The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 14, 1903, Page 2

MORE THE WERE. allment of 3UBBLE,” ystery of wo guilty broke fall wois, This ry of Eng- two cen- ded next And Lmmediately following “THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE” you will get a new novel, the very latest cre- on of Mrs. C. N. Williamson, call- ed “BETWEEN TWO FIRES.” Those read “The Mystery Box” ted Gold,” both by the horess and published com- n the Sunday Call since the terary policy of giving its e best fiction of the day by the femous writers in the tely free—was inau- gurated, w not have to be told bout the thrilling, fascinating qual- es of her new book rapid succession will fol- thrilling new American faster of Appleby,” by nr; “Crittenden,” by ; “The Two Vanrevels,” Tarkington, whose famous e Gentlemen From Indi- just been concluded in these ges mpike House,” by Fergue , ete. . Emerson Hough APTEDR X1 NERS ROQUOIS. g e I s was worse was there lacking swift a re Leaw and Pem S g f i them- »n & rng toma ws eir weapons them, and on Ives beyond . e ‘whose » erly ripepted 4 egarde m with a sar- le ou are ol English’’ ‘eald he, e of you wear blue we may perhaps adopt inte but slowly e ue coats are d ghiers 1 we shall, of ree, burn. As r warhouse, you v o longer L. s'nce you are o are going to > Coriser weil know have no . significance of this threat - soon made plain. In an hour e st kade was but & mass of and ashes. I ther hour the ad become a Gehenra of an with whose 4 woe there mingled the sav- ge ations of & foe whose treachery £ but surp by his cruelty. Again anting ground of the Llini was ut wasie, to mark it naught re- g b mpicd gra‘n, and heaps of & muants of b'ackened and cd bones. Ey nightfali the party ers had begun a wild journey gh the wilderness, whose horror sur- & ey had suppos: o be hu- endurabic fter day, week after week, for more then & month, and much of the wirter weather, they tofled on part of the way by boat, the remainder f the journe foot, crossing snow- szed forest, and tangled thicket and 2 rase. yet daring not to drop out e since Lo lag might mean to die, ’ as though after some. frightful f suffering and despair that - gth they reached the villages of Five Nations, Jocuted far to the east he foot e great waterway which » [ famiy had ascended more # vear before t if that which had gone before scemed lke some bitter dream. surely the « of awakening promised byt little bet- e. From village to village. foot- d ill, they were hurried without cach new etopping place the cen tral figures of a barbarous triumph; and nowhere did they meet the representa- tives of either the French or the Engiish Government, whose expected presence had constituted their one ground of hope. “Where is your big peace?” asked Te- ganisoris of Pembroke. “Where are the head men of Corlaer? Who brings pres- ents to the Iroquois, and who is to tell us that Opontio has carried the pipe of peace to Corlaer? Here are our villages as when we left them, and here again are we, save for the absent ones who have been killed by your young men. It is no wonder that my people are displeased. Indeed, those of the Iroquois who had remained at home clamored coatinually that some of the prisoners shou'd be given over to them. Thus, in doubt, un- certainty and terror the party passed through the villages, moving always east- ward, until at length they arrived at the fortified town where Teganisorls made his home, a spot toward the foot of Lake On- arfo and not widely removed from that stupendous cataract which, from the be- ginning of earth, had uplifted its thun- derous diapason here in the savage wii- derness—Ontoneagrea, object of supersti- tious awe amoug all the tribes. ime hung heavy on the hands of the savages. It was winter, and the partles had all returned from the war trails. The mutterings arose yet more loudly among families who had lost most heavily in these Western expeditions. The shrewd mind of Teganisorie knew that some new thing must be planned. He announced his decision at his own village after the triumphal progress among the tribes had at length been concluded. “Since they have sent us no presents,” said he, with that daring diplomacy which made him a leader in red statesmanship, “let those who stayed at home be given #ome prisoner in pay for those of their people who have been killed. Moreover, let us offer to the Great Spirit some sac- vifice in propitiation, since surely the Great Spirit is offended.” Such was the conclusion of this head maw of the Onon- dagos, and fateful enough it was to the prisoners, biinals YO N The great gorge through which poured the vast waters of the northern seas Wwas a spot not always visited by those passing up the Great Lakes for the Western stations, nor down the lakes to the settlements of the St. Law- rence. Yet there was a trail which led around the great cataract, and the occa- sional coureurs de bois, or the passing friarg, or the adventurous merchants of the lower settlements now and again left the trail, and came to look upon the tremendous scene of the great falling of the waters. Heve where the tumult as- cended up to heaven, and where the white blown wreaths ‘of mist might in- deed, even in an imagination better than that of a savage, have been construed into actual forms of spirits, the Indians bad from time immemorial made their offerings to the genjus of thé cataract —strips of rude cloth, the skin of the beaver and the otter, baskets woven of sweet grasses, and after the advent of the white man pieces of metal or strings of precious beads. Such valued things as thes: were in rude adoration placed upon rocks or uplifted scaffolds near to the brink of the abyss. This was the spot most commonly chosen by the medi- cine man in the pursuit of his incanta- tions. Tt was the church, the wild savage cathedral of the red men. Following now the command of their chieftain, the Iroquois left their station- ary lodges and moyed in a body, pitch- ing a temporary camp at a spot not far from the falls. Here, in a great council lodge. the older men sat in deliberation for a full day and night. The dull drum sounded continually, the council pipe went around and the warriors besought the r-irits to give them knowledge. The savage hysterid. little by little yet stead- fly. arose higher and higher, until at length it reached that point of frenzy where haught could suffice save some ter- rible, some tremendaus thing. Enforced spectators of these curious and ominous ceremonies. the prisomers looked on. wondering. imagining, hesi- tating and fearing. ‘“Monsleur,” gald Plerre. Noir, turning at last to Law, *“it grieves me to speak, vet 'tls best for you to' know the truth. It is to be you or Monsieur Pembroke. ' They will not have me. They say that it must be one of you two great chiefs, for that you were brave, your hearts were strong. and that hence you would find favor as the adopted child of the Great Spirit who has been of- fended nd Law 1ooxed at Pembroke, and they both Tegarded Mary Connynge and the bab: “At least,” sald Law, “they spare the woman and the child. 8o fay very well. Bir Arthur, we are at the last hazard.” “I have asked them to take me,” sald Plerre Noir, “for I am an old man and have no family. But they will not listen to_me.” Pembroke passed his hand wearily across his face. “I have behind me so long & memory of suffering,” sald he, “and before me so small an amount of promise that for myself I am content to let it end. It comes to all sooner or later, according to our fate.” “You speak,” sald Law, “as though you were determined. Yet Pierre says it will not be both of us, but one.” Pembroke smiled sadly. “Why, sir,” said he, “do you think me so sorry a fel- low as that? Look!” and he pointed to Mary Connynge and the child. “There is your duty. Law followed his gaze and his look was returned dumbly by the woman who had played so strange a part in the last pas- sages of his life. Never a word with her had Law spoken regarding his plans or concerning what he had. learned from Pembroke. As to this, Mary Connynge had been afrald to ask, nor dare even ask " went on Pembroke later, as he called Law aside, “‘there is something to be done—not here, but over there, ir England, or in France. Your duty is in- volved not only with this woman. You must find some time the other woman You must see the Lady Catherine Knol- lys.” Law sunk his head between his hand$ and greaned bitterly. “Go you rather,” sald he, “and spend your life for her. I choose that it should end at once and here.” “I have not been wont to call Mr. Law & coward,” sald Pembroke, simply “I should be a coward if I should stand aside and allow you to sacrifice yourse! nor shall I do so0,” replied the other “They say,” broke in Pierre Noir, who had" been listening to the excited har- angues of first one warrior and then an- other, *“that both warrl are great chiefs and that both should go together Teganisoris insists that one shall be offered. \ Th last has been almost agreed; but which one of you 'tis to be has not yet been determined Dawn came through the narrow and open roof holes of the lodge. rising of the sun seemed to bring con tion to the Iroquois. All at once the sav- age councfl broke up and scattered into groups, which hurried to different parts of the village. There sounded a concert- cd savage chant. A ragged column ap- peared, whose head was faced toward the cataract. There were those who bore strings of beads and strips of fur, even the prized treasures of the tufted scalp locks, whose tresses, combed smooth were adorned with colored cloth and feathers, Plerre now was silent yet, as the ca tives looked they needed no advice that the sacrificial procession was now form- ing. “They sald,” began Pierre Noir, at length, with trembling voice, turning his eyes aside as he spoke, “that it could not be myself, that it must be one of you and but one. They are going to cast lots for it. It is Teganisoris who has p posed that the lots shall be thrown by Plerre Noir faltered, unwilling to go on “And by whom?” asked Lgw, quietl the woman—by madame CHAPTER XIII THE SACRIFICE. There was sometimes practiced among the Iroquois a game which bore a certain resemblance to the casting of dice, as the latter is known among civilized peoples The method of the play was simple. Two oblong polished bones, of the bigness of a man's finger, were used as the dice The ends of these were ground thin and were rudely polished. One of the dice was stained red, the other left white. The players in the game marked out a line on the hard ground, and then each turn cast up the two dice into the air, throwing them from some receptacle. The game was determined by the falling of the red bone, he who cast this colored bone closer to the line upon the ground being declated the winner. The game was simple, and depended much upon chance. 1f the red die fell flat upon its face at w point near to the line, it was apt to He close to the gpot where it dropped. On the other hand, did it alight upon elther end, it might bound back and fall at some little distance upon one side of the line. It was this game which, in Lorrible fashion, Teganisoris now proposed: to play. He offered to the clamloring medi cine man and his ferocious disciples one of these captives, whose death should ap- pease not only the offendea Great Spirit, but algo the unsated vengeance of the tribe. He offered, at the same time, the spectacle of a play in which a human life should be the stake. He used as practical executioner the woman who was possessed by one of them, and who, in the crude notions of the savages, was n doubt _coveted by both. It must be the hand of this woman that should cast the dice, a white one and red one for each man. and he whose red die fell closer to the line was winner in the grim game of life and death. Jean Breboeuf and Plerre Noir stood apart, and tears poured from the eyes of both. They were hardened men, well ac- quainted with Indian warfare: they had scen the writhings of tortured victim: and more than once had faced such po: sibilities themselves; yet never had they scen sight like this. Near the two men stood Mary Con- nynge, the bright blood burning in her cheeks, her eyes dry and wide op=n. look- ing from one to the other. God, who gives to this earth the few Mary Con- nynges, alone knows the nature of th clements which made her, and the char- acter of the conflict which now went on within her soul. Tell such a woman as Mary Connynge that she has a rival, and sbie will either love the more madly the man whom she demands as her own, or with equal madness and with greater in. tensity will hate her lover with a hatred undying and approachable Mary Connynge stood, her eyes glancing from one to the other of the men before her. She had seen them both proved brave men, strong of arm, undaunted of heart, both gallant gentlemen. God, who makes the Mary Connynges of this earth, only can tell whether or not there arose in the heart of this savage woman, thix woman at bay, scorned, rebuked, master ed, this one question: Which? If Mary Connynge hated John Law, or It she loved him—ah! how must have pulsed hor or In heart in agony, took into her hand those 1 the arbiters of Tegan a few rapid w bitterness, & s which w 05 sanll deatBl about im and spoke t Mary nygne rougt the s der and pulled her forwar he two stood with faces set a ay in the pitiless light of morn. Thel s were fast bound behind their backs. Eag the er av ages pressed up to them, 8 ating i and y and again into sign of weak propesed doubting that be the draw the f. ger.tler Tes: all poss she the cc devised he drew atom of tacle at placed ceremony wrenched ynge's foot the m it—the little now again ; as though In actua he would lot, to die as a man a nisoris would ‘play this game with and im My 1 sa This might be € we played at the Gr. ng Law t 1 n him ale and solemn God the issue may e ~ we la played elect me and the receptacie hand on t his was ded back tr s e w Mary Connyr o e d beer v g e s rapidly om t as lightly quick ar of the crouched cat one 1 as Which® Which would < control.ghis game? Could she elect man should live and which should die— this woman ed, abased, mas ught to read d blazing ed th, white ment buck ts face alighte As 1 e ted Ar- r, “I ha et row is passing sir close for u. Tegar again caught Mary C nynge by the s and dragged a step or so farthe: N Bao. the twa afce Betng left g S g nad fallen C once more it tu were cast. The goddess o tul to t His life cerned with this try opportunt was to be The white and the r > gether from the moccasin. Had it been the white that d Sir Arthur had been saved, f T ay a tually upon almos as clo i As thoug £ evil it dropped é or hard bit of eart air fell and rolled mark Even on that there came arce dared a si faces of P one toward the “Would God he about him mark you! wh Is 1 o feet of the white man sha A ever and crush vour faces into the Whether or not Iro is und [l his deflance could not be term 1 With a wild shout they pressed D m Borne struggling and stumbli . jmoulse of a dozen hands, Pembroke half walked and half was carried distance between the village a - brink of the chasm of Until then had - what was he but when he | the mature 1 upon the of waters below h and h the thundsrous voices of the Pembroke knew what was t portion There was. at some d great falls. a spot where desc sihle to the edge of the w broke's feet were lnosened e compelled to descend the narrow pat A cance was tethered at the s . face of the voung Englishma e e realized what was to assigned it. Bound again ha helpless he was cast inte t strong arm sent t cra midstream he hands of the g the frail cockleshe tossed it 1 with irrevocably moments it win with mighty str the plunge shore saw at a by the vi in the b ! ita side. 1t was the cold &' bark of the A moment. ar upon the solen CHAPTER XIV Madame Plorre Nofr!