In the lapse of a few days, the prisoner, under her skilful treatment, had entirely recovered from his injuries, and a day was appointed for his death. He was doomed to "run the gauntlet" of the tribe; that is, he was required to run between two lines of warriors and of women and children, armed with thongs of hide and small rods, which each one was to use upon his person as the fugitive passed them in full career. On a bright and cheerful morning the luckless prisoner was loosened from his bonds, and led forth to run his race; after which he was doomed to perish at the stake. But the brave youth stepped forth with an undaunted eye, and a firm tread, to the place of torment. He eyed with a fearless and contemptuous glance the fearful preparations made for punishment; the long lines of his enemies ready with their rods to strike at him; and the blackened pole of sacrifice surrounded with its pile of faggots.
He took his post at the head of the arranged lines, ready to plunge through the thicket of rods that were menacing him. For a moment before the start, he glanced his eye along the dark faces that scowled upon him, to discern the fair form of Monega, but he observed her not. At length the two men that held him loosened their grasp, and he was directed to use his utmost speed. And well did the most famous runner of the Mohawks maintain that day the fame that he had won in so many a hard-contested race. He sprang forth with the strength and activity of the wild stag, and scarcely a blow from the multitude alighted upon his shoulders. When he had passed unharmed through the whole line, he would have succeeded in making his escape altogether, had not several Oneidas, posted for that purpose, flung themselves upon him, and securely pinioned his limbs. Thus firmly bound, the Mohawk was led to the fatal stake, and secured with thongs to the upright posts, while large bundles of dried saplings were heaped around him by his persecutors. The whole party of the Oneidas then assembled around him in a circle, to enjoy his dying agonies. The brave youth now gave himself up for lost, and threw a hasty glance on the blue sky that bent its dome above him, and over the green woods that nestled with all their leaves in the summer breeze, as on lovely objects which his eyes were never more destined to look upon again.
The torch was lighted, and a grim chief was advancing to apply it to the pile, when the light step of Monega anticipated his approach. As she issued from the crowd, she implored the privilege of whispering a few words to him who was about to die. So highly was she held in the estimation of the tribe, that leave was readily granted her, and, thrusting aside the dry heap of the sacrifice, she stood beside the captive. She spoke not a word, however, but hastily passed a sharp knife over the thongs that secured him, and instantly freed his limbs in liberty.
"Now, fly, fly, I beseech thee," she whispered; "you are free—once more free! Fly with the speed of the wind."
"I will do my best endeavor," said he, hurriedly; "and if I escape, shall await you at the great Waterfall; and so, farewell." And, with one vigorous bound, he sprang through the ring of his foes, overthrowing some three or four of them to the earth. And bravely did he stretch away his sinewy limbs in the flight for life and liberty; and though fifty active runners followed in pursuit, yet soon did he outstrip them all, and effected his escape.
He was shortly rejoined at the foot of the great falls by his faithful Monega, who accompanied her lover in his flight, and became his bride, and the chief woman of the Mohawk nation.