to go ahead of you with a small contingent to occupy the entrance to the trail before the Tukholian louts learn of our advance and barricade it against us.”
“Very well then, go ahead!” said Peta. “When do you want to start?”
“Right away so that I can reach my destination by tomorrow noon.”
“In that case, let there be an end to our conference and may the gods favor the success of our armies!” said Peta getting up from his place. The other chieftains arose also. Tuhar Wolf asked Peta to select a division of the bravest men for him and went to his tent to refresh himself and to take leave of his daughter.
In the dark tent, on a couch covered with soft feather beds stolen by the Mongols, sat Peace-Renown, weeping bitterly. Not until now, after all the terrible and unexpected experiences she had been through, did she have time to think everything over and to ruminate upon every phase of the predicament into which her father had maneuvered her. Her plight was indeed perilous, seemingly inescapable. Her father was a traitor, a Mongolian slave; she was in the Mongolian entrenchment, half guest and half captive and withal thoroughly unprotected and alone against a hostile power. Her last support, her ardent belief in the prophetic dream that her love for Maxim was luckily fated and in her mother’s blessing, even this now in the cool light of reason began to waver, bleeding her heart. How could she ever face Maxim again? How would she be able to explain to him her willing or unwilling presence in the Mongolian encampment? Like poisonous snakes these questions writhed in her heart and she let the tears flow copiously weeping as if her heart would break.
With soft, hesitant tread, the father approached her and laid his hand upon her shoulder. She did not raise her head or move but kept on weeping.
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