The squaws and children, and even the youths of his own age, crowded
closely about him, taunting him with shrill voices, spitting on him,
pulling his hair, and pushing him this way and that. For some time
Rene bore all this patiently, feeling that to express annoyance would
perhaps only subject him to greater abuses. He knew also that it would
afford his tormentors the greatest delight and satisfaction, and this
pleasure he was not inclined to give them.
At length, however, his patience came to an end. Among the crowd
surrounding him was a lad somewhat taller than himself, and possessed
of hideous features. When he began pricking Rene with the point of a
sharp knife, at the same time approaching his face close to that of his
victim, and mocking him with frightful grimaces, the boy could stand it
no longer. Regardless of what the consequences might be, he drew back
a step, and raising his clinched and still bound hands, struck his
tormentor full in the face such a blow as felled him to the ground.
A loud outcry arose at this unexpected exhibition of the prisoner's
spirit, and the young savage, regaining his feet, was so enraged that
he attempted to plunge his knife into Rene's heart. This was prevented
by several warriors who had witnessed the scene, and who stepped
quickly forward to his rescue. Pushing Rene's assailant aside, they
led him away to a palmetto-thatched hut that stood at a distance from
the rest.
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