And I
had let her go. And I had let her go.
And I had let her go. I said that over and over, with my mouth dry,
and I forgot time. I did not know that minutes were passing, but I
looked up, and the stars were dim, and branches and twigs were taking
form. Day would be on us soon.
I raised myself on my elbow and peered. I could see very little, but I
could hear the strange rhythmic rustle that I call the breathing of the
forest. And with it mingled the breathing of three hundred warriors.
They carried clubs, arrows, muskets. I was to give them the signal for
war.
I tried to rise. I was up on my knees. I fell back. I tried again.
My muscles did not obey. I saw the war club of the Indian beside me.
My hands stole out to it. A blow on my own head would end matters. My
hands closed on the handle of the club.
Then the savage next me stirred. That roused me. The insanity was
over, and sweat rained from me at realization of my weakness,--the
weakness that always traps a man unsure of his values, his judgment.
When men say that a man's life is not his own to take, I am not sure.
But that had nothing to do with me now. I was not a man in the sense
of having a man's free volition.
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