ugh the forests and cane brakes of Kentucky, like a raging cat o'
mountain in his hatred of the pale-faces. There were depths in the
nature of the youth which were rarely sounded; but now and then he
caught glimpses of the possibilities within himself which caused him to
shrink back, as if from the presence of a supernaturally evil being.

For the last part of the march the same thought occupied the minds of
both Deerfoot and Hay-uta: in what manner could they win the friendship
of the captive, and thus open the way to a solution of the mystery
respecting Otto Relstaub?

Now that the journey was over for the present, the captors consulted
together. When Deerfoot called on Hay-uta for the method that had
presented itself to him, the Sauk replied that the only thing of which
he could think was to make the Pawnee believe that he had but a few
moments to live that there was no possible escape; and then, when that
view was impressed on the prisoner, they would present him with his
liberty.

Such was the plan also of Deerfoot, but when Hay-uta proposed that the
Pawnee should be soused into the water and held under the surface until
on the point of drowning, the Shawanoe shook his head.

Deerfoot showed a far-seeing mind in the course which he adopted, and to
which Hay-uta assented without fathoming its full purpose. The youth
felt that the circumstances were such that it was more important for the
Sauk to figure as a merciful captor than for himself to play that part.

Deerfoot, it may be said, had proved his ability to take care of
himself, where it was possible for a human being to do so. The Sauk was
skillful, but in the perilous times close at hand, he was likely to
stand in greater need of a friend "at court" than was the Shawanoe. It
was this motive which actuated the latter in what he now did.

"Deerfoot will make ready to slay the Pawnee," said he, "and then
Hay-uta will stay his hand."

The Sauk nodded to signify he understood the arrangement.

"Let my brother wait till all is ready; let him stand still till the
Pawnee has no hope: when Deerfoot raises his tomahawk, then shall my
brother forbid."

There was something touching in the dignity of the Pawnee, when he felt
that no hope remained to him. He had no blanket, and all his weapons had
been removed. He stood perhaps twenty feet, or slightly less, from
Deerfoot, in plain sight, though the twilight had given place to that of
the moon, which was partly ful