ame on again the band camped under some trees beside a
swollen stream. There was no rain falling, but almost the entire
country lay under a flood of water. Fires of logs were soon burning
brightly on the comparatively dry bluff chosen by the Indians. The
weather was chill, but not cold. Long-Hair took great pains, however,
to dry Beverley's clothes and see that he had warm wraps and plenty to
eat. Hamilton's large reward would not be forthcoming should the
prisoner die, Beverley was good property, well worth careful attention.
To be sure his scalp, in the worst event, would command a sufficient
honorarium, but not the greatest. Beverley thought of all this while
the big Indian was wrapping him snugly in skins and blankets for the
night, and there was no comfort in it, save that possibly if he were
returned to Hamilton he might see Alice again before he died.

A fitful wind cried dolefully in the leafless treetops, the stream hard
by gave forth a rushing sound, and far away some wolves howled like
lost souls. Worn out, sore from head to foot, Beverley, deep buried in
the blankets and skins, soon fell into a profound sleep. The fires
slowly crumbled and faded; no sentinel was posted, for the Indians did
not fear an attack, there being no enemies that they knew of nearer
than Kaskaskia. The camp slumbered as one man.

At about the mid-hour of the night Long-Hair gently awoke his prisoner
by drawing a hand across his face, then whispered in his ear:

"Damn, still!"

Beverley tried to rise, uttering a sleepy ejaculation under his breath.
"No talk," hissed Long-Hair. "Still!"

There was something in his voice that not only swept the last film of
sleep out of Beverley's brain, but made it perfectly clear to him that
a very important bit of craftiness was being performed; just what its
nature was, however, he could not surmise. One thing was obvious,
Long-Hair did not wish the other Indians to know of the move he was
making. Deftly he slipped the blankets from around Beverley, and cut
the thongs at his ankles.

"Still!" he whispered. "Come 'long."

Under such circumstances a competent mind acts with lightning celerity.
Beverley now understood that Long-Hair was stealing him away from the
other savages and that the big villain meant to cheat them out of their
part of the reward. Along with this discovery came a fresh gleam of
hope. It would be far easier to escape from one Indian than from nearly
a score. Ah, he would fo