llow Long-Hair, indeed he would! The needed
courage came with the thought, and so with immense labor he crept at
the heels of that crawling monster. It was a painful process, for his
arms were still fast bound at the wrists with the raw-hide strings; but
what was pain to him? He shivered with joy, thinking of what might
happen. The voice of the wind overhead and the noisy bubbling of the
stream near by were cheerful and cheering sounds to him now. So much
can a mere shadow of hope do for a human soul on the verge of despair!
Already he was planning or trying to plan some way by which he could
kill Long-Hair when they should reach a safe distance from the sleeping
camp.

But how could the thing be done? A man with his hands tied, though they
are in front of him, is in no excellent condition to cope with a free
and stalwart savage armed to the teeth. Still Beverley's spirits rose
with every rod of distance that was added to their slow progress.

Their course was nearly parallel with that of the stream, but slightly
converging toward it, and after they had gone about a furlong they
reached the bank. Here Long-Hair stopped and, without a word, cut the
thongs from Beverley's wrists. This was astounding; the young man could
scarcely realize it, nor was he ready to act.

"Swim water," Long-Hair said in a guttural murmur barely audible.
"Swim, damn!"

Again it was necessary for Beverley's mind to act swiftly and with
prudence. The camp was yet within hailing distance. A false move now
would bring the whole pack howling to the rescue. Something told him to
do as Long-Hair ordered, so with scarcely a perceptible hesitation he
scrambled down the bushy bank and slipped into the water, followed by
Long-Hair, who seized him by one arm when he began to swim, and struck
out with him into the boiling and tumbling current.

Beverley had always thought himself a master swimmer, but Long-Hair
showed him his mistake. The giant Indian, with but one hand free to
use, fairly rushed through that deadly cold and turbulent water,
bearing his prisoner with him despite the wounded arm, as easily as if
towing him at the stern of a pirogue. True, his course was down stream
for a considerable distance, but even when presently he struck out
boldly for the other bank, breasting a current in which few swimmers
could have lived, much less made headway, he still swung forward
rapidly, splitting the waves and scarcely giving Beverley freedom
enough so