“Impossible! Is there no hope?”
“None at all.”
“No hope, no hope, no hope,” he wailed, and began such a clamor of cries and groans that I could not stand it, and left him alone.
“Stay with me—stay with me,” he shrieked. “Stand by me.”
The chief interrupted him. “Stop howling, you cur. You are not worth soiling the weapons of our braves.” And turning to his warriors he asked: “Which of the sons of the brave Apaches will put an end to this coward?”
No one answered.
“Will no one do it?”
Again silence.
“Uff! This murderer is not worthy to be killed by us, and he shall not be buried with Kleki-Petrah. How could such a crow appear in the Happy Hunting Grounds beside a swan? Cut him loose.”
Two little boys sprang forward at a signal, drew the knives from Rattler’s limbs, and cut his bonds.