d not in
the least to dread the alternative of a fight with us. Indeed, to look
at both parties, one should have said that, man to man, we would have
been no match for them. They were all, with one or two exceptions, men
of six feet--most of them over it--in height; while many of the hunters
were small-bodied men. But among these there was not one "white
feather."

The Navajoes knew that they themselves were well armed for close
conflict. They knew, too, that we were armed. Ha! they little dreamt
how we were armed. They saw that the hunters carried knives and
pistols; but they thought that, after the first volley, uncertain and
ill-directed, the knives would be no match for their terrible tomahawks.
They knew not that from the belts of several of us--El Sol, Seguin,
Garey, and myself--hung a fearful weapon, the most fearful of all others
in close combat: the Colt revolver. It was then but a new patent, and
no Navajo had ever heard its continuous and death-dealing detonations.

"Brothers!" said Seguin, again placing himself in an attitude to speak,
"you deny that I am the father of the girl. Two of your captives, whom
you know to be my wife and daughter, are her mother and sister. This
you deny. If you be sincere, then, you cannot object to the proposal I
am about to make. Let them be brought before us; let her be brought.
If she fail to recognise and acknowledge her kindred, then shall I yield
my claim, and the maiden be free to return with the warriors of Navajo."

The hunters heard this proposition with surprise. They knew that
Seguin's efforts to awaken any recollection of himself in the mind of
the girl had been unsuccessful. What likelihood was there that she
would remember her mother? But Seguin himself had little hope of this,
and a moment's reflection convinced us that his proposal was based upon
some hidden idea.

He saw that the exchange of the queen was a _sine qua non_ with the
Indians; and without this being granted, the negotiations would
terminate abruptly, leaving his wife and younger daughter still in the
hands of our enemies. He reflected on the harsh lot which would await
them in their captivity, while she returned but to receive homage and
kindness. They must be saved at every sacrifice; she must be yielded up
to redeem them.

But Seguin had still another design. It was a strategic manoeuvre, a
desperate and _dernier ressort_ on his part. It was this: he saw that,
if he could