In a word, as it always happens, as well among civilized people as among savages, blood intoxicated them; their self-love was brought into play; everyone sought to surpass the man who had preceded him; all other considerations were forgotten. When all had thrown their knives, a small number of the most skilful marksmen of the tribe took their guns. This time it was necessary to have a sure eye, for an ill-directed ball might terminate the punishment, and deprive the spectators of the attractive spectacle which promised them so much pleasure. At every discharge the poor creature shrank within herself, though giving no signs of life beyond a nervous shudder which agitated her whole body. "Let us have an end of this," said Eagle Head, who felt, in spite of himself, his heart of bronze soften before so much courage and abnegation. "Comanche warriors are not jaguars; this woman has suffered enough; let her die at once." A few murmurs were heard among the squaws and the children, who were the most eager for the punishment of the prisoner. But the warriors were of the opinion of their chief; this execution, shorn of the insults that victims generally address to their conquerors, possessed no attraction for them, and, besides, they were ashamed of such inveteracy against a woman. Hence they spared the unfortunate woman the splinters of wood inserted under the nails, the sulphur matches fastened between the fingers, the mask of honey applied to the face that the bees might come and sting them, together with other tortures too long and hideous to enumerate, and they prepared the funeral pile upon which she was to be burnt. But before proceeding to the last act of this atrocious tragedy, they untied the poor woman; for a few minutes they allowed her to take breath and recover from the terrible emotions she had undergone. She sank on the ground almost insensible. Eagle Head approached her. "My mother is brave," he said; "many warriors would not have borne the trials with so much courage." A faint smile passed over her violet lips. "I have a son," she replied with a look of ineffable sweetness; "it is for him I suffer." "A warrior is happy in having such a mother." "Why do you defer my death? It is cruel to act thus; warriors ought not to torment women." "My mother is right, her tortures are ended." "Am I going to die at last?" she asked with a sigh of relief. "Yes, they are preparing the pile." In spite of herself, the poor woman felt a shudder of horror thrill her whole frame at this fearful intimation. "Burn me!" she cried with terror; "why burn me?" "It is the usual custom." She let her head sink into her hands; but soon recovering, she drew herself up, and raised an inspired glance towards Heaven,-- "My God!" she murmured with resignation, "Thy will be done!" "Does my mother feel herself sufficiently recovered to be fastened to the stake?" the chief asked in something like a tone of compassion.