With a growl of fury the Indian struggled to throw her aside, as, with the strength of despair, she clung to his arm with the grip of a bulldog.
"He shall die!" he answered fiercely. "Loose me, girl, or I will beat out thy brains with my fist." And with a threatening scowl upon his angry face, he raised his knotted fists.
"Loose him, Winona," I shouted to her. "Thou hast done thy best for me, for which I thank thee. Thou canst do no more."
"No," she sobbed, "he shall not slay thee." And she fought and struggled with the brave.
A dozen warriors now sprang to the rescue of their leader, and catching the girl by main strength, they dragged her from the panting and furious Indian. Holding her, weeping and struggling, they shouted for him to strike. A second time he raised his club to strike, but the girl, with superhuman effort, had wrenched herself loose from her captors, and bounding forward, cast herself upon my body.
"If thou slayest him," she sobbed, "thou wilt slay Winona also. Now strike, if thou darest."
Under ordinary conditions he would not have dared to slay the daughter of the chief, but he was infuriated beyond control and beside himself with rage.
"Then die!" he shouted, and with a fierce snarl he raised his club again.
I closed my eyes and waited for the weapon to descend. I could not think; my mind seemed only to whirl and throb in a chaos of broken thought which I could not connect. I wondered dimly whether a rough knot which I had seen upon one side of the gnarled stick would strike Winona or myself; whether the Indian would strike once or twice; whether Margaret would moan could she but know, and what she did at that moment; whether her hair still shone with the old golden splendor as of yore; whether her eyes were the same deep blue and her laugh as clear and ringing as in the old days.
It seemed to me that I lay there an eternity, waiting for the blow, and still it did not descend. Would it never come? "Strike!" I shouted. "Wouldst thou wait forever?"