To their amazement, the fire-light shone now not on the straight black
hair of an Indian, but upon a towsled top-knot of unmistakable red.
While from the parted lips of the figure there issued a sound that was
not of the child of the forest.

"Tim Reardon, yer little divvle," cried the victim, glaring at the
astounded youth with unfeigned rage, "it's yerself I'll be takin the
hair off--yer little scallerwag--an the hide of yer, too. Sure an ye'll
be doin some lively dancin' around when I git me two hands on yer.
Scoutin' is it ye'll be doin? I'll scout ye and the likes of all er ye.
Lemme go, I tell yer,--"

The scalping knife dropped from the palsied hand of Swift Foot, the
scout. He stood, glaring wildly at the outraged captive.

"Danny O'Reilly!" he exclaimed, gasping for breath. "Oh, gimminy
crickets!"

"Yes, an it's Danny O'Reilly that'll be scalpin' ye all over from head
to foot to-morrow," cried the captive, wriggling in his bonds. "Lemme
out er this, I tell yez. Sure an I've got a hand out now, and in a
minnit I'll be showin' the likes of ye what it is to take an honest man
away from his job with the circus."

True enough, in some way, by his wriggling, Danny O'Reilly was rapidly
emerging, not only from his disguise as an Indian chief, but from his
bonds as well. Panic seized upon the brave scouts--a panic born of dread
of what might be in store in days to come. There was a rush to the
canoes; a hasty scrambling aboard; a frenzied launching of the craft,
and an ignominious flight from the place of execution.

Five minutes later, one walking the highway leading up from Benton might
have beheld a strange figure, striding in to the city, breathing words
of wrath upon the night air; a figure clad in Indian finery, but
bearing the likeness beneath his war-paint of Daniel O'Reilly, a
stalwart labourer of Benton, for the time being a valuable accession to
the Bagley & Blondin great moral and scientific show.

CHAPTER VII

A LONG RACE BEGUN

The circus remained two days longer in Benton, but there were certain
youths who kept away from it. A solemn oath of secrecy bound them as to
the reason why. Only Tim Reardon and Joe Warren couldn't resist the
temptation of stealing in among the wagons and watching for the
appearance of Danny O'Reilly in all the glory of his paint and feathers;
and, when they beheld a crowd of farmers gaze upon him admiringly as he
passed in for the Wild West performance, they ne