d Greenwood until when? When was he to be released, or was he not to
be released at all?

Passing well back in the gloom the two sat down, so far removed from the
roar and tumult of the torrent that they could talk without difficulty.
Fred was still apprehensive of some sudden violence from the Sioux, and,
though in the gloom he could see nothing of him, he was ready to make
the best struggle possible.

"Am I to stay here, Motoza?" he asked, raising his voice to a high
pitch.

Instead of replying directly, the Indian asked:

"Huh! you fader hab heap money, eh?"

This simple question revealed the whole plot and confirmed the statement
already made that the scheme for holding Fred Greenwood for ransom by
his relatives was arranged before his abduction took place.

It was a great discovery for Fred Greenwood to make. On the instant
nearly all his fears vanished and his heart glowed with hope. This being
remembered, he can hardly be blamed for drawing matters with rather a
long bow.

"Yes," he made haste to say, "my father has money; a hundred times more
than I have," all which was true without involving more than a moderate
sum.

"He gib heap money fur _you_, eh?"

"Of course; I come high."

"He gib thousand--gib ten thousand--hundred thousand--million
dollar--eh?"

"Well, that's a pretty good sum; I'm afraid my father wouldn't think I
am worth as much as that; but there's no doubt, Motoza, he will pay you
a good price; is it your plan to sell me to him?"

The Sioux made no answer to this, though Fred repeated the question. The
sullen silence of the Indian brought back the misgivings of the captive.
He could not doubt that he had been abducted with a view of being
ransomed, but it was impossible to credit Motoza with the whole scheme.
He must have allies, and, knowing nothing of Bill Tozer, Fred suspected
that a half-dozen vagrant Indians, more or less, were engaged in it,
though it seemed singular that no one else had shown himself thus far.

Although the prisoner had been in better spirits than would be
suspected, his situation was uncomfortable and he lost hope with the
passage of the hours. Motoza refused to hold any further conversation,
and was evidently brooding over something of an unpleasant nature. By
and by he lit his pipe and silently puffed. He was sitting on the flinty
floor, with his back against the side of the cavern and his legs thrust
out in front of him.

Now and then, when he drew a