es of joy when they saw the second figure
sitting on the log beside that of Shif'less Sol. Then they ran forward,
grasped his hands, and wrung them.

"How did you escape, Henry?" exclaimed Paul, his face glowing.

"Shucks! he didn't escape," said Shif'less Sol, calmly. "Henry owes
everything that he is now, includin' o' his life, to me. I wuz scoutin'
up by the Wyandot village, an' I captured in the thickets that thar
chief they call White Lightnin'--Timmendiquas he told me wuz his
high-toned Injun name. I took him with my hands, not wishin' to hurt him
'cause I had somethin' in mind. Then I said to him: 'Look at me,' an'
when he looked he began to tremble so bad that the beads on his
moccasins played ez fine a tune ez I ever heard. 'Is your name Hyde?'
said he. 'It is,' said I. 'Solomon Hyde?' said he. 'Yes,' said I. 'The
one they call Shif'less Sol?' said he. 'Yes,' said I. 'Then,' said he,
'O great white warrior, I surrender the whole Wyandot village to you at
once.'

"I told him I didn't want the whole Wyandot village ez I wouldn't know
what to do with it ef I had it. But I said to him, puttin' on my
skeriest manner: 'You've got in your village a prisoner, a white boy
named Henry Ware, a feller that I kinder like. Now you go in that an'
send him out to me, an' be mighty quick about it, 'cause ef you don't I
might git mad, an' then I can't tell myself what's goin' to happen.'

"An' do you know, Saplin'," he continued, turning a solemn face upon Jim
Hart, "that they turned Henry over to me out thar in the woods inside o'
three minutes. An' ef I do say it myself, they got off pow'ful cheap at
the price, an' I'm not runnin' down Henry, either."

Long Jim Hart, a most matter-of-fact man, stared at the shiftless one.

"Do you know, Sol Hyde," he said indignantly, "that I believe more'n
half the things you're tellin' are lies!"

Shif'less Sol burst into a laugh.

"I never tell lies, Saplin'," he said. "It's only my gorgeeyus fancy
playin' aroun' the facts an' touchin' 'em up with gold an' silver
lights. A hoe cake is nothin' but a hoe cake to Saplin' thar, but to me
it's somethin' splendid to look at an' to eat, the support o' life, the
creater o' muscle an' strength an' spirit, a beautiful thing that builds
up gran' specimens o' men like me, somethin' that's wrapped up in
poetry."

"Ef you could just live up to the way you talk, Sol Hyde," said Long
Jim, "you'd shorely be a pow'ful big man."

"Maybe Indians ha