"They will die!" the chief said, hoarsely.
"Why kill them? Would it not be better to set a ransom on them and send them back to their tribe, thus proving to the Apaches that the Comanches are great warriors, who do not fear them?"
"The palefaces understand nothing about war: a dead man is no longer to be feared. If you pardon an enemy, you run the risk of him taking your scalp on the morrow. The Apaches must die. They have burnt my village, killed the squaws and children of my young men. Blood demands blood. They have an hour to live!"
"Very good," the hunter replied, who understood that if he attempted to save all the prisoners he should not succeed, and was therefore compelled, much against the grain, to compromise; "the warriors must die; that is the law of war, and I do not seek to oppose it; but among them there is one for whom my heart swells with pity."
"The Apache prisoners are mine," Unicorn objected.
"I do not deny it, and my brother has the right to dispose of them as he pleases, and I cannot object; hence I ask a favour of my brother."
The chief frowned slightly, but Valentine went on without seeming to notice the tacit dissatisfaction of the Comanche:
"I have a great interest in saving this man."
"My brother is white. The palefaces have a gilded tongue; they know how to find words which say all they wish. My brother is aware that I can refuse him nothing. Who is the warrior he desires to save?"
"Does my brother promise me that the man shall not perish, whoever it may be, whose life I may demand?"