ve cost him, he kept up a constant strain with his arms. The
smell of burning became stronger, but who could say whether it was the
burning of the skin of a bull or of the skin of a man?

At last he realized, through the torture which was clouding his mind,
that the strain was relaxing. He put forth a mighty effort. His body
could stand it no longer, and gathered all its forces for one last bid
for freedom. A green-hide strand parted. Another loosened itself. A
third uncoiled from his burnt wrist.

His hands were free!

Cunning is as natural to a savage as breathing. With the freeing of
his hands it would have been natural for the man to jerk himself out of
the fire, struggle out of his bonds, and make a dash for liberty. But
no. Eagle had a superstitious fear of white men. He must do nothing
to arouse the suspicions of his enemy. Almost as slowly as he had
approached the fire, he now wormed his way from it till he was out of
reach of its heat, and then lay still, his body racked with the pain of
being burnt and bound. Gradually he reached down with his burned hands
and loosened the rope which fettered his legs. It took some time, for
he had almost lost the use of his hands, and the rope was very stiff
and tightly drawn. But patience and perseverance triumphed, and at
last the man was free.

His next moves were the most risky of all. Eagle was convinced that
Mick was possessed of supernatural powers, for how else could he have
seen the black-fellow and fired at him when he was fast asleep?
Consequently it was with a caution which was the outcome of deadly fear
that he began to crawl. He dared not take too long, for the short
summer night was nearly over, and the white stockman would certainly
awake at the rising of the morning star. But Mick was soundly asleep
this time, and did not notice the black form which went slowly round
the fire and then started up the hill near the white boys.

When Eagle came opposite to Sax he stopped. This boy was not a devil
like the other white man. He had saved him from the torture of the
whip. He was the son of Boss Stobart and was therefore to be guarded
from all danger. A black remembers cruelty and will avenge it; he also
remembers kindness and will pay it back if he possibly can. But what
could a naked savage, fleeing for his life, do to show his gratitude to
the son of Boss Stobart?

Eagle put his poor mutilated hand up to his mass of tangled hair and
pu