His old, deeply sunken eyes gleamed so with hatred, I drew involuntarily back, my blood chilled with a conviction that he did not lie.
"Here? Do you tell me the tribe comes here?"
"Ay, here, Français,—here to make sacrifice of blood, that they may go forth once more, and conquer the land of their fathers."
"'T is your custom to kill slaves?"
"When there be none better, but now we have other victims sent us by the Sun, all Français, and you two cooped up here to be added to the others. 'T will be a sweet sacrifice, and I should like to live to hear your cries for mercy, and drink of the warm blood."
I stared at him, unable to deny our helplessness.
"You would make us believe there is no upper entrance to this accursed hole!"
"Seek as you please—there is none. You are trapped beyond struggle; you cannot escape the vengeance of the Sun."
I pointed, still incredulous, toward the great burning log.
"Did you grow yonder tree in this cavern? or was it borne here on the back of a slave?"