“Did the whites ever go to your village to rob and murder?” inquired the old ferryman.

The Indian assumed a proud look, and replied that they had.  He said that the buffalo, the bear, the deer, and the beaver—­the eternal prairies and forests—­the rivers, the air and the sky, all belonged to the red men.  That the whites had not been invited to come among them, but they had intruded upon their lands, stolen their game, and killed their warriors.  Yet, he said, the Indians did not hate Boone, and would not have attacked the premises that night, if they had known he was there.

“Why do they not hate Boone?  He has killed more of them than any one else in this region,” continued Roughgrove.

The Indian said that Boone was a great prophet, and was loved by the Great Spirit.

“Will the war-party return hither to-night?” asked Roughgrove.

The Indian answered in the negative; and added that they would never attack that place again, because the Great Spirit had fought against them.

Boone requested Roughgrove to ask what would be done with the false prophet who had advised them to make the attack.

The savage frowned fiercely, and replied that he would be tied to a tree, and shot through the heart a hundred times.

“What do you think we intend to do to you?” asked Roughgrove.

The savage said he would be skinned alive and put under the ice in the river, or burned to death by a slow fire.  He said he was ready to die.

“I’ll be shot if he isn’t a spunky fellow!” said Sneak.

“Do you desire such a fate?” continued the old ferry man.

“The Indian looked at him with surprise, and answered without hesitation that he did—­and then insisted upon being killed immediately.

“Would you attempt to injure the white man again if we were not to kill you?”

The Indian smiled, but made no answer.

“I am in earnest,” continued Roughgrove, “and wish to know what you would do if we spared your life.”

The Indian said such talk was only trifling, and again insisted upon being dispatched.

After a short consultation with Boone and Glenn, Roughgrove repeated his question.

The savage replied that he did not believe it possible for him to escape immediate death—­but if he were not killed, he could never think of hurting any of those, who saved him, afterwards.  Yet he stated very frankly that he would kill and rob any other pale-faces he might meet with.

“Let me blow his brains out,” said Sneak, throwing his gun up to his shoulder.  The Indian understood the movement, if not the words, and turning towards him, presented a full front, without quailing.

“He speaks the truth,” said Boone; “he would never injure any of us himself, nor permit any of his tribe to do it, so far as his influence extended.  Yet he will die rather than make a promise not to molest others.  His word may be strictly relied upon.  It is not fear that extorts the promise never to war against us—­it would be his gratitude for sparing his life.  Take down your gun, Sneak.  Let us decide upon his fate.  I am in favour of liberating him.”