“Wapashaw is a chief. Who shall say he does wrong? Not a pale-face, with blood like water. Is the White Snake greater than a chief of the Arapahoes? No! He does not dare speak hot words to Wapashaw. He knows that my arm is strong and my tomahawk sharp. Three Scalps must die—I have said it!” sternly added the chief, as he turned away.
Where was Dusky Dick? Why did he not put in an appearance, now that one of his bitterest enemies was helplessly a captive? This fact puzzled Tom not a little. But then he thought of the imminent peril that threatened himself.
“Durned consolin’, that is—I guess not!” muttered Tom, disgustedly. “S’pose I’d orter feel proud, but I don’t—not a mite. B’lieve I’d ruther they’d think I was a pesky coward, ef so be they’d think I wasn’t wuth sizzlin’. Ugh! it makes the sweat come, jest to think on it! What’ll it be then, though? Oh, Lord!”
He watched the movements of the savages with anxious eyes. Although as brave as most men, there was something fearful in contemplating this mode of being sent out of the world.
“Wonder ef it’ll hurt much. Bet it will; know it, ’most. Ef ’twouldn’t, I wouldn’t keer so much. Wish to ge-mineezers ’at I’d stayed in the corral,” grumbled Tom, as he tugged desperately upon his bonds.
But this effort was in vain. The hide-thongs had been applied by too careful a hand, for him to slip them from his wrists, and the tough cords only sunk deeper into the yielding flesh, with each succeeding effort.
It was quite evident that whatever scruples a few of the elder braves might have entertained as to the advisability of such a decided course, were quickly overruled by the stern-willed chief, Wapashaw, and then the necessary preparations for the feast were speedily under way. A score of savages dashed away toward the timber belt, with drawn hatchets, and then came the quick, heavy strokes, telling that wood was being collected.
Maxwell noted their movements with naturally troubled feelings. He saw his fate was sealed beyond a doubt, unless he could effect an escape.
But this seemed impossible. Alone, he was helpless as an infant. There was nothing for it but to watch and wait.
In a short time the savages returned from the timber-belt, bearing huge back-loads of dried wood, which, at a word from Wapashaw, they carried over to the hill, near whose top it was heaped. There was a double meaning in this selection of the spot for the sacrifice.