thing, the strain of muscles, and the
creaking timber. It crashed in, and for a second Smith's heart ceased to
beat. He sniffed--and he knew! He smelled buckskin and the smoke of
tepees. He spoke a word or two in their own tongue. They laughed softly,
without answering. From instinct, he backed into a corner, and they groped
for him in the darkness.

"The rat is hiding. Shall we get the cat?" The voice was Bear Chief's.

Running Rabbit spoke as he struck a match.

"Come out, white man. It is too hot in here for you."

Smith recovered himself, and said as he stepped forward:

"I am ready, friends."

They tied his hands and pushed him into the open air. Babe squirmed in
impotent rage as he passed. Dark shadows were gliding in and out of the
stable and corrals, and when they led him to a saddled horse they motioned
him to mount. He did so, and they tied his feet under the horse's belly,
his wrists to the saddle-horn. Seeing the thickness of the rope, he
jested:

"Friends, I am not an ox."

"If you were," Yellow Bird answered, "there would be fresh meat
to-morrow."

There were other Indians waiting on their horses, deep in the gloom of the
willows, and when the three whom Smith recognized were in the saddle they
led the way to the creek, and the others fell in behind. They followed the
stream for some distance, that they might leave no tracks, and there was
no sound but the splashing and floundering of the horses as they slipped
on the moss-covered rocks of the creek-bed.

Smith showed no fear or curiosity--he knew Indians too well to do either.
His stoicism was theirs under similar circumstances. Had they been of his
own race, his hope would have lain in throwing himself upon their mercy;
for twice the instinctive sympathy of the white man for the under dog, for
the individual who fights against overwhelming odds, had saved his life;
but no such tactics would avail him now.

His hope lay in playing upon their superstitions and weaknesses; in
winning their admiration, if possible; and in devising means by which to
gain time. He knew that as soon as his absence was discovered an effort
would be made to rescue him. He found some little comfort, too, in telling
himself that these reservation Indians, broken in spirit by the white
man's laws and restrictions, were not the Indians of the old days on the
Big Muddy and the Yellowstone. The fear of the white man's vengeance would
keep them from going too far. And so, a