She did not glance again at the two men beside the fire.
A sachem pulled out the hatchet and carried it back to her, while the circle formed and widened again.
Again she stood at poise, again they saw the tension of her body, again the little wait, while the two men held their breath and De Courtenay's eyes were shining like stars.
“A fitting close!” he was saying to himself, in that joy which was of his venturer's soul and knew not time or place. “Heart of my Life! What a close to a merry span!”
Again the swift, sure motion, unmeasured of the brain, coming out of habit and pure instinct, again the “thud” of the strike, again the rush, and again the wondering buzz of talk.
Once more the hatchet stood upon the line between the black and the red, directly in its own cleft!
There was wondering comment, gesticulation, and swarthy faces turned upon the woman on the line.
Once more the sachem in his waving feathers and tinkling ornaments drew the blade from the post and gravely carried it back to her.
Excitement was riding high in the eager faces bending forward on all sides, and everywhere a growing admiration. A tribe of prowess themselves, the Nakonikirhirinons knew a clever feat when they saw it.
For the third time the tall woman in the beaded garment took the hatchet and squared her shoulders.