taught him the
difficulty of securing food on the march.

As he lay in the shadow of a bush one day he noticed a little worm
travelling along a twig. It was the variety commonly called an "inch
worm," which advances by pulling its rear up to its forward feet, its
back in a curve, and then thrusts forward its length. As the boy
watched its laborious progress he thought, "If one may only keep going
he'll get there in time," and somehow he felt encouraged. Had he not
thought it his duty to remain and care for the old chief he would have
set forth that very hour.

As he came near the village several guns were fired in quick
succession down at the creek and he knew a party of savages had
returned from one of their raids!

The inmates of the village hurried down to meet the newcomers, but the
boy lagged behind. Soon they came running back and formed two lines.
Some captive must run the gauntlet!

The prisoner was a man of forty years or more. His hair was long and
matted and his arms were bound. Evidently his captors had found him a
difficult subject with whom to deal. In running the gauntlet he could
not ward off the blows, his arms being tied, but he delivered one well
directed kick that doubled a brave up in agony. He got through, but
was horribly beaten. All the while he was yelling at the savages in
derision, calling them old women and apparently doing everything in
his power to enrage them.

A post was set in the ground in front of the encampment, and the
prisoner was led out and tied to it. On the way he kicked an Indian,
who in his rage would have killed him on the spot, had not another
interfered. Sudden death in preference to torture was evidently what
the captive sought, but it was not to be granted.

Thinking Ahneota might prevent the torture, which now seemed
inevitable, Rodney hurried to the chief's lodge. Within, it was almost
dark and he could but dimly see the figure of the man seated on a bear
skin, his back against a bale of furs. His head was inclined forward,
his chin on his breast.

"Ahneota!" called the boy loudly in his excitement, but there was no
answer.

Thinking the Indian slept, the boy grasped him by the arm to wake
him.

Ahneota had passed to the "happy hunting ground!"

CHAPTER XV

A WELCOME VOICE

Dense bushes fringed a bluff looking down on the Muskingum River. In
these, concealed from view, lay a boy of fifteen. His face was worn
and thin. His moccasins and leggins