Prisoners of Chance

"You treacherous, white-headed old villain," I exclaimed angrily, "I am half inclined to kill you for so savage a trick. Odds! but my arm feels as if it were broken."

The fellow grinned at me, showing his yellow fangs.

"I care not if you kill," he answered, with true Indian stoicism. "I am old, and have served the Sun long. Kill, but I will not be unavenged of my people; for, whether I live or die, it matters not--there is no escape for you."

He spoke with such confidence as to stun me.

"No escape? Why?"

His lips curled with undisguised contempt.

"So my words sting. Well, they are true, nor am I unwilling to tell you. You are trapped here. There is no path you can travel, either by night or day, unseen of our people. You have already climbed along the only passage leading here, and you dare not go back. This way you have reached the end. Behind is the village; here the altar of sacrifice--choose either, and you die like the Français dogs you are."

"Who is here to touch us?" I asked derisively. "There is food in plenty; we can wait our chance."

"Ay, you have grace of this day in which to make ready," his wrinkled face lighting maliciously. "When yonder moon becomes round it will be the night of sacrifice. Know you what will happen then?" he licked his thin lips greedily. "I may not be here to see, but it will be the same. Up that path of rocks will swarm all of my race, and what then can save you from the altar? How they will welcome the victims waiting their pleasure--white-faced Français."

His old, deeply sunken eyes gleamed so with hatred, I drew involuntarily back, my blood chilled with a conviction that he did not lie.

"Here? Do you tell me the tribe comes here?"

"Ay, here, Français,--here to make sacrifice of blood, that they may go forth once more, and conquer the land of their fathers."

"'T is your custom to kill slaves?"

"When there be none better, but now we have other victims sent us by the Sun, all Français, and you two cooped up here to be added to the others. 'T will be a sweet sacrifice, and I should like to live to hear your cries for mercy, and drink of the warm blood."

I stared at him, unable to deny our helplessness.

"You would make us believe there is no upper entrance to this accursed hole!"

"Seek as you please--there is none. You are trapped beyond struggle; you cannot escape the vengeance of the Sun."