She started and look at him wildly. She had hoped for much at the hands of Old Pegs, and if he were indeed taken her hope was vain.
“I can hardly believe that you speak the truth,” she said. “By what treachery has he fallen into your hands? He never was taken by fair means.”
“It matters little,” was the reply, “as long as I have him safe—and intend to make him the means of extorting a promise from you which I know you will not break. Ha; your friends are getting impatient, but my boys will teach them that it is not good to rouse the lion in his lair.”
The battle had recommenced in the pass beyond.
“The lion! Do not shame that noble brute by comparing yourself with him. Say rather the coyote—sly, treacherous and cowardly—and the simile may apply.”
“My patience is going fast,” he said, savagely. “Now hear me, and be careful of your answers. When we have beaten off your friends, the trappers, we take our march for Fort Garry, as we have done our work here for the present. I am rich now, and will turn my back forever on the mountains and plains of the West, and lead a new life in the region of the tropics. There our lives will pass as a summer idyl, peaceful and calm, and we will forget that this life of ours has ever been. There is a chaplain at Fort Garry who will marry us—”
“Never!”
“Hear me out. Give me your promise to go with me, and no harm shall come to him you call your father. I know that it is false—that he is not your father, but that is nothing now. Refuse, and he shall die with the utmost refinement of savage torment.”
“You would not do that?” she gasped.
“I? Oh no, that is not my business, but you must understand that the Modoc Sioux—my allies—have lost many friends, and they claim a victim. And, in short, I shall consider myself bound to give them one if you are obdurate. What do you say?”