They held back a single moment, halted by her fearlessness, rendered cowardly by vague superstitions regarding her religious power; but after the first breathless pause of dumb astonishment and irresolution, voice after voice arose in hoarse cries of rage and shouts of disapproval.

There was a surging forward of the straining red line, while in their front howled and gesticulated the hideous old medicine-man, his painted face distorted by passion, eager to grasp this auspicious moment to cast down forever one who had sought to end his superstitious rule among the tribe.

I marked how she drew back as they advanced, retreating step by step,--not, indeed, as if she feared them, but rather as if some definite purpose led her movement.

Her eyes never wavered, her hand still uplifted the gleaming cross, as she retreated slowly, until she stood directly before De Croix, where he hung helplessly staring at her with an expression of fear in his face strangely at variance with his late show of desperate courage.
"Back!" she cried again, but now in a deeper and fuller voice that sounded like a clear-toned bell above the uproar.

"I tell you I will kill this man with my own hand before I permit you to put further torture upon him!" An instant only did this threat halt the gathering rush.