Paul uttered a shout of horror, but it was lost in the
joyful yells of the Iroquois, who, at the command of the woman,
offered a second victim. Again the tomahawk descended, and again
a man fell dead without a sound.
Shif'less Sol and Paul wrenched at their thongs, but they could
not move them. Braxton Wyatt laughed aloud. It was strange to
see how fast one with a bad nature could fall when the
opportunities were spread before him. Now he was as cruel as the
Indians themselves. Wilder and shriller grew the chant of the
savage queen. She was intoxicated with blood. She saw it
everywhere. Her tomahawk clove a third skull, a fourth, a fifth,
a sixth, a seventh, and eighth. As fast as they fell the
warriors at her command brought up new victims for her weapon.
Paul shut his eyes, but he knew by the sounds what was passing.
Suddenly a stern voice cried:
"Hold, woman! Enough of this! Will your tomahawk never be
satisfied?"
Paul understood it , the meaning, but not the words. He opened
his eyes and saw the great figure of Timmendiquas striding
forward, his hand upraised in protest.
The woman turned her fierce gaze upon the young chief.
"Timmendiquas," she said, "we are the Iroquois, and we are the
masters.
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