The Great Woodpecker and Little Beaver now entered the teepee, repainted each other’s faces, adjusted their head-dresses and stepped out to the execution.

The Woodpecker re-whetted his knife.  It did not need it, but he liked the sound.

Little Beaver now carried a lot of light firewood and arranged it in front of the prisoner, but Guy’s legs were free and he gave it a kick which sent it all flying.  The two War-chiefs leaped aside.  “Ugh!  Heap sassy,” said the ferocious Woodpecker.  “Tie him legs, oh, Brother Great Chief Little Beaver!”

A new bark strip tied his legs securely to the tree.  Then Chief Woodpecker approached with his knife and said: 

“Great Brother Chief Little Beaver, if we scalp him there is only one scalp, and you will have nothing to show, except you’re content with the wishbone.”

Here was a difficulty, artificial yet real, but Yan suggested: 

“Great Brother Chief
Red-headed-Woodpecker-Settin’-on-a-Stump-with-his-Tail
-Waggling-over-the
Edge, no scalp him; skin his hull head, then each take half skin.”

“Wah!  Very good, oh Brother Big-Injun-Chief Great-Little-Beaver-Chaw-a-Tree-Down.”

Then the Woodpecker got a piece of charcoal and proceeded in horrid gravity to mark out on the tow hair of the prisoner just what he considered a fair division.  Little Beaver objected that he was entitled to an ear and half of the crown, which is the essential part of the scalp.  The Woodpecker pointed out that fortunately the prisoner had a cow-lick that was practically a second crown.  This ought to do perfectly well for the younger Chief’s share.  The charcoal lines were dusted off for a try-over.  Both Chiefs got charcoal now and a new sketch plan was made on Guy’s tow top and corrected till it was accepted by both.

[Illustration:  “Ugh!  Heap sassy!”]

The victim had really never lost heart till now.  His flow of threats and epithets had been continuous and somewhat tedious.  He had threatened to tell his “paw” and “the teacher,” and all the world, but finally he threatened to tell Mr. Raften.  This was the nearest to a home thrust of any yet, and in some uneasiness the Woodpecker turned to Little Beaver and said: 

“Brother Chief, do you comprehend the language of the blithering Paleface?  What does he say?”

“Ugh, I know not,” was the reply.  “Maybe he now singeth a death song in his own tongue.”

Guy was not without pluck.  He had kept up heart so far believing that the boys were “foolin’,” but when he felt the awful charcoal line drawn to divide his scalp satisfactorily between these two inhuman, painted monsters, and when with a final “weet, weet, weet” of the knife on the stone the implacable Woodpecker approached and grabbed his tow locks in one hand, then he broke down and wept bitterly.

“Oh, please don’t——­Oh, Paw!  Oh, Maw!  Let me go this time an’ I’ll never do it again.”  What he would not do was not specified, but the evidence of surrender was complete.