usk
seized and flung on the ground. One spat in his face. He lay where he
had fallen.

Thus ended the Kakisa rebellion. The Indians had no further thought of
resistance. The butts of their guns dropped to the ground, and they
stared at the oncoming troopers with characteristic apathy.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS.

The police advanced to within twenty-five yards and, drawing closer
together, halted.

"Watusk, come out of that!" barked the inspector in his parade ground
voice.

Ambrose had his first look at him. He was a little man, trigly built,
with a bullet head under a closely cropped thatch of white. A heavy
white mustache bisected his florid face.

No one could have mistaken him in any dress, for aught but a soldier.
He did not look as if patience and fair-mindedness were included among
his virtues, which was unfortunate for Ambrose as the event proved.

As Watusk gave no sign of stirring, he was seized by many hands and
boosted over the edge of the pit. He rolled over, knocking down some
of the bushes and finally rose to his feet, standing with wretched,
hang-dog mien.

His appearance, with the frock coat all rubbed with earth and the
military gear hanging askew, caused the troopers to shout with
laughter. Here was a change from the fire-eater of half an hour before.

"Ho!" cried Inspector Egerton. "The conqueror of the English!"

Watusk drew closer and began to whine insinuatingly. "I sorry I mak'
that talk, me. I can' help it at all. Ambrose Doane tell me that. He
put his medicine on me. I sick."

Ambrose attempted to cry out in his angry astonishment, but only a
muffled groan issued through the handkerchief. He was not visible to
the troopers where he stood in the corner, and he could not move.

"Is Ambrose Doane there?" demanded the officer.

Watusk quickly turned and spoke a sentence in Kakisa. Ambrose saw the
look of craft in his yellow face. One of the men who guarded Ambrose
drew his knife and cut his bonds and untied the handkerchief.

Ambrose's heart beat high. It never occurred to him that they could
believe the wretched liar! He drew himself over the edge of the pit,
helped by those behind.

"Hello!" he cried.

There was no answering greeting. The faces before him were as grim as
stone. For Watusk they had a kind of good-humored contempt--for him a
cold and deadly scorn.

Evidently their minds were made up in advance. The inspector twirl