“You lie—­you got no money,” replied the savage; and, stooping down, he began to split some dry wood into very small pieces to kindle with.  Joe looked on in despair, and seemed to anticipate a blister from every splinter he saw.  It was different with Sneak.  Almost hid by the wood heaped around him, he embraced every opportunity, when the eyes of the savages were turned away, to endeavour to extricate himself from the cords that bound him to the tree.  Hope had not yet forsaken him, and he resolved to struggle to the last.  When the old savage had split off a large quantity of splinters and chips, he gathered them up and began to arrange them in various parts of the pile of green timber preparatory for a simultaneous ignition.  While he was thus engaged, Sneak remained motionless, and assumed a stoical expression of features.  But when he turned to Joe, Sneak again began to tug at the cord.

“Oh pray, Mr. Indian!” exclaimed Joe, when he saw the savage carefully placing the combustible matter in all the crevices of the pile around him—­“just only let me off this time, and I’ll be your best friend all the rest of your life.”

“Me warm you little—­don’t cry—­poor fellow!” replied the Indian, striking a light with flint and steel.

“Oh, Sneak, if you’ve got a knife, run here and cut me loose, before I’m burnt to death!” said Joe, in the most heart-moving manner.

“Keep your mouth shet!” said Sneak; “jest wait till they go to put some fire here, and I’ll show you a thing or two,” he continued, pouring a handful of powder among the dry splinters.  The effect of the explosion when the Indians attempted to surprise Glenn’s premises occurring to Sneak, and recollecting that he had a quantity of powder in his pockets, he resolved in his extremity to try its virtue on this occasion.

“But they’re going to burn me first!  Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Joe, as he beheld the savage applying the fire to the splinters near his feet.

“Don’t say nor do nothing—­jest wait till they come to me,” said Sneak, with great composure.  “Do you jess keep your mouth shet—­it’ll be a long while a kindling—­it won’t begin to burn your legs for an hour.”

“Oh, goodness gracious!  My knees begin to feel warm now.  Oh, pray have mercy on me, good Mr. Osage!” cried Joe, before the flame was as large as his hand, and yet full three feet distant from him.  The greater portion of the fagots being green, the fire made very slow progress, and it was necessary for the savages to procure a constant supply of dry splinters to prevent it from going out.

At length, after the combustible material had burned out, and been replenished several times, the more substantial billets of Joe’s pile began to ignite slowly, and the old Indian then took up a flaming brand and moved towards Sneak.

“Come on! you snarvilerous rattlesnake you, I’ll show you sights presently!” said Sneak.