“Some of you know my object in making this expedition. Others do not. I will declare it to you all. It is, then, to—”
“Git a grist of scalps; what else?” cried a rough, brutal-looking fellow, interrupting the chief.
“No, Kirker!” replied Seguin, bending his eye upon the man, with an expression of anger. “It is not that. We expect to meet only women. On his peril let no man touch a hair upon the head of an Indian woman. I shall pay for no scalps of women or children.”
“Where, then, will be your profits? We cannot bring them prisoners? We’ll have enough to do to get back ourselves, I reckon, across them deserts.”
These questions seemed to express the feelings of others of the band, who muttered their assent.
“You shall lose nothing. Whatever prisoners you take shall be counted on the ground, and every man shall be paid according to his number. When we return I will make that good.”
“Oh! that’s fair enough, captain,” cried several voices.
“Let it be understood, then, no women nor children. The plunder you shall have, it is yours by our laws, but no blood that can be spared. There is enough on our hands already. Do you all bind yourselves to this?”
“Yes, yes!” “Si!” “Oui, oui!” “Ya, ya!” “All!” “Todos, todos!” cried a multitude of voices, each man answering in his own language.
“Let those who do not agree to it speak.”