ard work. The
man had lied about being hungry; he was not in need of food, and my
deep-rooted suspicion of him only flamed up anew. A hand gripped at my
sleeve timidly, and I turned quickly to encounter the eyes of Asa Hall.
Never did I read such depth of fear in the expression of any face--it
was the wild, unreasoning terror of an animal.

"What is it, my boy?"

"It's him, seh," he whispered, his lips trembling so I could scarce
catch the words. "Thet feller thar. He's--he's the one I saw las'
night with Black Hawk."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, seh; I know him. I saw him plain as I do now."

I do not know why, but every bit of evidence against the man came
instantly thronging back to my mind--the chance remark of Thockmorton
on the _Warrior_ about his suspicion of Indian blood; the high cheek
bones and thin lips; the boy's earlier description; the manner in which
our trail had been so relentlessly followed; the strange emblem found
pinned to the blanket. I seemed to grasp the entire truth--the wily,
cowardly scheme of treachery he was endeavoring to perpetrate. My
blood boiled in my veins, and yet I felt cold as ice, as I swung about,
and faced the fellow, my rifle flung forward.

"Kirby, stand up! Drop that rifle--take it, Eloise. Now raise your
hands. Tim."

"Whut's up?"

"Is there anything serious going on outside?"

"No; nuthin' much--just pow-wowin'. Yer want me?"

"Search that scoundrel for weapons. Don't ask questions; do what I
say."

He made short work of it, using no gentle methods.

"Wal' the gent wasn't exactly harmless," he reported, grinning
cheerfully, "considerin' this yere knife an cannon. Now, maybe ye'll
tell me whut the hell's up?"

Kirby stood erect, his dark eyes searching our faces, his lips scornful.

"And perhaps, Mr. Lieutenant Knox," he added sarcastically. "You might
condescend to explain to me also the purpose of this outrage."

"With pleasure," but without lowering my rifle. "This boy here
belonged to the company of soldiers massacred yesterday morning. You
know where I mean. He was the only one to escape alive, and he saw you
there among the savages--free, and one of them."

"He tells you that? And you accept the word of that half-wit?"

"He described your appearance to us exactly twenty-four hours ago. I
never thought of you at the time, although the description was accurate
enough, because it seemed so impossible for you to have been there.
But that