"Quiet!" she said, soothingly. "The snake has gone, O Tahagoos, my friend. Behold, my hand is empty; Sa-kwe-en-ta, the Fanged One has gone." It was true. There was nothing where, an instant before, I myself had seen the dread thing, crest swaying on a level with her eyes. "Will you be swept away by this young witch's magic?" shrieked Catrine Montour. "Oneidas!" cried Magdalen Brant, "the way is cleared! Hiro [I have spoken]!" Then the sachems of the Oneida stood up, wrapping themselves in their blankets, and moved silently away, filing into the forest, followed by the war-chiefs and those who had accompanied the Oneida delegation as attestants. "Tuscaroras!" said Magdalen Brant, quietly. The Tuscarora sachems rose and passed out into the darkness, followed by their suite of war-chiefs and attestants. "Onondagas!" All but two of the Onondaga delegation left the council-fire. Amid a profound silence the Lenape followed, and in their wake stalked three tall Mohicans. Walter Butler sprang up from the base of the tree where he had been sitting and pointed a shaking finger at Magdalen Brant: "Damn you!" he shouted; "if you call on my Mohawks, I'll cut your throat, you witch!" Brant bounded to his feet and caught Butler's rigid, outstretched arm. "Are you mad, to violate a council-fire?" he said, furiously. Magdalen Brant looked calmly at Butler, then deliberately faced the sachems. "Mohawks!" she called, steadily. There was a silence; Butler's black eyes were almost starting from his bloodless visage; the hag, Montour, clawed the air in helpless fury. "Mohawks!" repeated the girl, quietly. Slowly a single war-chief rose, and, casting aside his blanket, drew his hatchet and struck the war-post. The girl eyed him contemptuously, then turned again and called: "Senecas!" A Seneca chief, painted like death, strode to the post and struck it with his hatchet. "Cayuga!" called the girl, steadily. A Cayuga chief sprang at the post and struck it twice. Roars of applause shook the silence; then a masked figure leaped towards the central fire, shouting: "The False-Faces' feast! Ho! Hoh! Ho-ooh!" In a moment the circle was a scene of terrific excesses. Masked figures pelted each other with live coals from the fires; dancing, shrieking, yelping demons leaped about whirling their blazing torches; witch-drums boomed; chant after chant was raised as new dancers plunged into the delirious throng, whirling the carcasses of white dogs, painted with blue and yellow stripes. The nauseating stench of burned roast meat filled the air, as the False-Faces brought quarters of venison and baskets of fish into the circle and dumped them on the coals.