"You have STILL a son left," pursued the prisoner with
the same recklessness of manner, and in a tone denoting
allusion to him who was no more, that caused an universal
shudder throughout the ranks. "He is in the hands of the
Ottawa Indians, and I am the friend of their great chief,
inferior only in power among the tribe to himself. Think
you that he will see me hanged up like a dog, and fail
to avenge my disgraceful death?"
"Ha! presumptuous renegade, is this the deep game you
have in view? Hope you then to stipulate for the
preservation of a life every way forfeited to the offended
justice of your country? Dare you to cherish the belief,
that, after the horrible threats so often denounced by
you, you will again be let loose upon a career of crime
and blood?"
"None of your cant, de Haldimar, as I once observed to
you before," coolly retorted Wacousta, with bitter sarcasm.
"Consult your own heart, and ask if its catalogue of
crime be not far greater than my own: yet I ask not my
life. I would but have the manner of my fate altered,
and fain would die the death of the soldier I WAS before
you rendered me the wretch I AM.
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