The door opened and Braxton Wyatt stepped in.  What decree of fate had caused him to be spying about that night, and what had caused him to find the door of Paul’s prison hut unfastened?  He stood a few moments, trying to accustom his eyes to the dark, and he plainly heard the regular breathing of Paul on the bed of skins.  Presently he saw the dim, recumbent figure also.  But he was still suspicious, and he took a step nearer.  Then a big form, projected somewhere from the dark, hurled itself upon him, and he was thrown headlong to the earthen floor.  Strong fingers compressed his throat, and he gasped for breath.

“Here, Paul,” said Sol, “tear off a piece o’ that skin an’ stuff it into his mouth.”

Paul, who had leaped to his feet, obeyed at once.

“An’ cut off some stout strips o’ the same with this knife o’ mine,” said Shif’less Sol.

Paul again obeyed at once, and in three minutes Braxton Wyatt lay bound and gagged on the earthen floor.  Shif’less Sol Hyde and Paul Cotter stood over him, and looked down at him, and even in the dark they saw the terror of all things in his eyes.

“The Lord has been good to us to-night, Paul,” said Shif’less Sol, with a certain solemnity, “an’ He wuz best o’ all when He sent this hound here a-spyin’.”

“You know what he is?” said Paul.

“Ef I don’t know, I’ve guessed.”

Then the two stood silent for a little space, still gazing down at Braxton Wyatt, bound and gagged.  Paul had never before seen such stark dread in the eyes of any one, and he shuddered.  Despite himself, he felt a certain amount of pity.

“He would have lured a boat-load of our people into the hands of the savages,” he said.

“I’ll put this knife in his foul heart, Paul,” said Shif’less Sol.

The bound figure quivered in its bonds, and the eyes became wild and appealing.

“No, not that,” replied Paul; “I couldn’t bear to see anyone helpless put to death.”

“It was just the thought uv a moment,” said Shif’less Sol.  “We’ve got a better use fur him.  It’s the one that the Lord sent him here fur.  Now, Paul, help me strip off his huntin’ shirt.”

They took off Braxton Wyatt’s hunting shirt, leggins, and cap, and Paul put them on, his own taking their place on the form of the gagged youth.

“Now, Paul,” said Shif’less Sol, “you’re Braxton Wyatt—­for a little while, at least, you’ve got to stand it—­an’ he’s you.  Help me roll him up thar on your bed o’ skins, an’ he kin sleep in calm an’ peace until they bring him his breakfast in the mornin’.”

They put Wyatt on the couch, and his eyes glared fiercely at them.  He struggled to speak, but they did not care to hear him.  Sol took the weapons from his belt and gave them to Paul.

“Good-night, Braxton,” said Shif’less Sol pleasantly.  “Fine dreams to you.  We’re glad you came.  You happened in jest in time.”