Every accent—every glance of her eyes went to his heart far more keenly and deeper than a knife would have done, but if he failed in a single point of what he had undertaken, the rest would fall to the ground. So he kept back his own tears, choked down his grief, and endeavored to inform the wretched girl, by signs, of his purpose.
Little time, however, was given him. Indeed, before reflection could come, Olive was dragged along to where a fire-blackened post stood, bound, and half a hundred pair of hands were busy piling bark and kindling, and pitchy fagots around her.
His head fell upon his breast. He became as one numbed—helpless—powerless. Then, again, the screams of the beautiful sufferer rung upon his ears:
"Darling, I die for you. Oh, God, have mercy."
In an instant he had burst through trammel, piled in a heap those who would have restrained him, seized a brand from the pile around his loved one, beating back those who would have opposed, had Olive again locked fast in his arms! Their lips met once—twice, and then they were torn apart, and he fettered so that a single motion was an impossibility.
"Let the hound of a pale-face untie himself now if he can," screamed the old Medicine, frantic with rage, "and the squaw sing her death-song."
"My trust is in God," replied Olive, turning her beautiful but pale face heavenward. "Darling, I pray for you."
"Then let her call upon the Manitou of her people, and see if he will come. He will not, and we will send her to him in ashes!"
The signal was given to fire the pile, and the warriors sprung forward, torch in hand. Like demons let loose they danced around, and as the lurid light flashed into the eyes of the poor girl, and the hot flames touched her skin, she fainted—sunk limp and would have fallen, had it not been for her bands. Her lover could not endure the sight, turned his head, and as he was dragged away, saw the flames rising, and believed the black smoke was wrapped like a shroud around his beautiful one—that she had passed from earth in a pillar of fire!
It was just such an ending as the Indians desired; for, failing to accomplish their purpose of forcing confession, they would have him think her dead.