Again he lifted his hand and flashed the glittering gem before their eyes, his head swaying from side to side in a serpentine manner. Shrieks and groans of terror arose from the assembled warriors. Some prostrated themselves to the earth and pled for mercy; others fled from the scene—craven fear depicted upon their faces. “What’s the meaning of it all?” Douglas inquired in a low tone, of his companion. “Is it a clever play—for our benefit? “No,” answered Bradford with a positive shake of the head. “Tenskwatawa possesses some wonderful power. I don’t know what it is—but I’ve felt it.” “And couldn’t you resist it?” “_I_ could—yes. But _many_ can’t—as you have witnessed. Hush—he is speaking.” The Prophet was saying: “Arise, my children. The Great Spirit forgives you—_I_ pardon you. Have no fear; no harm shall befall you. Go and prepare for your journey. We must leave this sacred spot; the white man’s presence has defiled it. But the Great Spirit will go with us. He has promised. At another time, He will give us the victory over our enemies. The noble Winnemac shall sleep no longer. See!” Tenskwatawa, clapping his hands thrice in quick succession, cried sharply: “Winnemac, awake—arise!” The Pottawatomie suddenly opened his eyes; and, springing to his feet, gazed wildly around him, a bewildered expression upon his face. Little by little he recovered his scattered faculties and remembered where he was and what had happened. A horrified look settled on his countenance, as his eyes rested upon the Prophet. He shivered like one with an ague; and his teeth chattered. “The bold and warlike Winnemac has been asleep in the early morning,” Tenskwatawa remarked sneeringly. “Ugh!” was the guttural reply. Drawing his blanket over his head to hide his face, the Pottawatomie turned and staggered from the spot. The assembled warriors quickly followed him, leaving the two white men alone with the Prophet. “Again I have witnessed the power of Tenskwatawa,” Bradford said, smiling and extending his hand toward the red hypnotist. “Surely he speaks with the Great Spirit.” Evidently the Prophet understood the flatterer’s purpose; for, ignoring the extended hand, he answered sternly: “Yes; Tenskwatawa speaks with the Great Spirit. And the Great Spirit informs him that the young man at Scar Face’s side must die.” Bradford was not disconcerted. He returned coolly: “Is Tenskwatawa sure he heard the Great Spirit’s words aright?” “Tenskwatawa heard aright,” was the haughty reply. “The young paleface is of the Seventeen Fires. He is an enemy of the redmen. To-day he fought against them, slaying two and wounding three. The Great Spirit says he shall suffer death by torture.” “Did the Great Spirit inform Tenskwatawa that this young man—Fleet Foot—is my friend?” “No. But is not Scar Face the friend of the redmen?” “He is.” “Then how can an enemy of the redmen be the friend of Scar Face?”