"My brother need say no more," he replied; "I see his thoughts, he is indulging in a hope which will not be realised; Running-elk will not be a renegade to his nation to become a Comanche; I could not live among you, for the blood of your warriors I have shed would constantly cry out against me. Could I marry all the squaws whom my tomahawk has rendered widows, or give you back the numerous scalps I have raised? No, I could not. When an Apache and Comanche meet on the war trail, one must kill the other. Cease then making me proposals which are an insult to my character and courage; fasten me to the stake of torture, and do not kill me at once, but gradually, by tortures, in the Indian way. Invent the most atrocious torture, and I defy you to hear from me a complaint, or even a sigh." And growing more excited as he spoke, he said, "You are children who do not know how to make a man of courage suffer, you need the death of a brave to learn how to die. Try it on me, I despise you; you are cowardly dogs, you can only snarl, and the mere sight of my eagle feather has ever sufficed to put you to flight." On hearing these haughty words, the Comanches uttered a yell of anger, and prepared to rush on the prisoner, but Black-deer checked them. "Running-elk," he said, "is not a real brave, he talks too much; he is a mocking-bird, who chatters because he is afraid." The Sachem shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. "This is the last word you shall hear from me," he said; "you are dogs!" And biting his tongue off, he spat it into Black-deer's face. The latter gave a leap of fury, and his rage no longer knew bounds. Running-elk was immediately fastened to the stake; the women then tore out the nails from his fingers and toes, and drove into the wounds little spiles of wood dipped in inflammable matter, which they fired. The Indian remained calm; no contraction of the muscles disturbed the harmony of his features. The punishment endured three hours; but though his body was one huge wound, the Sachem remained perfectly stoical. Blackbird approached in his turn. "Wait," he said. Room was made for him; rushing on the Apache, he plucked out his eyes, which he threw away with disgust, and filled the two burning cavities with live coals. This last agony was horrible; a nervous tremor ran for a second over the wretch's body, but that was all. The Comanche, exasperated by this stoicism, which he could not refrain from admiring, seized him by his long hair, and scalped him; then he lashed his face with the blood-dripping scalp. The prisoner was horrible to look on, but still remained erect and unmoved.