So much the best for us would it be if the
tomahawks left the hands that were drawn back to throw, if the
knives that were flourished in our faces should be buried to the
haft in our hearts, that we courted death, striving with word and
look to infuriate our executioners to the point of forgetting their
former purpose in the lust for instant vengeance. It was not to be.
The werowance spoke again, pointing to the hills with the black
houses upon them, dimly seen through the mist. A moment, and
the hands clenched upon the weapons fell; another, and we were
upon the march.
As one man, the village swept through the forest toward the rising
ground that was but a few bowshots away. The young men
bounded ahead to make preparation; but the approved warriors and
the old men went more sedately, and with them walked Diccon
and I, as steady of step as they. The women and children for the
most part brought up the rear, though a few impatient hags ran past
us, calling the men tortoises who would never reach the goal. One
of these women bore a great burning torch, the flame and smoke
streaming over her shoulder as she ran. Others carried pieces of
bark heaped with the slivers of pine of which every wigwam has
store.
The sun was yet to rise when we reached a hollow amongst the
low red hills. Above us were the three long houses in which they
keep the image of Okee and the mummies of their kings.
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