"I know not," said the sachem.
"Find her and bring her forth. She led hither the Frenchman who has slain my son."
The sachems turned and their black eyes glittered upon her.
"It is false," cried Shuswap.
"She desires to win the French doctor for husband. She brought him therefore to the lake that he might lie in wait to kill the Englishmen. One man Onawa killed with her own hand. My son is your son. Your daughter, my sister, must die."
She spoke, and passed away into the glow of the forest.
Shuswap dashed his grey head to the ground.
"She must die," muttered the counsellors.
The news travelled like an evil wind from fire to fire. All the tribes swore by their gods that the woman who had sought to betray them must die. Not till then might Shuswap lift up his head among them. They danced more cruelly, maddened by disgrace.
A runner came from the depths of the forest, spots of blood thrown from his flying heels. Three hours had he run at that speed. He passed the warriors and their fires and reached the council. All the sachems sat erect, save only old Shuswap, who lay forward, his head upon the dust.