out of the question. They were overwhelmed as if by a
cataract and, almost before they could realise what had happened, the
arms of all the men were pinioned behind them.

At that trying hour little Tolly Trevor proved himself to be more of a
man than most of his friends had hitherto given him credit for.

The savages, regarding him as a weak little boy, had paid no attention
to him, but confined their efforts to the overcoming of the powerful and
by no means submissive men with whom they had to deal.

Tolly's first impulse was to rush to the rescue of Paul Bevan; but he
was remarkably quick-witted, and, when on the point of springing,
observed that no tomahawk was wielded or knife drawn. Suddenly grasping
the wrist of Betty, who had also naturally felt the impulse to succour
her father, he exclaimed--

"Stop! Betty. They don't mean murder. You an' I can do nothing
against so many. Keep quiet; p'r'aps they'll leave us alone."

As he spoke a still deeper idea flashed into his little brain. To the
surprise of Betty, he suddenly threw his arms round her waist and clung
to her as if for protection with a look of fear in his face, and when
the work of binding the captives was completed the Indians found him
still labouring to all appearance under great alarm. Unaco cast on him
one look of supreme scorn, and then, leaving him, like Betty, unbound,
turned towards Paul Bevan.

"The white man is one of wicked band?" he said, in his broken English.

"I don't know what ye mean, Redskin," replied Paul; "but speak your own
tongue, I understand it well enough to talk with ye."

The Indian repeated the question in his native language, and Paul,
replying in the same, said--

"No, Redskin, I belong to no band, either wicked or good."

"How come you, then, to be in company with this man?" demanded the
Indian.

In reply Paul gave a correct account of the cause and object of his
being there, explained that the starving man before them was the friend
for whom he sought, that Betty was his daughter, though how she came to
be there beat his comprehension entirely, and that the botanist was a
stranger, whose name even he did not yet know.

"It is false," returned the chief. "The white man speaks with a forked
tongue. He is one of the murderers who have slain my wife and my
child."

A dark fierce frown passed over the chief's countenance as he spoke, but
it was quickly replaced by the habitual look of calm gravity.

"