As to the chief, he firmly grasped
the handle of his tomahawk, so much did he feel the bitter taunts of his
captive. Suddenly, a rustling was heard, then the sharp report of a
rifle, and one of the Crows, leaping high in the air, fell down
a corpse.
"The chief hath spoken too loud," said the Prince; "I hear the step of a
Shoshone; the Crows had better run away to the mountains, or their flesh
will fatten the dogs of our village."
An expression of rage and deep hatred shot across the features of the
chief, but he stood motionless, as did all his men, trying to catch the
sounds, to ascertain in which direction they should fly from the danger.
"Fear has turned the Crows into stones," resumed the Prince, "what has
become of their light feet? I see the Shoshones."
"The dog of a Pale-face will see them no more," replied the savage, as
he buried his tomahawk in the skull of the unfortunate nobleman, who
was thus doomed to meet with an inglorious death in a distant land.
The other prisoners, who were bound, could of course offer no
resistance. The French savant and two of his guides were butchered in an
instant, but before the remainder of the party could be sacrificed, a
well-directed volley was poured upon the compact body of the Crows, who
rushed immediately to the woods for cover, leaving behind them twenty
dead and wounded besides their cruel chief.
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