Jack’s gaze fell to the ground.
“Ask the chiefs,” he said, in a low tone. “Mouseh’s heart is sad.”
Bob turned to the trio of Indians, and his look was answered.
“Artena must die,” said Hooker Jim.
“When?”
“Now!”
“And this young white cur?”
“Is not worth talking about. Of course he dies with Artena.”
“Yes, he dies,” said Jack, starting up as if from a prolonged sleep. “Chiefs, do it quickly; then hasten to the deep cave. We must fight the blue-coats to-morrow. Do not torture Artena; but do as you wish with the white man. After all is over, lay her on the water that rushes under the ground.”
The chieftain glanced at the Squaw Spy and then stepped away.