hat
they sank into the flesh, and knotting them, till no effort possible
to him could have disentangled him. It was on his lips to ask them to
leave one arm free, so that he might at least die fighting, though it
were with but one naked hand. But he hated them too much to ask even
that small favor, and so submitted in disdainful silence.

The warriors all went back to the canoe, except one, an old hunter,
famed for his skill in imitating every cry of bird or beast. Standing
beside the bound and prostrate man, he sent forth into the forest the
cry of a wolf. It rang in a thousand echoes and died away, evoking no
response. He listened a moment with bated breath, but could hear
nothing but the deep heart-beat of the man at his feet. Another cry,
with its myriad echoes, was followed by the oppressive sense of
stillness that succeeds an outcry in a lonely wood. Then came a faint,
a far-off sound, the answer of a wolf to a supposed mate. The Indian
replied, and the answer sounded nearer; then another blended with it,
as the pack began to gather. Again the Indian gave the cry, wild and
wolfish, as only a barbarian, half-beast by virtue of his own nature,
could have uttered it. An awful chorus of barking and howling burst
through the forest as the wolves came on, eager for blood.

The Indian turned and rejoined his comrades at the canoe. They pushed
out into the river, but held the boat in the current by an occasional
paddle-stroke, and waited listening. Back at the foot of the tree the
captive strained every nerve and muscle in one mighty effort to break
the cords that bound him; but it was useless, and he lay back with set
teeth and rigid muscles, while his eyes sought in vain through their
thick covering to see the approach of his foes. Presently a fierce
outburst of howls and snarls told the listeners that the wolves had
found their prey. They lingered and listened a little longer, but no
sound or cry was heard to tell of the last agony under those rending
fangs; the chief died in silence. Then the paddles were dipped again
in the water, and the canoe glided up the river to the camp.

When they reached the shore they found the rebel's wife awaiting them
in the place where they had left her. She asked no questions; she only
came close and looked at their faces in the dusk, and read there the
thing she sought to know. Then she went silently away. In a little
while the Indian wail for the dead was sounding through the forest