now and then was raised menacingly
toward the unfortunate huntsman. Again one would put his hand to his
lips, and a shrill war-whoop would rival the screaming of the steam
calliope.

Close by, a wigwam, of painted skins thrown over a light frame-work of
poles, added to the picture. At the entrance to this there stood now a
man in ordinary dress, who thus addressed the crowd through a megaphone:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this historical representation which you now see
before you is a scene from real life. It represents the perils of the
plainsman in the midst of bands of cruel savages. It shows a captive
bound to the stake and about to be put to torture. (Increased activity
on the part of the Indians, and a suggestive squirming on the part of
the prisoner.)

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this daring scout was one of General Miles's most
trusted and heroic followers. (Name not mentioned.) He was captured by
these three chiefs, Leaping Panther, Crazy Bear and Red Bull--a kinsman
of the famous Sitting Bull--after one of the most desperate struggles
ever known, and after twice disarming his adversaries and nearly killing
them all. (Revengeful gestures on the part of the three toward the
captive.)

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the continuation of this thrilling adventure, the
rescue of this famous scout and the capture of Leaping Panther, Crazy
Bear and Red Bull, will be enacted under canvas at the great Bagley &
Blondin moral and scientific show this afternoon and evening."

"Hi! yi!" yelled Little Tim, "Real Injuns, Jack. Look at the big one,
with the red streak across his chin."

Tim's shrill voice rang out above the noise of the procession. Perhaps
it may have penetrated, even, to the group upon the float; for, at that
moment, the great chief, Red Bull--kinsman to the sitting
variety--turned and shook his tomahawk in the direction of the group of
boys. Little Tim squealed in an ecstasy of pleasurable alarm.

"Look out; he'll get you, Tim," said George Warren.

"Gee!" exclaimed Little Tim. "Bet I wouldn't like to be tied to that
tree, though."

"Why not?" asked Jack Harvey, grinning at Tim's serious expression.

"Because, how'd I know they wouldn't forget some time and go ahead and
really scalp me? Oh, they might do it, all right. You needn't laugh. I
wouldn't like to be mas-sick-ered the way they were at that Fort
some-thing-or-other in the Last of the Mohigginses."

"Ho, you mean the 'Last of the Mohicans,'--the book I to