y,
resolving to keep awake. He was fond of hunting and thought it would
be very gratifying if he might return to the fire with something to
show for his efforts.

Back in the woods a fine buck came walking along the narrow path. When
fully six rods from the creek he suddenly stopped, and lifting his
delicate muzzle snuffed the air inquiringly. The next instant his tail
was lifted, showing the white of the under side, the "white flag," as
the hunters term it, and with a bound he was off in the forest.

A few minutes later a dark form cautiously came along, careful not to
break a twig beneath his moccasined feet. He was naked except for a
breech-clout. The tuft of feathers fastened to his "top-knot" and the
paint on his face indicated that he was on the warpath.

Turning, the Indian followed the narrow trail in the direction of the
creek for a short distance and then, leaving the path, made a detour
on the side where Rodney had taken his station.

The boy slept! The sun had gone down and only twilight remained. He
dreamed that a huge bear appeared on the path, its shambling feet
softly treading. He tried to raise his rifle but his arms were
powerless, seemed paralyzed! The bear came on, now faster. Stopping
before him it rose on its hind legs and hugged him with its fore paws,
and he struggled to scream but could not utter a sound. He opened his
eyes. A brawny hand was over his mouth, a powerful arm about his arms
pinioned them to his side. The hand was red, and on the wrist was a
copper bracelet!

A guttural voice spoke low but harshly in his ear: "Um no speak.
Die!"

Then the boy felt his arms being bound with leather thongs and he
looked into the face of the savage, saw the hideous paint on it, the
bright, beady eyes, the whites of which looked yellow; noted the high
cheekbones, the nose like an eagle's beak, the cruel mouth like a thin
slit in the face, and fear was upon him, such, as he never had known.

"Halloo."

Surely that was Ferguson's voice, and must be calling him.

"Halloo!"

The last call was from the other side and it was not Ferguson's
voice.

The Indian lifted his tomahawk and the lad expected it to be buried in
his head. Instead came the low-spoken word: "March!"

Guided by the savage from behind and stepping cautiously, as he
believed should he break a twig or make other noise he would be
struck down on the instant, Rodney went on into the forest.

They had thus advanced less than twe