got a bullet into the others. The last Injun did
not sink. I watched him go floatin' down stream expectin' every
minute to see him go under as he was hurt so bad he could hardly
keep his head above water. He floated down a long ways and the
current carried him to a pile of driftwood which had lodged against
a little island. I saw the Injun crawl up on the drift. I went down
stream and by keepin' the island between me and him I got out to
where he was. I pulled my tomahawk and went around the head of the
island and found the redskin leanin' against a big log. He was a
young brave and a fine lookin strong feller. He was tryin' to stop
the blood from my bullet-hole in his side. When he saw me he tried
to get up, but he was too weak. He smiled, pointed to the wound and
said: 'Deathwind not heap times bad shot.' Then he bowed his head
and waited for the tomahawk. Well, I picked him up and carried him
ashore and made a shack by a spring. I staid there with him. When he
got well enough to stand a few days' travel I got him across the
river and givin' him a hunk of deer meat I told him to go, and if I
ever saw him again I'd make a better shot.

"A year afterwards I trailed two Shawnees into Wingenund's camp and
got surrounded and captured. The Delaware chief is my great enemy.
They beat me, shot salt into my legs, made me run the gauntlet, tied
me on the back of a wild mustang. Then they got ready to burn me at
the stake. That night they painted my face black and held the usual
death dances. Some of the braves got drunk and worked themselves
into a frenzy. I allowed I'd never see daylight. I seen that one of
the braves left to guard me was the young feller I had wounded the
year before. He never took no notice of me. In the gray of the early
mornin' when all were asleep and the other watch dozin' I felt cold
steel between my wrists and my buckskin thongs dropped off. Then my
feet were cut loose. I looked round and in the dim light I seen my
young brave. He handed me my own rifle, knife and tomahawk, put his
finger on his lips and with a bright smile, as if to say he was
square with me, he pointed to the east. I was out of sight in a
minute."

"How noble of him!" exclaimed Betty, her eyes all aglow. "He paid
his debt to you, perhaps at the price of his life."

"I have never known an Indian to forget a promise, or a kind action,
or an injury," observed Col. Zane.

"Are the Indians half as bad as they are called?" asked Betty