"If I must die, at least leave me in peace until then."
"If I could have my way," was the fierce response, "I would tie you to the tail of an unbroken colt, turn him loose, and let him drag you until every particle of flesh was torn off from your body inch by inch. But let him be dumb, or this!" and she pressed the sharp point of her knife against his side until it penetrated through the clothing and pierced the flesh.
Avoiding the beaten trail, the squaw—followed by the white girl—led her wretched captive—often sneering at him for being the prisoner of a woman—toward the village of the Sioux. Whatever was her purpose she kept it hidden within her own brain—would answer no questions—paused only when Olive was compelled to rest, and even denied the renegade a single drop of water, and drove him forward with her knife when his pace became too slow to suit her.
But, as the day drew on and they were nearing the village of her people—were passing through a deep, dark valley so narrow that the branches of the trees on either side bent over and interlocked, she suddenly paused—motioned Olive, and forcibly dragged her captive to the ground, drew the cord still more tightly around his throat, and holding the point of her knife in one hand, directly above his heart, lifted a great stone in the other, and whispered in his shrinking ear:
"Make the slightest noise—dare but to speak—breathe louder than common, and I swear by the Manitou that I will drive the knife through you before any one can come to your assistance."
Her face, terrible in its vindictiveness, told that she would not scruple to carry out her threat, and he shivered for fear accident might accomplish it even if design did not.
He knew better than she did that they were near the spot where his new friends had encamped—that a scouting party were upon the hill directly above them—that a single call would bring them to his side—would bring him freedom. Yet he dare make no sound—was forced to motionless silence. The line that sustained his life was as brittle as a spider's web. The fierce eyes of the Indian girl were upon him—the hand that held the knife as firm as a rock. In fact a single loud breath would have ended in a parting groan, and desperate as was his situation in other respects, a sigh of relief escaped him as the little party of white men passed along and Burning Cloud laid aside the heavy stone and withdrew her terrible weapon.
"Get up," she whispered, "and go on silently. By the Manitou of the pale-man as well as the red, I will strangle you and bury my weapon in your breast if you utter a single sound or make an effort to let any know you are here."
He could do nothing but obey, and journeyed wearily on until she bade him pause. Then she gave the low, plaintive cry of the whippowil, thrice repeated, and in an instant after her brother was by her side—her brother and the Little Raven.
"You will guard him more carefully than your life or honor," commanded Burning Cloud. "Keep him here until you hear from me again. Come," she continued to Olive, who was wondering what the end of this strange journey would be, and taking her by the hand she avoided the wigwams.