Here a sign was made by Bear’s Meat, and a warrior raised the tomahawk that was to separate the fastenings, His hand was in the very act of descending, when the crack of a rifle was heard, and a little smoke rose out of the thicket, near the spot where the bee-hunter and the corporal, himself, had remained so long hid, on the occasion of the council first held in that place.  The tomahawk fell, however, the withes were parted, and up flew the saplings, with a violence that threatened to tear the arms of the victim out of their sockets.

The Indians listened, expecting the screeches and groans;—­they gazed, hoping to witness the writhings of their captive.  But they were disappointed.  There hung the body, its arms distended, still holding the tops of the saplings bowed, but not a sign of life was seen.  A small line of blood trickled down the forehead, and above it was the nearly imperceptible hole made by the passage of a bullet.  The head itself had fallen forward, and a little on one shoulder.  The corporal had escaped the torments reserved for him, by this friendly blow.

It was so much a matter of course for an Indian to revenge his own wounds—­to alleviate his smarts, by retaliating on those who inflicted them—­that the chiefs expressed neither surprise nor resentment at the manner of the corporal’s death.  There was some disappointment, it is true; but no anger was manifested, since it was supposed that some one of those whom the prisoner had wounded had seen fit, in this mode, to revenge his own hurts.  In this, however, the Indians deceived themselves.  The well-intentioned and deadly shot that saved the corporal from hours of agony came from the friendly hand of Pigeonswing, who had no sooner discharged his rifle than he stole away through the thicket, and was never discovered.  This he did, too, at the expense of Ungque’s scalp, on which he had set his heart.

As for the Indians, perceiving that their hopes of forcing a captive to confess his weakness were frustrated, they conferred together on the course of future proceedings.  There was an inquiry for Peter, but Peter was not to be found.  Bough of the Oak suggested that the mysterious chief must have gone to the palisaded hut, in order to get the remaining scalps, his passion for this symbol of triumphs over pale-faces being well known.  It was, therefore, incumbent on the whole band to follow, with the double view of sharing in the honor of the assault, and of rendering assistance.

Abandoning the body of the corporal where it hung, away went these savages, by this time keenly alive to the scent of blood.  Something like order was observed, however, each chief leading his own particular part of the band, in his own way, but on a designated route.  Bear’s Meat acted as commander-in-chief, the subordinate leaders following his instructions with reasonable obedience.  Some went in one direction, others in another; until the verdant bottom near the sweet spring was deserted.