A dark night was chosen for the attempt, and the Indian woman went off with the horses to the place where firewood for the camp was usually cut.  Unfortunately, the suspicion of that wily savage Mahtawa had been awakened, and he stuck close to the hunters all day—­not knowing what was going on, but feeling convinced that something was brewing which he resolved to watch, without mentioning his suspicions to any one.

“I think that villain’s away at last,” whispered Joe to his comrades.  “It’s time to go, lads; the moon won’t be up for an hour.  Come along.”

“Have ye got the big powder-horn, Joe?”

“Ay, ay, all right.”

“Stop! stop! my knife, my couteau.  Ah, here I be!  Now, boy.”

The three set off as usual, strolling carelessly to the outskirts of the camp; then they quickened their pace, and, gaining the lake, pushed off in a small canoe.

At the same moment Mahtawa stepped from the bushes, leaped into another canoe, and followed them.

“Ha! he must die,” muttered Henri.

“Not at all,” said Joe; “we’ll manage him without that.”

The chief landed and strode boldly up to them, for he knew well that whatever their purpose might be they would not venture to use their rifles within sound of the camp at that hour of the night.  As for their knives, he could trust to his own active limbs and the woods to escape and give the alarm if need be.

“The Pale-faces hunt very late,” he said, with a malicious grin.  “Do they love the dark better than the sunshine?”

“Not so,” replied Joe, coolly; “but we love to walk by the light of the moon.  It will be up in less than an hour, and we mean to take a long ramble to-night.”

“The Pawnee chief loves to walk by the moon, too; he will go with the Pale-faces.”

“Good!” ejaculated Joe.  “Come along, then.”

The party immediately set forward, although the savage was a little taken by surprise at the indifferent way in which Joe received his proposal to accompany them.  He walked on to the edge of the prairie, however, and then stopped.

“The Pale-faces must go alone,” said he; “Mahtawa will return to his tent.”

Joe replied to this intimation by seizing him suddenly by the throat and choking back the yell that would otherwise have brought the Pawnee warriors rushing to the scene of action in hundreds.  Mahtawa’s hand was on the handle of his scalping-knife in a moment, but before he could draw it his arms were glued to his sides by the bear-like embrace of Henri, while Dick tied a handkerchief quickly yet firmly round his mouth.  The whole thing was accomplished in two minutes.  After taking his knife and tomahawk away, they loosened their gripe and escorted him swiftly over the prairie.

Mahtawa was perfectly submissive after the first convulsive struggle was over.  He knew that the men who walked on each side of him grasping his arms were more than his match singly, so he wisely made no resistance.