“It is true. You have lightning; I have none, and I shall not sacrifice my braves in a vain attempt to take the maidens by force. Nevertheless, you will give them up.”
“You are mistaken. I shall not give them up.”
“The great pale-face chief is a friend of these poor tame people; he wishes them well?”
“It is true, and for that reason I shall not let you carry off the seven maidens.”
“Seven?”
“Yes, seven.”
“How many men and women and maidens are there yonder, trembling before the spears of my braves like corn shaken by the wind—fifty times seven?”
“Probably.”
“Then my brother—for I also am a great chief—my brother from over the seas holds the liberty of seven to be of more account than the lives of fifty times seven.”
“My brother speaks in riddles,” I said, acknowledging the cacique’s compliment and adopting his style.