The last one ran, but stumbled, with three arrows in his burly neck and spine; and the Night Hawk’s hatchet flew, severing the thread of life far him and hurling him on his face. Instantly the young Oneida leaped upon the dead man’s shoulders, pulled back his heavy head, and tore the scalp off with a stifled cry of triumph.

“The Black-Snake!” said the Sagamore at my side, breathing heavily from his bloody combat, and dashing the red drops from the scalp he swung. “Look yonder, Loskiel! Our little Rosy Pigeon has returned at last!”

I had seen it already, but I turned to look. And I saw the White Sorceress and my sweetheart close locked in each other’s arms — so close and motionless that they seemed but a single snowy shape there under the lustre of the stars.