“Is that all?” she asked in a calm voice after she had recovered from her first astonishment.  “I hope you do not wish me to swim this stream.  The water is rather too shallow, even for me.”

“Come, sister.  Thou hast been tried in the waters of Wau-Wau and found not wanting.  A helping hand will meet thee where water meets earth and earth meets water.  Come.”

Harriet did not seek the assistance of any one in getting out of the stream, but a hand grasped one of hers and assisted her to the bank.  The girl felt herself enveloped once more in her bathrobe, and her captives led her in what she shrewdly guessed to be the direction of the camp.

While all this was going on, the other party of hazers was holding Grace Thompson captive not far from the stream to where Harriet had been conducted.  Wrapped in the folds of her bathrobe, the towel still bound about her head and over her eyes, Tommy stood practically helpless in the midst of her captors.

“My sisters,” said one of the hazers, acting as the spokesman for that branch of the initiation party.  “What is the name of the Indian maiden whose spirit guides this little sister?”

“Tommy, the Squirrel,” was the prompt reply.

“Ah!  Then being guided by the spirit of a squirrel, O little maiden, thou shouldst prove thy prowess by climbing a tree.  Ah!  The tree is close at hand.  Climb, sister.”

“I gueth not!” returned Tommy, in a threatening voice.  “I’ll thcream for help.”

“Shouting will avail thee nothing.  No ears will hear.  Climb and all shall be well.”

Tommy had her doubts about this latter statement.  She knew how loudly she could scream.  She knew also that they were not very far from the camp because she could now and then catch a flicker of the campfire through the trees.

An idea occurred to the little girl and could her captors have looked into her eyes they would have read there an expression of cunning that boded ill for them.

“Will the Squirrel climb?” demanded the voice.

“Yeth, the Thquirrel will climb,” she acquiesced, with surprising docility.  “Where ith the tree?”

“Just behind you.”

Grace was turned about, her hands were placed against the trunk of the tree, and the towel was suddenly removed from about her head.

The tree was a small one with limbs hanging low, almost within reach of Grace Thompson’s hands.  Some one gave her a boost.  Tommy took advantage of it and with the help of the hazers clambered to the lower limb.  In the intense darkness she was unable to see clearly anything about her.  Feeling her way, cautiously, she climbed to the next limb.  Her bathrobe, however, sadly impeded her progress, but by determined efforts she managed at last to reach the top of the tree.

“Come on up, girlth.  It ith fine up here.”

Tommy’s courage was rapidly returning to her.  Then again she could afford to speak pleasantly to her captors for she was about to turn the tables on them in a most unexpected manner.