Wyatt quivered convulsively on his bed of skins.  Paul was filled with repugnance, but he would not exult.  His nature would not permit him.  Shif’less Sol opened the door, and the two stepped out into the open air and a dark night.  No one was about, and the shiftless one deliberately fastened the doors on the outside in the usual manner.  Then he and Paul strolled away through the village.

“Remember that you are Braxton Wyatt,” whispered Shif’less Sol.  “Walk ez near like him ez you kin.  You’ve seen him often enough to know.”

The two sauntered lazily forward.  An old squaw, crouched by a low and smoking fire, gave one glance at them, but no more.  She went on dreaming of the days when she was young, and when the braves fought for her.  A mangy cur barked once, and then lay down again at the foot of a deer-skin lodge.  A warrior, smoking a pipe in his own doorway, looked up, but saw nothing unusual, and then looked down again.

The coolness of Shif’less Sol was something wonderful to see.  He merely loafed along, as if he had no object in the world but to pass away the time, and there was nothing in the course he chose to indicate that he meant to reach the forest.  Now and then he spoke apparently casual words to Paul, and the boy, in the faint light, wearing Braxton Wyatt’s clothes, might easily pass for Braxton Wyatt himself, even to the keen eyes of the Shawnees.

Presently they reached the northern end of the village, the one nearest to the forest, and it was here that Shif’less Sol intended to make the escape.  Paul kept close to him, and he noticed with joy that all the time the light, already faint, was growing fainter.  The friendly forest seemed to curve very near.  Paul’s heart throbbed with painful violence.

Shif’less Sol passed the last wigwam, and he took a step into the open space that divided them from the forest.  Paul stepped with him, but a gaunt and weazened figure rose up in their path.  It was that of the old squaw who wished a new son, and she stared for a few moments at the clothes of Braxton Wyatt, and the figure within them.  Then she knew, and she uttered a shrill cry that was at once a lament and a warning.  At the same time she flung her arms around Paul in a gesture that was intended alike for affection and detention.

“Run, Paul, run!” exclaimed Shif’less Sol.

Paul attempted to throw off the old woman, but she clung to him like a wild cat, showing marvelous strength and tenacity for one so little and weazened and old.  Shif’less Sol saw the difficulty and, seizing her in his powerful grasp, tore her loose.

“Don’t hurt her, Sol!” cried Paul.

Shif’less Sol understood, and he cast her from them, but not with violence.  Then the two ran with utmost speed and desperate need toward the forest, because the village behind them was up and alive.  Lights flared, dogs barked, men shouted, and before the friendly trees were reached rifles began to crack.