[Illustration:  “I am the Daughter of the Sun.  These are my children, given unto me by the great Sun-god. . . .  None of white blood may set foot in this valley and live.”]

“Not all,—­the lady and yonder cavalier are of French blood, I am a hunter of the Ohio country, while he who crouches beyond also calls himself American.”

“I know nothing of your Ohio, nor what may be an American,” she replied with an impatient stamp of the foot, “but it is bad any among you should prove French.  What does the woman do here?”

In a few brief sentences I told our story, marking as I spoke that she followed my words with care.  As I concluded she merely gazed more closely into Madame’s upturned face, speaking as though communing with herself.

“She has the appearance of a fair woman; we need no such here.”  She raised her voice slightly, addressing me in cold reserve.

“Your story sounds well.  True or false, it makes small odds.  We attacked your party, believing you French, whom the children of the Sun have good reason to hate.  You have cost us the lives of many warriors, and the Sun calls for vengeance.  Already has the tribe solemnly voted your death by fire.  Now mark me closely.  ’Tis not often I interfere in such affairs as this, nor do I now for any higher object than my own gratification.  The Daughter of the Sun is no angel, nor ambitious to become one.  I have looked on unmoved at the torture of the stake more than once, so ’tis no weak sentimentality that leads me to try to avert your fate.  Nor am I sure I can, whatever my motive be.  I possess no power to overturn the united vote of these warriors—­they are all children of the Sun.  I can think of but one method by which I can even hope to encompass your escape from immediate torture.  If by some subterfuge I can delay action until day-dawn, I may be able to control these savages.  The children of the Sun do not light their fires in the presence of their Father.  There is but one possible way to that end,—­does yonder red-headed man comprehend the Spanish tongue?”

“He does not.”

“That is bad,” her brows contracting.  “Still he must be used, as no other among you will answer my purpose.  Bid him advance to my side on the platform; bid him pretend to hold converse with me, and, above all else, have him attend my every gesture and obey.  Will he do your bidding?”

“I know not,” I replied honestly.  “He is of a bull-headed breed, yet I may be able to drive into him a moment of sense.”

“Do your part thoroughly, nor be too long about it.  The chiefs grow restless at our talk, and may yet take affairs into their own hands.”

I turned doubtfully toward the Puritan, who was glaring up at the woman from beneath his shaggy brows, much as he might have looked upon some wild animal seen for the first time.  I presume the fiery red drapery caused him to deem her that veritable scarlet woman about whom he prated so much.  He appeared far from being a promising subject for my overtures, especially as his great head must have ached still from contact with the club, which had alone beaten him into sullen silence.  Yet she commanding the attempt was so desperately in earnest that I determined to do my part.