When they reached their place of encampment, which was in the midst of a cluster of small slim trees that encircled an old spreading oak of huge dimensions, the savages made their prisoners stand with their backs against two saplings that grew some fifteen paces apart.  They were compelled to face each other, that they might witness every thing that transpired.  Their arms were bound round the trees behind them, and a cord was likewise passed round their legs to confine them more securely.  The savages then seemed to consult about the manner of despatching them.  The oldest and most experienced, by his hasty gestures and impatient replies, appeared to insist on their instantaneous death.  And from his frequent glances northward, through the trees, he doubtless feared some interruption, or dreaded the arrival of an enemy that might inflict an ample retaliation.  During a long pause, while the Indians seemed to hesitate, and the old crafty savage drew his steel tomahawk from his belt, Sneak sighed deeply, and said, in rather mournful tones—­

“The jig’s up with us, Joe.  If I was only loose seven seconds, you wouldn’t ketch me dying like a coon here agin a tree.”  Joe made no other response than a blubbering sound, while the tears ran down and dropped briskly from his chin.

[Illustration:  Joe and Sneak in difficulty.—­P. 194]

The savages gave vent to a burst of laughter when they beheld the agony of fear that possessed their captive.  The three that were in favour of the slow torture now turned a deaf ear to the old warrior, and advanced to Joe.  They held the palms of their hands under his chin, and caught the tears as they fell.  They then stroked his head gently, and appeared to sympathize with the sufferer.

“Mr. Indian, if you’ll let me go, I’ll give you my gun and twenty dollars,” said Joe, appealing most piteously to the one that placed his hand on his head.  The Indian seemed to understand him, and held his hand out for the money, while a demoniac smile played on his dark lips.

“Just untie my hands,” said Joe, endeavouring to look behind, “and I’ll go right straight home and get them.”

“You rascal—­you want to run away,” replied the old Indian, who not only understood Joe’s language, but could himself speak English imperfectly.

“Upon my sacred word and honour, I won’t!” replied Joe.

“You lie!” said the savage, bestowing a severe smack on Joe’s face.

“Oh, Lord!  Come now, Mr. Indian, that hurts!”

“No—­don’t hurt—­only kill musketer,” replied the savage, laughing heartily, and striking his prisoner on the other side of the face.

“Oh! hang your skin!” cried Joe, endeavouring to break away, “if ever I get you in my power, I’ll smash—­” Here his sudden courage evaporated, and again the tears filled his eyes.

“Poor fellow!” said the savage, patting his victim on the head.  “How much you give for him?” he continued, pointing to Sneak.