e friend of the Delawares--"

"I thought you said he killed him--in the book," cried Little Tim.

"Shut up, Tim," said Joe Warren.

"He's alive again," declared Henry Burns, solemnly. "He was only
wounded.

"Here is the cruel Huron," continued Henry Burns, "delivered into our
hands by that daring scout who knows no fear."

Little Tim grinned joyously at this praise from his leader.

"What shall we do with our captive?" solemnly inquired Henry Burns.
"Shall we show mercy to the slayer of the brave Uncas? Shall we be women
and let him go, to roam the forests and ravage the homes of our
settlers, or shall he be put to death?"

"He must die," growled Scout Harvey. "The daring leader has spoken well.
Is it not so, men?"

The doom of Red Bull, otherwise Magua, the dog of the Wyandots, was
declared.

The death of the captive followed swiftly--in pantomime--the brave
scouts, under the leadership of Henry Burns, performing a series of
dances about the helpless one, accomplishing his end with imaginary
tomahawk blows.

"Now he must be scalped," said Henry Burns. "What say you, men, shall we
cast the lot to see who takes the scalp of Magua, the great chief of the
Hurons?"

It was done. The short stick was drawn by Little Tim--to his
inexpressible joy.

"Take the scalping-knife, brave scout," said Henry Burns, handing him a
huge wooden affair, whittled out for the purpose. "The scalp of Magua
the chief shall hang at the cabin of Swift Foot, the scout who captured
him."

Swift Foot advanced to perform the last act in the drama. It was a weird
and dreadful moment. The fire-light cast its flickering glow upon the
doomed chief, his captors and the executioner. The form of Magua was
seen to quiver, as though life was indeed not all extinct.

Swift Foot performed his grim office with a flourish. The wooden
scalping-knife descended upon the gorgeous head-piece of the victim,
which the scout grasped with his other hand and pulled as he drew the
knife.

But at this moment the form beneath the knife wriggled in the hands of
the executioner; lurched to one side, and the head-piece fell away, so
true to life that an involuntary shudder went through the group, as
though the act had really been accomplished. The flaunting head-piece of
eagle feathers fell indeed away, clutched in the hand of Little Tim.
And, at the same instant, by some loosening of the cloth, that, too,
dropped down, freeing the jaws of the Indian chief.