A large fire had been built near Eagle Claw’s wigwam, and one by one the sub-chiefs, head-men and old Indians of the tribe gravely stalked toward it and seated themselves in the circle.

Rising from his place Eagle Claw ordered the prisoner to be brought forward.

As Swanson caught sight of the council-fire, the stern faces surrounding it, and the grave air of his captors, his guilty heart sank within him, and, trembling in every joint, he was hardly able to totter to the place assigned him.  The Indians noted his condition with scornful eyes, and Eagle Claw, advancing from the rest, said: 

“How now, does the coyote tremble because he is asked to join the council with his brethren?”

The mocking words brought Swanson’s pluck back again, and drawing himself to his full height he answered: 

“You red devil!  Don’t brother me.  Drop that beating around the bush and out with the truth.”

“’Tis well.  A liar is a curse to his people.  The Cherokees are men of truth and have but a single tongue.”

“The Cherokees are the biggest rascals in the Territory, the meanest horse-thieves, and couldn’t tell the truth to save their rascally necks from the halter,” said Swanson.

The Indian’s eyes flashed ominously at these words, and rising his voice, he said: 

“My brother has a long tongue.  It might be well if it were cut out; but we know he is joking, for is he not a Cherokee himself?”

“Not I. You can’t make a mustang out of a broken-down broncho and you can’t make a white man out of an Indian.”

“But you took one of the fairest of our young maidens to your tepee, and—­”

“Fairest young maiden?  I took the skinniest rack-a-bones in the tribe.  The old hag!  She was too lazy to earn her salt, and was the biggest fool that ever wore calico.”

A terrible look of rage came into Eagle Claw’s face, for Swanson had married his own sister, and such an insult was not to be brooked.  But with all the powers of dissimulation which the Indian possesses, he forced a smile to his lips, and, blandly speaking, pointed to the thongs around Swanson’s arms.

“It is not well that our brother should be tied that way,” and drawing his keen knife, he cut the thongs, and Swanson freed his arms.

His arms free, all of Swanson’s courage returned.  Hastily glancing around the circle, he suddenly shot out his right arm.  Reeling backward, Eagle Claw fell to the ground, and the Indians saw something pass them like the wind, straight for the pony herd.

In an instant the camp was in commotion, hoarse yells came from tawny throats, and in swift pursuit of the flying Swanson the braves ran after him.

He had the start, however, and agile and athletic to a remarkable degree, his hands pressed to his side, his mouth closed and saving his wind, he sped before the pursuing red men and gained the corral of the ponies.