Then the men in brass and blue turned the cannon loose on the howling
savages, and shot them into silence and submission.

John Logan, Carrie and little Stumps, about this time had been brought
with others from the mountains to the Reservation. Logan insisted on
keeping the two children at his side and under his protection. He was
laughed at by agents, and sub-agents.

He was kept chained. He was assigned to a strong hut with gratings
across the window--or rather the little loop-hole which let in the
light. The guards were kept constantly at his door. He was entered on
the books as a very desperate character, a barn-burner, and possible
murderer. And so night and day he was kept under the constant watch of
the soldiers with fixed bayonets. True, he was soon too weak to lift his
manacled hands in strife. But nevertheless he was kept chained and
doubly guarded in the little hut with gratings at the loop-hole.

Would he attempt to escape?

There were many broken fragments of many broken tribes here. Tribes that
had fought each other to the death--fought as Germans and French have
fought. And why not, pray? Has not a heathen as good a right to fight a
heathen as has a Christian to fight a Christian? The only difference is,
we preach and profess peace; they, war.

Logan was alone in this damp hut and deadly pen. He could hear the tramp
of the soldiers; he could see the long thin silver beams of the moon
reach through the gratings, reach on and on, around and over and across
the damp, mouldy floor, as if reaching out, like God's white fingers, to
touch his face, to cool his fever, and comfort him. But he could see,
hear nothing more. He was so utterly alone! They would send an
unfriendly Indian in with his breakfast, foul and unfit for even a well
man, and a tin cup of water in the morning. Soon after the doctor would
call around, also. Then he would see no face again till evening, when
more food and water would be brought. At last the food was brought only
in the morning. This did not at all affect Logan; for from the first
the old pan containing his food had been taken away untouched. The man
was certainly dying. The guard and garrison on the hill were waiting for
this desperate character, whose capture had cost so much time and money,
to attempt to escape.

From the first, even in the face of the blunt refusal, John Logan had
begged for the boy to be brought him. He was certain the little fellow
was dying--dying of