This was no squaw's game, for each cast was made with force and method.
We both threw warily, and the spear whistled to and fro as regularly as
a weaver's shuttle. I backed my way toward the council fire until I
could hear Longuant distinctly, then I prayed my faculties to serve me
well, and stood my ground. My mind was on the rack. I could not, for
the briefest instant, release the tension of my thought as to the game
before me, yet I missed no sound from the group around the fire. The
low, red sun dazzled my eyes, and I waited, with each throw from the
Huron, for one that should be aimed with deadlier intent.

For I realized that Pemaou was not doing his best, and, since I had
seen hate in his eyes, this clemency troubled me. I wondered if he
were a decoy, and if some one were coming upon me from the rear, and I
stopped and stared at him with defiance, only to see that he was
looking, not at me, nor at the attentive audience around us, but over
my head at the council fire.

Then, indeed, the truth clapped me in the face, and I could have
laughed aloud to think what a puppet I had been, just when I was
comforting my vanity with my own shrewdness. Of course, Pemaou would
spare me, and so prolong the game. As the son of the leader of the
Hurons, he had more to learn from Longuant's speech than I. We were
playing with the same cards, but his stakes were the larger. I
suddenly realized that I was enjoying myself more than in a long time.

But the test was to come. When Pemaou had heard all he wished, he
would aim the spear at my throat, and so, though I threw negligently, I
watched like a starved cat. I heard the council agree upon a decisive
measure, and I knew that the Huron's moment had arrived. He seized it.