Still Tayoga did not move, nor did he visibly shudder at the threat, which he knew Tandakora meant to keep.  The Ojibway had never appeared more repellent, as he exulted over his prisoner.  He seemed larger than ever, and his naked body was covered with painted and hideous devices.

“And so I have you at last, Tayoga,” he said.  “Your life shall be short, but your death shall be long, and you shall have full chance to prove how much an Onondaga can bear.”

“Whether it be much or little,” said Tayoga, “it will be more than any Ojibway can endure.”

The black eyes of Tandakora flashed angrily, and he struck Tayoga heavily in the face with his open palm.  The Onondaga staggered, but recovered himself, and gazed steadily into the eyes of the Ojibway.

“You have struck a bound captive, O Tandakora,” he said.  “It is contrary to the customs of your nation and of mine, and for it I shall have your life.  It is now written that you shall fall by my hand.”

His calm tones, and the fearless gaze with which he met that of Tandakora, gave him all the aspect of a prophet.  The huge Ojibway flinched for a moment, and then he laughed.

“If it is written that I am to die by your hand it is written falsely,” he said, “because before another sun has set all chance for it will be gone.”

“I have said that you will die by my hand, and I say it again.  It is written,” repeated Tayoga firmly.

Though he showed no emotion there was much mortification in the soul of the young Onondaga.  He had practically walked into the hands of Tandakora, and he felt that, for the present, at least, there was a stain upon his skill as a forest runner.  The blow of Tandakora had left its mark, too, upon his mind.  He had imbibed a part of the Christian doctrine of forgiveness, but it could not apply to so deadly and evil an enemy as the Ojibway.  To such an insult offered to a helpless prisoner the reply could be made only with weapons.

Although Tododaho from his star, invisible by day, whispered to him to be of good heart, Tayoga was torn by conflicting beliefs.  He was going to escape, and yet escape seemed impossible.  The last of the warriors who had gone on the trail of young Lennox had come in, and he was surrounded now by more than a dozen stalwart men.  The promise of Tododaho grew weak.  Although his figure remained firm and upright and his look was calm and brave he saw no possibility of escape.  He thought of Daganoweda, of the Mohawks and the rangers, but the presence of Tandakora and his men indicated that they had gone back toward the army of Waraiyageh, and were perhaps with him now.

He thought of St. Luc, but he did not know whether the gallant Chevalier was alive or dead.  But if he should come he would certainly keep Tandakora from burning him at the stake.  Tayoga did not fear death, and he knew that he could withstand torture.  No torture could last forever, and when his soul passed he would merely go to the great shining star on which Tododaho lived, and do to perfection, forever and without satiety, the things that he loved in life here.