Prisoners of Chance

"What did he call them?"

"Natchez; although I remember now he referred to them once as 'White Apples,' saying they were of fair skin. He told me, but I recall little of it, many a strange story of their habits and appearance, to illustrate how greatly they differed from other tribes of savages with whom he had met. They worshipped the sun."

"'T is true of the Creeks."

"Ay! they play at it, but with the Natchez 't is a real religion; they had a priesthood and altars of sacrifice, on which the fires were never quenched. Their victims died with all the ardor of fanaticism, and in peace and war the sun was their god, ever demanding offering of blood. But see, the moment comes when we must front those fiends again."

The afternoon sun had lowered so that its glaring rays no longer brightened the depths of the canyon, all upon our side of the stream lying quiet in the shadow. The Indians began their advance toward us in much the same formation as before, but more cautiously, with less noisy demonstration, permitting me to note they had slung their weapons to their backs, bearing in their hands ugly fragments of rock. The old matted-hair savage, who had received a severe slash upon his shoulder during our last mêlée, hung well to the rear, contenting himself with giving encouragement to the others.

"Stand stoutly to the work, friend Cairnes," I called across to him, feeling the heartsome sound of English speech might prove welcome. "If we drive them this time, they will hardly seek more at our hands."

"It will be even according to the will of the Lord of Hosts," he returned piously. "Yet I greatly fear lest my sword-blade be not sound within its hilt."

"Stoop low for the volley of rocks," commanded De Noyan, hastily, "then stand up to it with all the strength you have."

Halfway up the little hill they let fly a vicious volley, the hard missiles crashing against the face of the rock, and showering down on backs and heads, some of them with painful force. As we sprang to our posts of defence once more, the savages were already nearly within spear-length of us, and, to our disastrous surprise, delivered a second volley of stones directly into our faces. One jagged rock glanced from off my rifle-barrel, striking me on the side of the head with sufficient force to send me staggering back against the stone slab. Before I could regain place the Indians swarmed over the low wall, two of them, in spite of fierce struggles, bearing me backward to the ground. Through a half-blinding mist of blood I beheld a carven war-club uplifted in the air, noted the face, distorted by passion, of the naked giant wielding it; yet, before I could close my eyes to the swift blow, there came a sudden flash of fire mingled with a sharp report. As if stricken by a lightning-bolt the huge fellow plunged forward, his body across my feet. Involuntarily I gave vent to a groan of despair, realizing that Madame, in an effort to preserve my life, had thrown away her sole chance to escape torture, or an existence worse than death.