"But," cried Stephens, "if it is your custom to beat the women like dogs, you ought to change it. Everybody knows that that it is shameful."
"For the Americans," said the old Indian, with the air of a man making an extremely reasonable concession, "I do not say anything. Let them have their ways, and treat their women as seems good to them. So they are content; that is right. But we have our ways; we do not want to change; we are content to be as we are."
Stephens felt nonplused. It seemed to him that he was not much of a success as a missionary on the rights of women, and he felt, too, that in this discussion he had wandered from the main point. After all, he had arrested his man for the murder of Felipe, and not for beating his daughter, though his motive in doing so had been to rescue the helpless woman.
"You have heard Salvador's story," he said to the chiefs abruptly. "Suppose we go and hear that of the witness, if she is able to speak."
They assented at once, and Stephens, bidding Salvador himself remain where he was, led the way. On arriving at the house, they found the girl laid on some skins in an inner room. Stephens went into the room and knelt down beside her, the others remaining beyond the open door.
She opened her eyes, and perceiving who it was gave him a meaning look. "You have saved me once," she whispered; "can you save me again? She is making poison for me. I have seen"; and her eyes turned towards her step-mother, who was mixing something in a gourd at the end of the room.
Stephens gave a low whistle. "This is a queer business," he muttered to himself. "I wonder if the girl's telling lies. Maybe she's off her nut. Likely enough, after such a hammering. The old woman doesn't look such a bad lot. After all," he went on thinking, "perhaps I had better get her away. These folks can be pretty low-down when they try."
"Can you move?" said he to the girl. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," she answered; "I am quite strong. Only I am looking how to escape."