he fire I had seen when on the Cheat. But the price he had
paid for these various kills and us three prisoners was too heavy.

Every Indian slain had been a prime fighting man, one it would take years
of training to replace. After counting his losses in the mountains about
the Grisdol clearing, the warriors killed in Abb's Valley, and now his
losses here at Howard's Creek, the score was distinctly against him. No
matter how mighty and famous a chief may be, he will surely and quickly
lose his following if disaster dogs his war-paths.

So I could understand Black Hoof's mental attitude. He attributed his
misfortunes to his weakening medicine. Let the cost be ever so dear he
must strengthen that medicine; and he firmly believed a human sacrifice
would be the most acceptable offering he could make.

"Bring that man over to the fire," he directed, pointing to me.

My wrist-cords were loosed, my ankles were fastened only with a spancel,
and strong hands jerked me to my feet. Taking short steps I advanced to
where the girl lay with her head on her father's breast.

Black Hoof selected a charred stick from the fire and stood staring at us,
his eyes blank as though he did not see us. His warriors watched him with
much awe. His spirit was far away up in the mountains communing with his
medicine. He was asking his manito which of the three victims would be
most acceptable.

Ward stood behind him, his lean face working in helpless rage for fear the
girl would be the choice, thereby costing him a new wife. I felt deathly
sick, physically sick, fearing she was marked for death, fearing she was
reserved for worse than death.

Suddenly Black Hoof began shivering, then threw back his head and for a
moment stared about him as if to collect his scattered senses. Reaching
down he pulled the girl from her father. She had swooned and was at least
spared these few minutes of awful dread. The charred stick hovered over
her white face, then was withdrawn and darted at mine.

Instinctively I closed my eyes, but as the stick failed to leave its mark
I opened them and beheld Dale had been chosen: A black smooch extended
from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair, and was bisected by
another mark across the bridge of his nose, and extending to his ears.

"Paint that man black," Black Hoof ordered.

Dale was very composed. He knew the worst. Perhaps he believed his death
would save the girl. In a steady voice he said to me:

"Morr