He hunted a soft place under one of the trees, and, despising the dew, stretched himself between two giant roots, his rifle by his side.  He was tired and hungry, and he lay for a while staring at the blank undergrowth, but by and by all his troubles and doubts floated away.  The note of the wind was soothing, and the huge roots sheltered him.  His eyelids drooped, a singular feeling of peace and ease crept over him, and he was asleep.

It was yet the intense darkness of early night, and the outline of his figure was lost between the giant roots, but after a while a silver moon brought a gray tint to the skies, and the black bank over the forest began to thin and lighten.  Then two figures, hideous in paint, crept from the undergrowth, and stared at the sleeping boy with pitiless eyes.

Paul slept on, and mercifully knew nothing of his danger; yet it would have been hard to find in the world two pairs of eyes that contained more savagery than those now gazing upon him.  Their owners crept nearer, looking with fierce joy through the darkness at the sleeping boy who was so certainly their prey.  Their code contained nothing that taught them to spare a foe, and this youth.  In the van of the white invasion, was the worst of foes.

The boy still slept, and his slumber was deep, sweet, and dreamless.  No warning came to him while the savage eyes, bright with cruel fire, crept closer and closer, and the merciful darkness, coming again, tried to close down and hide the approaching tragedy of the forest.

Paul returned with a jerk from his peaceful heaven.  Hands and feet were seized suddenly and pinned to the earth so tightly that he could not move, and he gazed up at two hideous, painted faces, very near to his own, and full of menace.  The boy’s heart turned for a moment to water.  He saw at once, through his vivid and powerful imagination, all the terrors of his position, and in the same instant he leaped forward also to the future, and to the agony it had in store for him.  But in a moment his courage came back, the strong will once more took command of the body and the spirit, and he looked up with stoical eyes at his captors.  He knew that resistance now would be in vain, and, relaxing his muscles, he saved his strength.

The warriors laughed a little, a soundless laugh that was full of menace, and bound him securely with strips of buckskin cut from his own garments.  Then they stood up, and Paul, too, rose to a sitting position, gazing intently at his captors.  They were powerful men, apparently warriors of middle age, and Paul knew enough of costume and paint to tell that they were of the Shawnee nation, bitterly hostile to him and his kind.

His terrors came back upon him in full sweep.  He loved life, and, scholar though he was, he loved his life in the young wilderness of Kentucky, where he was at the beginnings of things.  Every detail of what they would do to him, every incident of the torture was already photographed upon his sensitive mind, but again the brave lad called up all his courage, and again he triumphed, keeping his body still and his face without expression.  He merely looked up at them, as if placidly waiting their will.