Paul knew well, too well.  Hideous tales of such doings had come now and then to his ears, but he had never dreamed that he, Paul Cotter, in his own person would be such a victim.  Even now it seemed incredible in the face of this beautiful young world that stretched away from him, so quiet and so peaceful.  He, who already in his boyhood was planning great things for this splendid land, to die such a death!

The warriors did not cease until their task was finished.  It was but a brief one after all, for Paul had made no mistake in his guess.  There was not time, perhaps, to take a prisoner beyond the Ohio, and they could not forego a savage pleasure.  They dragged the hoy to the sapling, stood him erect against the slim trunk, and hound him fast with green withes.  Then they piled the dead leaves and brushwood high about him above his knees, and, this done, stood a little way off and looked at their work.

The warriors spoke together for the first time since Paul had awakened, and their black eyes lighted up with a hideous glow of anticipation.  Paul saw it, and an icy chill ran through all his veins.  Had not the green withes held him, he would have fallen to the ground.  Once more his active mind, foreseeing all that would come, had dissolved his strength for the moment; but, as always, his will brought his courage back, and he shut his eyes to put away the hateful sight of the gloating savages.

He had never asked in any way for mercy, he had never uttered a word of protest, and he resolved that he would not cry out if he could help it.  They should not rejoice too much at his sufferings; he would die as they were taught to die, and he would show to them that the mind of a white boy could supply the place of a red man’s physical fortitude.  But Henry might come!  Would he come?  Oh, would he come?  Resigned to death, Paul yet hoped for life.

He opened his eyes, and the warriors were still standing there, looking at him; but in a moment one approached, and, bending down, began to strike flint and steel amid the dry leaves at the boy’s feet.  Again, despite himself, the shivering chill ran through Paul’s veins.  Would Henry come?  If he came at all, he must now come quickly, as only a few minutes were left.

The leaves were obstinate; sparks flew from the flint and steel, but there was no blaze.  Paul looked down at the head of the warrior who worked patiently at his task.  The second warrior stood on one side, watching, and when Paul glanced at him he saw the savage move ever so little, but as if driven by a sudden impulse, and then raise his head in the attitude of one who listened intently.  Heat replaced the ice in Paul’s veins.  Had something moved in the forest?  Was it Henry?  Would he come?

The standing warrior uttered a low sound, and he who knelt with the flint and steel raised his head.  Something had moved in the forest!  It might be Henry.  For Paul, the emotions of a life were concentrated in a single moment.  Fear and hope tripped over each other, and the wilderness grew dim to his sight.  A myriad of little black specks danced before his eyes, and the blood was beating a quick march in his ears.