The leaders of the mob were the squaws, or Indian wives, of the chiefs Sagasto and Nethoto, slain by Oonalooska at the hermit’s cave. The mad women could not bide the time set apart by Tecumseh for the execution of the prisoners. Their hideous cries for blood, roused the village from slumber, and at the head of a motley crowd, composed of warriors, women, and children, they started to the prison-house. But Tecumseh, having been awakened, met them at the door, and refused them admittance. He had recourse to many arguments to induce the rioters to return to their respective lodges, and wait till the coming day for the death of their prisoners; but they fell upon deaf ears. “The squaws of Nethoto and Sagasto love Tecumseh,” spoke Nethoto’s wife. “They would not harm a hair of his head; but, unless he gives the pale-face and the red traitor to them, there may be no Tecumseh--the leader’s lodge may be empty to-morrow.” Tecumseh saw the angry look that accompanied those threatening words. Everywhere knives glittered, and he realized that he had bloodthirsty _women_ to deal with, not men. “The squaws are very mad,” said Girty, stealing to Tecumseh’s side. “They will have the prisoners, though they walk over Tecumseh. Why bid them wait till day, and die? Let Tecumseh glide to his beaded lodge, if he would not see the prisoners die.” “Tecumseh will go,” answered the chief. “He would not witness the work of the mad women. White Wolf, do not let them burn the prisoners. Tecumseh will have no such work within sound of his lodge. If they _must_ burn, let them be carried to the wood.” The chief threw a parting look at the mad squaws, and glided through the crowd to his lodge. As he left the throng, Jim Girty threw himself before the door of the hut, and his strong voice rent the air: “Tecumseh has listened to the words of Amasqua,” he said. “The pale-face and red traitor must not die in the village. Let them be borne to the wood.” His speech was received with yells of satisfaction, and the renegade tore Tecumseh’s wampum from the door of the hut. Throwing himself against the barrier, he forced himself into the structure, and a minute later the hermit and his red companion found themselves in the hands of the most furious band of humans that ever surrounded a prisoner. “To the wood! the dark wood!” was the import of the chorus of vengeful yells that floated heavenward, and away toward the gloomy tarn the twain were hurried. Alaska and Mayne Fairfax followed in the rear of the band. Many a lowering glance was thrown at the young hunter, and had it not been for the presence of his strong protector and her guard of brutes, he would soon have stood at the prisoners’ side. Mayne Fairfax kept from the sight of Oonalooska and the hermit. He did not wish them to know that he was a forced witness to their doom, and a refusal to accompany his mad mother might have proved his death-warrant.