The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1904-10-12

should appease not only the offended
Great Spirit, but also the unsated
vengeance of the tribe. He offered, al
the same time, the spectacle of play
in which a human life should be the
stake. He used as practical execution
er the woman who was possessed by
one of them, and who, in the crude no
lions of the savages, was no doubt
coveted by both. 1t must be the hand
OF this woman that should cast the
dice, a white one and a red one for
each man, and he whose red die fell
closer to the line was winner in the
grim game Of life and death.
Jean Breboeuf and Pierre Noir stood
apart. and tears poured from the eyes
of both. They were hardened men,
we'll acquainted with Indian warfare;
they had seen the writings of tor
tured victims, and more than once had
faced such possibilities themselves;
yet never had they seen sight like this.
Near the two men stood Mary Con-
nynge, the bright blood burning in
her cheeks, her eyes dry and wide open.
looking from one to the other God,
who gives to this earth the few Mary
Connynges, alone knows the nature of
those elements which made her, and
the character of the conflict which
now went on within her soul. Tell such
a woman as Mary Connynge that she
has rival, and she will either love
the more madly the man whom she de-
mands as her own, or with equal mad
ness and with greater intensity will
hate her lover with hatred undying
and unappeasable.
Mary Connynge stood, her eyes
glancing from one to the other of the
men before her. She had seen them
both proved brave men, strong of arm,
undaunted of heart, both gallant gen.
tlemen. God. who makes the Mary
Connynges of this earth, only can tell
whether or not there arose in the
heart of this savage woman, this wo-
man at bay, scorned. rebuked, mas
tered, this one question: Which? If
Mary Connynge hated John Law, or if
she loved him-ah! how must have
pulsed her heart in agony, or in bit
terness, as she took into her hand those
lots which were the arbiters of life
and death!
Teganisoris looked about him and
spoke a few rapid words. He caught
Mary Connynge roughly by the Shout
der and pulled her forward. The two
men stood with faces set and gray in
the pitiless light of morn. Their arms
were fast bound behind their backs.
Eagerly the crowding savages pressed
up to them, gesticulating wildly, and
peering again and again into their
faces to discover any sign of weak
ness. They failed. The pride of birth,
the strength of character, the sheer
animal vigor of each man stood him
in stead at this ultimate trial. Each
had made up his mind to die. Each
proposed, not doubling that he would
be the one to draw the fatal lot, to
die as man and gentleman.
Teganisoris would play this game
with all possible mystery and impor-
lance. 1t should be told generations
hence about the council fires, how he,
Teganisoris, devised this game, how
he played it, how he drew it out link
by link to the last atom of its agony.
There was no receptacle at hand in
which the dice could be placed. Te-
ganisoris stopped, and without cere-
mony wrenched from Mary Connynge's
foot the moccasin which covered it
the little shoe-beaded, beautiful, and
now again fateful. Sir Arthur smiled
as though in actual joy.
My friend" said he, 81 have won!
This might be the very slipper for
which we played at the Green Lion
long ago."
Law turned upon him face pale and
solemn. Sir" said he, 81 pray God
that this issue may not be as when we
last played. l pray God that the dice
may elect me and not yourself"
You were ever lucky in the games
of chance" replied Pembroke.
Too lucky" said Law. But the
winner here is the loser, if it be my
self"
Teganisoris roughly took from Mary
Connynge's hand the little bits of
lone. He cast them into the hollow of
wv AAAOSSooAAA anu ol1OOh Illclu uId-
matically together, holding them high
above his head. Then he lowered them
and took out from the receptacle two
OF the dice. He placed his hand on
Laws shoulder, signifying that his was
to be the first cast. Then he handed
back the moccasin to the woman.
Mary Connynge took the shoe in her
hand and stepped forward to the line
which had been drawn upon the
ground. The red spots still burned up
on her cheeks; her eyes. amber, feline,
still famed hard and dry. She still
glanced rapidly from one to the other,
her eye as lightly quick and as bril-
liant as that of the crouched cat about
to spring.
Which? Which would it be? Could
she control this game? Could she
elect which man should live and which
should die-this woman, scorned,
abased, mastered? Neither of these
sought to read the riddle of her set
face and blazing eyes Each as he
might sffered his soul to his Creator.
The hand Of Mary Connynge was
raised above her head. Her face was
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