he Indian smiled, but made no answer.

"I am in earnest," continued Roughgrove, "and wish to know what you
would do if we spared your life."

The Indian said such talk was only trifling, and again insisted upon
being dispatched.

After a short consultation with Boone and Glenn, Roughgrove repeated
his question.

The savage replied that he did not believe it possible for him to
escape immediate death--but if he were not killed, he could never
think of hurting any of those, who saved him, afterwards. Yet he
stated very frankly that he would kill and rob any _other_ pale-faces
he might meet with.

"Let me blow his brains out," said Sneak, throwing his gun up to his
shoulder. The Indian understood the movement, if not the words, and
turning towards him, presented a full front, without quailing.

"He speaks the truth," said Boone; "he would never injure any of us
himself, nor permit any of his tribe to do it, so far as his influence
extended. Yet he will die rather than make a promise not to molest
others. His word may be strictly relied upon. It is not fear that
extorts the promise never to war against us--it would be his gratitude
for sparing his life. Take down your gun, Sneak. Let us decide upon
his fate. I am in favour of liberating him."

"And I," said Glenn.

"And I," said Roughgrove.

"I vote for killing him," said Sneak.

"Hanged if I don't, too," said Joe, who had been listening from the
door.

"Spare him," said Mary, who came out, and saw what was passing.

"We have the majority, Mary," said Glenn; "and when innocence pleads,
the generous hand is stayed."

Roughgrove motioned the savage to follow, and he led him to the gate.
The prisoner did not understand what was to be done. He evidently
supposed that his captors were about to slay him, and he looked up, as
he thought, the last time, at the moon and the stars, and his lips
moved in deep and silent adoration.

Roughgrove opened the gate, and the savage followed him out,
composedly awaiting his fate. But seeing no indication of violence,
and calling to mind the many wild joys of his roving youth, and the
horrors of a sudden death, he spoke not, yet his brilliant eyes were
dimmed for a moment with tears. His deep gaze seemed to implore mercy
at the hands of his captors. He would not utter a petition that his
life might be spared, yet his breast heaved to rove free again over
the flowery prairies, to bathe in the clear waters of running streams,