“To-morrow!” replied he who had pronounced judgment.
Without bestowing a glance upon those who had thus fixed the limit of his earthly career, the hunter strode from the council chamber with calm and measured steps.
As he passed out the crowd made way for him, and many of the faces expressed admiration—some even pity.
The stoic bravery of the Indian is marvellous, and for him death has no terrors. With them it is a sort of fatalism.
What they do not dread themselves, they make but light of in others.
Por all that they have the highest admiration for a man who dares meet death calmly.
In their eyes the white captive had assumed all the importance of a great warrior.
Yet was he an enemy—one of the race with whom they were at war—therefore he must die.
Thus strangely do civilisation and barbarism meet on common ground.