“My daughter?” gasped Dale, rising on his knees.
“He shall save his daughter’s life,” added the chief.
Dale moistened his lips and tried to recover some of his old spirit.
“Never mind, Morris. Give me a little time. I’ll get us all out of this fix. They’re angry now. When they’ve had time to think they’ll be reasonable. If they kill me, they’ll kill their trade with the whites.” It was the first time I ever heard him pronounce the word without stressing it.
Black Hoof glowered at the miserable man ferociously and said:
“You will go to the edge of the clearing with my warriors. You will speak to the settlers and tell them they shall save their lives if they put down their guns. After they put down their guns you and your daughter shall go free.”
The picture of Abb’s Valley and the result of his trusting in the Shawnees’ promises must have flashed across the unhappy man’s mind. He sank, feebly moaning:
“No, no! Not that! The blood of the Granvilles—the little children—is on me. Kill me, but I’ll lead no more into your trap.”
These were brave words even if brokenly voiced. But Black Hoof heard with grim amusement in his small black eyes.
“You weak-hearted dog!” he hissed. “So you tell Catahecassa what he will and what he will not, do. Ho! You fat white man who always planned to cheat the Indians in a trade. You fill your ears against Catahecassa’s words? Ho! Then you are a brave man. The Shawnees have been blind not to see your brave heart. Now, white trader, hear my talk. You will do as Catahecassa says, or you will be tied to a tree and your daughter shall be put to the torture before your eyes.”