"Begin the torment," yelled Bolling.
Tom drew a wicked knife and ran toward us, his yellow eyes aflame. But the squat Cahnuaga chief pushed him back.
"They are to be held for the Moon Feast," he proclaimed. "See, the Mistress comes. Stand back, brothers."
The sound of a monotonous wailing filled the air, joining itself with the evening breeze that sighed in the branches of the pines behind us. The crowd of savages drew away from us in sudden awe.
"Ga-go-sa Ho-nun-as-tase-ta," they muttered to each other.
"What do they say!" I asked Ta-wan-ne-ars.
His eyes did not leave a long dark building on the edge of the amphitheater.
"The Mistress of the False Faces is coming," he replied curtly.
"And who is she?"
"The priestess of their devilish brotherhood."