He threw the piece of quartz aside with a gesture of loathing, and stood for a moment with his head lowered in sorrow.
And once again Hugh Edwards, in spite of the cruel torture to which the Indian had subjected him, felt a thrill of pity for his tormentor.
But before the white man could find words to express his emotions, Natachee suddenly lifted his head, and with the cruel light of savage exultation blazing in his eyes, went a step toward his startled companion.
“Do you understand now why I have brought you here? Do you understand my purpose in permitting you to see, with your own eyes, the gold of the Mine with the Iron Door?
“Your only hope of freedom, from the hell to which you have been condemned through a white man’s trickery and by your white man’s laws, is in gold. Only through the possession of gold can you hope to win the woman you love and who loves you.
“You say you would give your soul for the gold which means so much to you. Good! I believe you. I am glad. Here is the gold--look at it--handle it--dream of all that it would bring you. Here is freedom from your hell--here is love--here is happiness--here is the woman you love. It is all here, within reach of your hand, and you shall never touch one grain of it. If you had a hundred souls to offer in exchange, you should not touch one grain of it. Because you are a white man, and because I am an Indian.
The meaning of the Indian’s words burned in the white man’s brain. Slowly he looked about that treasure chamber as if summing up in his mind all that it might mean to him. His nerves and muscles were tense with agony. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. His face was twisted in a grimace of pain. And in the agony of his torture a dreadful purpose came.
The watching Indian saw, and his sinewy hand loosed the knife in his belt, as his deep voice broke the silence of the old mine.
“No, you will not try that. You are unarmed. I would kill you before you could strike a blow. There is no hope for you there. Your one chance is to dig for the gold you need. You might strike it rich, you know. Who can say--to-morrow--another stroke of your pick. The hope that brought the first white man to the Cañada del Oro is your only hope. As so many of your race have labored in the Cañon of Gold you shall labor--you shall find your gold--if you can.”