“You are mine—soul and body, mine; you have heard?”
“I have heard,” was the reply, in a tone of resignation!
“And surely you are satisfied; are you not? You should be. I am white as yourself—I have saved you from the embrace of a red Indian. Surely you are satisfied with the judgment?”
“I am satisfied.”
This was uttered in the same tone of resignation. The answer somewhat surprised me.
“’Tis a lie!” rejoined the brutal monster; “you are playing false with me, sweet señorita. But yesterday you spoke words of scorn—you would scorn me still?”
“I have no power to scorn you; I am your captive.”
“Carrambo! you speak truth. You have no power either to scorn or refuse me. Ha, ha, ha! And as little do I care if you did; you may like me or not at your pleasure. Perhaps you will take to me in time, as much as I may wish it; but that will be for your consideration, sweet señorita! Meanwhile, you are mine, body and soul, you are mine—and I mean to enjoy my prize after my own fashion.”
The coarse taunt caused my blood, already hot enough, to boil within my veins. I grasped the haft of my knife, and like a tiger stood cowering on the spring. My intent was, first to cut down the ruffian, and then set free the limbs of the captive with the blood-stained blade.
The chances were still against me. A score of savages were yet around the fire. Even should he fall at the first blow, I could not hope to get clear.