“But I thought you wished to gain information from him?” I observed, feeling anxious to preserve the life of the poor wretch.
“I did; but now I would rather enjoy the pleasure of seeing him die.”
“That is not the way we Palefaces treat a fallen enemy,” I remarked. “You must not be displeased at what I say,—I would ask you to allow me to have him brought into the camp. At all events, for the present he can do no further harm, and he may wish to show his gratitude to those who have preserved his life.”
“Do as you please,” said the chief, after a moment’s consideration.
I got some water from the lake,—finding a hard place by which I could approach it,—and threw it over the face of the fallen man, who had, I perceived, merely fainted from the excruciating pain he was suffering. He at length opened his eyes, and seemed to recognise me. It was Piomingo. The chief, I noticed, stood by, watching every movement of his late antagonist. I raised Piomingo’s head, and was thankful to find that he now began to breathe more freely.
“Take care,” said the chief. “He intends acting the part of the cunning fox, and will yet make an effort to escape.”
Piomingo turned his eyes towards the speaker, apparently understanding him.
I was still making every effort to restore him, when several of Winnemak’s followers came up.
“Then you grant my request?” I said, turning to the chief.
“I will not refuse you!” he answered; “but he will not thank you for the mercy you wish to show him.”