They at length reached the plain; on the last step they looked round instinctively to take a farewell glance at the wretched spot in which they had suffered so greatly. The Indian warriors, squaws, and children greeted the arrival of the captives on the plain with a yell of ferocious joy. The Stag had called up several braves, who, by his orders, ranged themselves round the prisoners, in order to protect them from the insults of the hideous women, who, at each step, rushed toward them as if to tear them with their long nails, which were bent like the claws of a panther.
"The paleface women must not be wounded before they are fastened to the stake," the chief said; "they would not have the strength left to endure the torture."
This reason appeared just, and the squaws restricted themselves to hurling at them the most disgusting insults they could imagine, resolved soon to take their revenge for the constraint imposed on them at this moment. Perhaps, in speaking as he had done, the majordomo disguised his thoughts, and this cruel insinuation was, in reality, hidden protection.
The distance to the place of torture was rather long; the two ladies, but little accustomed to walk through brambles and thorns, advanced slowly to their Calvary; still, they approached, and at length entered the clearing. The sachems of the tribe, gravely seated in a semicircle in front of the stakes of torture, were stoically smoking their calumets. The sinister procession stopped before them, and the Stag advanced.
"Here are the two white captives!" he said in a a voice which, despite all his efforts, trembled slightly.
Running Water raised his head and fixed his dull glance on the prisoners, while a cruel smile curled his thin lips, and displayed his teeth, white as those of a jaguar.
"Well," he asked, "what do they resolve? Do they accept the conditions the council offered them, or do they prefer death?"
The Stag turned to the captives with an expression of indescribable agony. They looked away from him disdainfully.
"They prefer death," he said.
"Wah!" the chief remarked, "the paleface squaws are like the red wolves of the prairie; they had a deal of boasting and little courage. Let them die, as they wish it; their cries of pain will rejoice the hearts of the Red Buffaloes."