At length he released her, and, shorn of her strength by his vice-like grip, Eudora fell to the ground.
“Back!” cried Girty to the guards, who were crowding into the lodge. “Warriors never desert their posts. I will attend to the girl. Back! I say.”
Overawed by the renegade’s manner, the Indians slunk away, and Girty, still crimson with rage, lifted Eudora from the earth, and rudely tossed her back into her chamber.
“There! curse you, live or die, I care not which!” he hissed. “If I have choked you to death, I’m sure that I don’t care; but I guess you’ll worry it through, for a woman is as hard to kill as a cat.”
He continued to gaze awhile upon Eudora, who lay motionless upon her couch, admirably counterfeiting death. Then he strode from the lodge, pausing a moment to say to one of the guards:
“If the white girl steps upon the trail of death, bear her beyond the village, and throw her body to the fishes in the swift stream.”
The Indians exchanged startled glances, and listened at the door, as the renegade walked away.
No sound came to their ears.
One ventured to peep into the captive’s apartment. Eudora still lay motionless, without a sign of returning life. Had the renegade’s grip proved fatal?