“What are they doing Sneak?” asked Joe.

“Don’t you know what they’re doing? ain’t they cutting wood as fast as they kin?” replied Sneak.

“Well, I’m not sorry for that.” said Joe. “because its almost dark, and I’m getting chilly.  If they’d only give me something to eat, I’d feel a heap more comfortable.”

“You varasherous fool you, they’re cutting wood to burn us up with.  Oh, I wish I was loose!”

“Oh, goodness gracious!” cried Joe, “I never thought of that!  Oh, I’m gone!”

“Are you?” cried Sneak, eagerly; “I’d like to be off too, and we’d give them a race for it yit.”

“Oh!  Sneak, I mean I’m ruined, lost for ever!  Oh!  St. Peter, pity my helpless condition!”

“Don’t think about pity now,” said Sneak; “nothing of that sort is going to do us any good.  We must git loose from these trees and run for it, or we’ll be roasted like wild turkeys in less than an hour.  I’ve got one hand loose!”.

“So have I almost!” cried Joe, struggling violently.

“One of ’em’s coming!—­shove your hand back, and pertend like you’re fast, till he goes away agin!” said Sneak, in a hurried undertone.

The savage emerged from the bushes the next moment, and after depositing an armful of billets of wood at the feet of Joe, and walking round behind the prisoners to see if they were still secure, returned for more fuel.

“Now work for your life!” said Sneak, extricating his wrist from the cord, and striving to get his feet loose.

“Hang it, Sneak, I can’t get my hand out, though the string’s quite loose!  Make haste, Sneak, and come and help me,” said Joe, in a tone that indicated his earnestness.

“Let every man look out for himself,” replied Sneak, tugging away at the cord that bound his feet to the tree.

“Oh, Sneak, don’t leave me here, to be burnt by myself!” said Joe.

“You wouldn’t promise to give any thing to ransom me, a while ago—­I’ll cut stick as quick as I kin.”

“Oh, Sneak, I can’t untie my hands!  If you won’t help me, I’ll call the Indians.”  But Joe was saved the trouble.  He had scarce uttered the word when all four of the Indians suddenly appeared, and throwing down their wood, proceeded with much haste to put their horrid purpose in execution.  They heaped up the fagots around their victims, until they reached half way to their chins, and when all was ready, they paused, before applying the fire, to enjoy the terrors of their captives.

“You cold—­me make some fire to warm—­huh,” said the old Indian, addressing Joe, while the others looked on with unmixed satisfaction.

“Oh! my dear Mr. Osage, if you only knew how much money you’d lose by killing me, I know you’d let me go!” said Joe, in tremulous but supplicating tones.