"SPARE HER! SPARE HER!"
The opportunity of this vengeance was already close at hand.
Within the space enclosed by the Indian tents, under guard of some
warriors, stood a group of pale-face prisoners.
It consisted of several men, and among them a young girl.
Wacora stopped on perceiving the group.
His features were illumined with a savage joy.
One of the chiefs, advancing, reported their having been captured while
attempting to escape through the adjoining forest.
"What's to be done with them?" he asked.
"They shall die by torture!"
"The girl?"
"She, too, shall die. Who is she?"
"I don't know."
Turning to Maracota, he propounded a similar question.
Maracota was equally ignorant of the person of the captive.
The chief ordered her to be brought before him.
With an undaunted step, although evidently suffering from debility and
sorrow, the girl allowed herself to be led along.
Once in Wacora's presence, with a modest courage, she gazed into his
face.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Your prisoner."
"When where you captured?"
"About two hours ago."
"You were trying to escape?"
"I was."
"Your companions--who are they?"
"I know nothing of them, except that they are people belonging to the
settlement. They were kind to me, and endeavoured to help me in my
escape."
"You know your doom?"