“What! must those sensitive creatures witness this horrible sight?” cried the renegade. “No, chief, rather let them remain in the lodges, and when the fire dies out let them view the blackened trees.”
“Tarantulah is sachem of the Apaches,” was the stern rejoinder. “Kenoagla is an ally, not yet a great Apache chief; but he will be, soon. The pale girl must fling the lie into Gold Feather’s teeth before he dies. Ha! they come.”
The next moment the Apache ranks divided, and Mabel Denison and Lina Aiken were led into the circle.
Though daylight was not far distant, it was very dark, but innumerable torches revealed the terrible scene, and clothed it in a garment which day could not own.
“Sir, must we witness this torture of two brave men?” asked Lina Aiken, when the renegade stepped to her side. “Have you no authority here? I find your boastings to be lies; yourself the lowest of men—an Indian’s slave!”
Tom Kyle bit his lip, and muttered a few words which the Gold Girl could not comprehend, for his voice shook with passion, and could scarcely be heard.
“Girl,” cried Tarantulah, at this juncture, suddenly pausing before Mabel Denison, and griping her slender arm, “who slew Long Arrow, your Apache guard?”
“These hands,” was the undaunted reply, and Mabel put forth her hands, which touched the sachem’s wampum. “I killed him—struck him twice before he fell.”
“Long Arrow saved Tarantulah’s life.”
The chief’s whole frame shook with emotion.