[Prisoners of Chance by Randall Parrish]@TWC D-Link book
Prisoners of Chance

CHAPTER XXI
6/13

My awakened memory dwelt upon the peculiar tribal characteristics of the Mingoes north of the Ohio, the Kaskaskias in the Illinois country, the Shawnees, the Cherokees, even the Creeks, in whose villages I had dwelt as a friend, and beside whose young men I had hunted as a brother.

Yet here was surely a distinct race, one less clearly marked with those features peculiarly Indian,--the cheek-bones not prominent, the form of nose more varied, the skin decidedly lighter, the heads better shapen, and the figures more thoroughly developed.

More, their language had little of the guttural so universal among Eastern tribes, but had a peculiar, sharp, hissing sound; so, although the faces peering into mine were wild and ferocious enough to leave no doubt as to their barbarous nature, or our probable fate, yet these peculiarities, with the total absence of paint, such as disfigures and renders grotesquely hideous other Indians upon the war-path, were sufficient to stamp these savages as members of a distinct race.
"Natchez ?" I ventured to inquire of the burly brute who stood over me grasping spear and war-club.
"_Sa_," he grinned savagely.

"_Francais, Francais_." I shook my head and tried him again, but soon desisted on discovering that these two words marked the full extent of our common language, and so was obliged to be content with silently contemplating the crowds of curious, naked heathen swarming on the hill.
Fortunately, it was not long we were doomed to wait, uncomfortably trussed with our ropes of plaited grass.

The old chief who had led the assault gave his order, and, in immediate obedience, we were roughly dragged forth, the bonds about our lower limbs severed, and, under zealous guards, despatched up the canyon, the entire party promptly falling in at the rear, bearing with them their wounded and dead.


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