to the Wood of Brakabeen,--we four young warriors of the clan of the Little Red Foot. We were ragged and bruised and weary, and starving; but the fierce rage burning in our breasts gave to each a strength and purpose that nerved our briar-torn and battered bodies to effort inexhaustible. Under scattered and furtive shots from German muskets we had retreated through the forest with our dead prophetess, until night ended pursuit by the chasseurs, and we ourselves had lost our direction.