“Mother,” she whispered, drawing her parent aside, “that is him! Don’t you remember him?”
“I think it is,” returned Isquay, gazing steadily at the Eskimo, who looked at the crowd which surrounded him with a gaze of supreme contempt, though he did not by any means feel contemptuous.
“Come, mother,” said Adolay, with sudden earnestness, “he has not recognised us in the crowd. I must go and find out what the braves are palavering.”
As she spoke she drew her mother towards their own lodge, and there left her while she hurried on to the council-tent. In the shelter of some bushes she crept as near to it as possible.
There was no difficulty in making out what was said, for the warriors made no secret of their intentions, and spoke in loud tones.
“He shall die,” was the remark of Alizay just as the girl came within hearing, “he has killed one of our braves.”
“Ay, and he shall die by torture,” said Magadar, who was a relation of the man that had been slain.
“Ho! ho!” exclaimed most of the warriors in tones of approval, but there were a few among them who were silent. They leaned to mercy’s side.
“Better to spare his life and make a slave of him,” said one of these, “we can keep him always tied like a bad dog till we need him; then we can loose his legs and make him drag our sledges.”
“The brave who has spoken is young,” said the old chief. “He does not know much about men. Will not the Eskimo watch for his chance, get free from his bonds, kill some of us when we are off our guard, and, perhaps, escape?”