The savage, however, retired, and another stepped forward and grasped the captive’s hand.
“Soft, like squaw’s hand—let me feel it,” he remarked, shutting his own over it like a vice. Seth winced not in the least; but, as the Indian in turn was about to relinquish his attempt at making sport for his comrades, Seth said:
“Your paws don’t appear very horny,” and closed over it with a terrific grip. The savage stood it like a martyr, till Seth felt the bones of his hand actually displacing, and yielding like an apple. He determined, as he had in reality suffered himself, to be revenged, and he closed his fingers tighter and more rigid till the poor wretch sprang to his feet, and howled with pain!
“Oh! did I hurt you?” he asked with apparent solicitude, as the savage’s hand slid from his own with much the appearance of a wet glove. The discomfited Indian made no reply, but retired amid the jeers of his comrades. Seth, without moving a muscle, seated himself deliberately upon the ground, and coolly asked a savage to lend him a pipe. It is known, that when an Indian sees such hardihood and power, as their captor had just evinced, he does not endeavor to conceal his admiration. Thus it was not strange, that Seth’s impudent request was complied with. One handed him a well-filled pipe, with a grin in which could be distinctly seen, admiration, exaltation, and anticipated revenge. From the looks of the others, it was plain they anticipated an immense deal of sport. Our present hero continued smoking, lazily watching the volumes of vapor, as they slowly rolled before and around him. His captors sat around him a moment, conversing in their own tongue (every word of which we may remark, was perfectly understood by Seth), when one arose and stepped forward before him.
“White man strong—him pinch well—but me make him cry?”
So saying, he stooped, and removing the captive’s cap seized a long tuft of yellow hair which had its root at the temple. A stab in the eye would not have caused an acuter twinge of pain; but, as he jerked it forth by the roots, Seth gave not the slightest indication, save a stronger whiff at the pipe. The savages around did not suppress a murmur of admiration. Seeing no effect from this torture, the tormenter again stooped and caught another tuft that grew low upon the neck. Each single hair felt like the point of a needle thrust into the skin, and as it came forth, the Indians seated around, noticed a livid paleness, like the track of a cloud, quickly flash over their captive’s countenance. He looked up in his tormentor’s eyes with an indescribable look. For a moment, he fixed a gaze upon him, that savage as he was, caused a strange shiver of dread to run through him.
To say that Seth cared nothing for these inflicted agonies would be absurd. Had the savage dreamed what a whirlwind of hate and revenge he had awakened by them, he would have never attempted what he did. It was only by an almost unaccountable power that Seth controlled the horrible pains of both body and mind, he suffered. He felt as though it was impossible to prevent himself from writhing on the ground in torment, and springing at his persecutor and tearing him from limb to limb. But he had been schooled to Indian indignities, and bore them unflinchingly.
His temple had the appearance of white parchment with innumerable bloody points in it, as the blood commenced oozing from the wound, and his neck seemed as though the skin had been scraped off! His momentary paleness had been caused by the sickening pain and the intensest passion. His look at the savage was to remember him. After the events which have just transpired, they remained seated a moment in silence. At last, one who appeared to be the leader, addressed in an undertone, the Indian whom we have just seen retire from the post of tormentor. Seth, however, caught the words, and had he not, it is not probable he would have successfully undergone the last trying ordeal.
The same savage again stepped forward in the circle before the helpless captive, and removing the cap which had been replaced, clinched the long yellow locks in his left hand, and threw the head backward. Then whipping out his scalping knife, he flashed it a second in the air, and circled its cold edge around his head with the rapidity of lightning. The skin was not pierced, and it was only an artifice. Seth never took his eyes from the Indian during this awful minute.
The tormentor again retired. The savages were satisfied, but Seth was not. He handed his pipe back, replaced his cap, and rising to his feet, surveyed for a few seconds the group around. He then addressed the leader.