"The
burnt-wood warrior must submit to his laws, as well as his other
children. Men only die when he chooses; and no Dahcotah can change the
hour."
"Look!" returned the savage, thrusting the blade of his knife before
the face of his captive. "Weucha is the Wahcondah of a dog."
The old man raised his eyes to the fierce visage of his keeper, and,
for a moment, a gleam of honest and powerful disgust shot from their
deep cells; but it instantly passed away, leaving in its place an
expression of commiseration, if not of sorrow.
"Why should one made in the real image of God suffer his natur' to be
provoked by a mere effigy of reason?" he said in English, and in tones
much louder than those in which Weucha had chosen to pitch the
conversation. The latter profited by the unintentional offence of his
captive, and, seizing him by the thin, grey locks, that fell from
beneath his cap, was on the point of passing the blade of his knife in
malignant triumph around their roots, when a long, shrill yell rent
the air, and was instantly echoed from the surrounding waste, as if a
thousand demons opened their throats in common at the summons.
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