gazed at one another, aghast.

"It can't be that they've got him!" exclaimed Long Jim.

"Listen to that song!" faltered Paul. "It celebrates the taking of a
scalp!"

"I'm afeared fur good old Sol," said Tom Ross.

Henry was silent, but a great grief oppressed him. The Indian chant was
so triumphant that it could mean nothing but the taking of a scalp, and
there was no scalp but that of the shiftless one to take.

Louder swelled the song, while the singers were yet invisible among the
bushes, and suddenly, the band gathered in the opening, began to sing a
welcome, as they danced around the coals of their low campfire. Around
and around they went, leaping and chanting, and the songs of both bands
came clearly to those in the cave.

Henry's face darkened and his teeth pressed closely together. An
accident must have happened or the shiftless one would never have
allowed himself to be trapped in the day. Yet he had hope, he said
resolutely to himself that he must retain hope, and he watched
continually for the smaller band that was approaching through the
bushes.

They emerged suddenly into view, and as his heart sank again, he saw
that the leading warrior was whirling a trophy swiftly around his head.
The cries of the others at sight of the scalp redoubled.

"It's Sol's, uv course!" growled Long Jim. "He's gone an' a better man
never trod moccasin!"

The others were silent, overwhelmed with grief. The two bands now joined
and the dance of a score of warriors became wilder and wilder. At
intervals they caught a glimpse of the scalp as it was waved aloft, and
they raged, but were powerless.

"We can't go after them cannon now," said Long Jim. "We've got to stay
an' git revenge fur poor old Sol."

"An' that's shore," said Tom Ross.

Henry and Paul were silent. It was the most terrible irony to stand
there and see the savages rejoicing over the cruel fate of their
comrade, and, as the water rose in their eyes, there came at the same
time out of the depths of the forest the long lone howl of the wolf, now
a deep thrilling note, something like a chord.

"It's Shif'less Sol! he's safe!" cried Long Jim. "It's jest a trick
they're workin', tryin' to beat down our sperrits, an' good old Sol is
tellin' us so!"

"It's shorely time," said Silent Tom, "an' that's an old scalp they're
whirlin'."

They had never before known the cry of a wolf to have such a deep and
thrilling quality, but it came again as full and resou