"But what of the maiden?" he urged practically. "Surely, Tirawa directed you to bring her here for the sacrifice?"
"The maiden is holy," replied Tawannears. "She has paid the price of life here on earth. She comes, as has been said, from the Land of Lost Souls. Would Tirawa ask for the sacrifice of one who had descended from his own lodge?"
The medicine-man interjected fierce dissent, and Awa's arguments were stilled.
"Make them release Black Robe," I suggested as Tawannears repeated to me what had been said.
A hush, as complete as the quietness of universal death, had descended upon these thousands of savages, whose glances turned from us, bound and helpless as we were, to the equally straitened figure of the Jesuit against the torture-stake.
"No," retorted the Seneca with a hint of humor, "but first, brother, we must make them release us."
He fastened his eyes upon Awa.
"For many sleeps we have endured the treatment Awa's ignorance led him to impose upon us," he declared. "We have been loath to slay any more of his people. We came hither to serve the Chahiksichahiks, to assure them of Tirawa's favor. But the time is arrived when we must know if we are to receive the respect due to Tirawa's messengers. Shall we burst our bonds—and in doing so slay this multitude—or will you do us honor?"
The medicine-man leaped forward, and slashed off our bonds. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. Awa, magnificent savage that he was, looked away from us, but I saw that his sinewy hands were shaking as they clutched his horse's bridle.
"It is well," said Tawannears. "Give my white brother, the Messenger, the knife, and he will free the Fore-goer, who has stood quietly at the torture-stake, holding back the wrath of Tirawa by the pleas that came from his lips."