“Squaw eat heart,” went on the Indian, prodding him with his stick; “feed bones to dog.  All white men go that way now,—­Ol’ Burns first.”

“Topenebe,” was the quiet reply, as the victim rolled over until he half-sat against the bank, “I had the pleasure o’ kickin’ ye once down on the Kankakee, an’ should be mighty glad ter do it agin.  I reckon as how ye don’t feel over friendly ter me, but ye ‘re simply wastin’ yer breath tauntin’ me.  Any time yer derned old fire is hot, I ’m ready to dance.”

These calm words angered the warrior, and he spat at him; then he turned and grunted an order in his own language.  With blows of their sticks the Indians got us on our feet; but when they sought to drive us up the steep bank to the prairie, Ol’ Burns balked and absolutely refused to move.

“Not one dern step, Topenebe,” he swore grimly, “with these yere things on my legs.  I ‘m no pony ter be hobbled, an’ blame if I ’ll jump ’long fer any red-skin.  Ye kin carry me, if ye ain’t too lazy; but, by thunder! thar ‘ll be no walkin’ till ye cut them bonds.”

Blows, curses, and threats failed alike to budge the old man.  He simply sat down and smiled grimly at them; and we followed his example, dimly perceiving there must be a purpose in it.  Sheer obstinacy wins many a battle, and when we went up the bank our lower limbs were free, although to my mind we were as hopelessly bound as ever.  Not so with Burns.  I chanced to press close to him, as we came out upon the prairie, and he muttered a quick word into my ear.

“See how they herd us in the shade of the Agency!  They are not yet ready to let the sojers know whut they’re re’lly up to.  Not an Injun will go beyond thet line long enough to be seen.  Be ready to run fer it as soon as I say ‘Go,’ an’ tell the Frenchman.”

I succeeded in making De Croix understand, by means of the mongrel French at my command, which seemed not to be intelligible to the savages; and we moved forward at as slow a gait as our vigilant guards permitted, with every muscle tense for the coming strain.  We were bunched together, with no pretence of order on the part of our captors; indeed, they seemed to be of various minds over what was to be done with us, though Topenebe exercised sufficient control over his mongrel followers to compel at least partial obedience to his orders.  We tramped along to the west of the factory, the walls of which shut off all view of the Fort, a half-dozen of the savages about us, while the chief stalked on a few feet in advance.

We had almost reached the southwestern corner of the big Agency building, and Topenebe had already taken a step to the right, carefully keeping the log walls as a protection between our movements and the eyes of the garrison, when Burns, shaking off the Indians nearest him, bounded suddenly forward and struck Topenebe with his head, hurling the fellow by his side over backward as he passed.