"A last gift, a last remembrance."
The chief shrugged his shoulders. "For what good?" he said.
"To render the death you intend for me less cruel."
"What is it you want?"
"Hang round my daughter's neck this earring, suspended by a lock of my hair."
"Is that really all?"
"It is."
"Very good."
The chief came up, took from the emigrant's ear a ring he wore in it, and cut off with a scalping knife a lock of his hair; then, turning to him with a sardonic laugh, he said—
"Listen carefully. Your companions and yourself are going to be flayed alive; of a strip of your skin I will make a bag to hold the lock of hair and ring. You see that I am generous, for I grant you more than you ask; but remember the conditions."