in by the old hazing joke, and a
greater rage at the men who had brought on him what was to him the
greatest disgrace of all--a feeling of fear. He had just time to
make up his mind to take this joke out of the hides of some of his
tormentors, if it took him all winter, when he heard above him the
sound of a short, sharp scuffle with History, who was pleading for
dear life, and who came flying over the ledge with a shrill scream of
terror, and plumped on the ground half an inch from Tug's head. It
took History only half a second to realize that he was not dead yet,
and he was so glad to be alive again--as he thought of it--that he
began to sniffle from pure joy.

The Crows were not long in leaping over the ledge and getting Tug and
History to their feet. Then they took up the march again, staggering
under their laughter and howling with barbarous glee.

After half a mile more of hard travel, the prisoners were brought
through a dense woods into a clearing, where their party was greeted
by the voices of others. The sack over Tug's head was unbound and
snatched away, and he looked about him to see a dozen more black
Crows, with two other hapless prisoners, seated like an Indian
war-council about a blazing lire, and, like an Indian war-council,
pondering tortures for their unlucky captives.

In the fire were two or three iron pokers glowing red-hot. The sight
of this gave the final blow to any hope that might have remained of
History's conducting himself with dignity. When he and Tug were led
in, there was such an hilarious celebration over the two Lakerim
captives as the Indian powwow indulged in on seeing a scouting party
bring in Daniel Boone a prisoner.

As Tug was the most important spoil of war, they took counsel, and
decided that he should be given the position of honor--and tortured
last. Then they went, enthusiastically to work making life miserable
for the two captives brought in previously.

The first was compelled to climb a tree, which he did with some little
difficulty, seeing that, while half of them pretended to boost him,
the other half amused themselves by grabbing his legs and pulling him
back three inches for every one inch he climbed (like the frog and the
well in the mathematical problem). He finally gained a point above
their reach, however, and seated himself in the branches, looking
about as happy as a lone wayfarer treed by a pack of wolves. Then,
they commanded him to bark at the moon, and