d leave him alone. But
the Sauk, with no abatement of earnestness, refused, and, for a second
or two, the contest was so desperate that the wonder was the prisoner
did not make a break for life. Possibly he did not understand the nature
of the struggle until it was over, or it may have been that, having made
his preparations for death, he was loth to change the programme.

But the dispute ended as quickly as it began. The Sauk triumphed, as,
judging from the size of the two, he was likely to do in such a wrangle.
The hand of Deerfoot became nerveless and dropped to his side. He stood
silent and sullen, as though he had no more interest in the matter.

Using mild language again, the Pawnee was surprised when the Sauk walked
forward, and handed back the rifle, which Deerfoot had taken from him a
short time before. The prisoner hesitated a moment as if in doubt, but
the manner of Hay-uta was too plain to be mistaken. He accepted the
weapon, giving utterance to what was probably meant as an expression of
thanks.

Returning a few steps, the Sauk picked up the tomahawk and knife from
the ground, and advancing once more in front of the Pawnee, presented
them to him with the grace of the Crusader. His pleasure in giving was
surely equal to that of the Pawnee in receiving them.

All this time Deerfoot remained like a statue of sullenness, glowering
on the two, as though he would have been pleased to tomahawk both actors
in the singular drama.

The Pawnee was quick to catch the purport of his friend in need. He
shoved the blade of his knife into the skin-sheath at his girdle; he
thrust the handle of his tomahawk through the same support, but further
to one side, as if to balance the other weapon. Then he grasped his gun
near the flint, and was ready for the next step in the proceedings.

Placing his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, Hay-uta turned him partly
around, so that he faced up stream and in the direction of the camp,
where so many of his friends were gathered. Pushing him gently forward,
he exclaimed in an undertone and in his own language:

"_Go!_"

The Pawnee obeyed, the same dignity marking his movement as when he
stood in the presence of death. He strode forward until he reached the
darkness of the wood, into which he seemed to blend as if a part of the
gloom itself.

When within the shelter, however, he laid aside his courtliness, as it
may be called, and used the utmost haste in placing himself beyond
dan