No sound answered me, and I opened my eyes and looked up. There, a few paces from me, stood the would-be headsman, leaning upon his huge bludgeon, a sulky, frightened look upon his dark face.
A voice, loud and angry, rang in my ears:
"And so this is how the Cherokees treat a stranger who feasts with them, when Windango turns his back?"
Turning my head I saw the old chief, tomahawk in hand, standing fierce and motionless behind me, as he looked down disdainfully at the throng of savages, who had slunk away as a whipped dog will from his master.
"Speak!" he continued. "Have the Cherokees naught to say for themselves?"
A chorus of voices arose. "The Eagle had struck down Chawanook. Winona had given to the pale one the blue wampum belt. Could the Cherokees stand by and see such deeds as this? Then, when they would have slain the Eagle, Winona caught Mountawk's hand, and finally threw herself upon the Eagle, to protect his life at the risk of her own." And they pointed to the girl, who, pale beneath her dusky skin, had arisen and stood with bent head near the old chief.
Windango with a wave of his hand silenced them.
"Leave the girl to me," he said hoarsely. "I am a man, and can deal with my own lodge. Begone!"
"And what of the Eagle?" cried one, bolder than the rest. "Shall he not die?"
"Is not Windango a chief?" replied the old brave. "Cannot he deal with the pale one? Out of my sight, or I shall slay some of you in my rage."