In the midst of the band Ethel Hardy
rode, apparently unwatched, and forming part of it.
The girl was very pale, and turned even more so at the wild yells
of triumph which rose around her, when those who had been left
behind learned how signal had been the success of their warriors,
and heard that the captive in their midst was one of the family
which had inflicted such terrible loss upon the tribe two years
previously. Fortunately she could not understand the volleys of
threats and curses which the women of the tribe heaped upon her,
although she could not mistake their furious ejaculations.
Ethel had cried at first until she could cry no more, and had now
nerved herself for the worst. She had heard that the Indians have
neither mercy nor pity for any one who may exhibit fear of death;
she knew that no entreaties or tears would move them in the
slightest, but that courage and firmness would at any rate command
their respect and admiration. She had therefore schooled herself to
show no emotion when the time came; and now, except that she had
given an involuntary shudder at the sight of the gesticulating
throng, she betrayed no sign whatever of her emotion, but looked
round so calmly and unflinchingly that the violent abuse and
gesticulations died away in a murmur of admiration of the
pale-faced child who looked so calmly on death.
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