With pangs they have vaunted.”
Thus far, and the women from the camp, unwilling that one of their kind and a captive should emulate the hardihood of warriors, rushed out and threw water from their gourds upon her, and in derision tossed bean-pods and corn-husks about her, and jeeringly clapped the paddles of the canoe, and the pokers of the fire in her face. For awhile the proud woman held her head high, but, fearful of falling beneath these feminine weapons, her head fell upon her bosom, and she was silent.
In the mean while, the chiefs around the council-fire sat long in solemn conclave. At one time, the debate had been of more than usual animation, but at length a solemn silence prevailed, and the sagamore approached the captive, tomahawk in hand. She lifted her head proudly and looked him in the face while he cut the bonds and set her free.
“Go, Acashee; go, Spider; we need you not.”
The woman looked imploringly up, and even dashed her hands into his face, as he held her by the hair of her head, and cut away the long, heavy braids that depended therefrom. A shout of derision burst from the women, and they followed her with loud and contemptuous jeers far into the forest. Weary at length of their malignant sport, they returned to the camp, leaving the disgraced woman to make her way as best she could, through almost impenetrable forests, to her own people.
John Bonyton, having cut away the black locks of Acashee, retired from the council. A scout had been appointed to follow the woman, never to lose sight of her, to succor her if needed, and after having seen her safely within her own tribe, to return to the camp, and report all he could learn.
When Acashee had departed, John Bonyton, impelled by an irresistible desire to learn something of Hope Vines, whose fate he believed was known to the Indian girl, followed in her path till he saw her throw herself upon the fallen leaves, and give utterance to a fierce, low cry, not unlike that of the hungry panther. She tore at her dishonored locks, and gnashed her teeth in impotent fury.
The sagamore, tall, calm and silent, stood before her. Instantly she sprung to her feet, and throwing back her head, cried:
“Pale-faced coward! I spit upon you, and will work a spell that shall consume all your bones, and—”
“Silence, girl. You will not provoke me to kill you. Live, the scorn of your people.”