Ke-ne-ha-ha looked at the white keenly as he uttered the bold defiance.
“Ugh! When the hunters catch the bear they do not let him go free again, nor do they let the Long Rifle go free now that they have caught him. The red chiefs will punish the warrior who has killed their brothers, without risking their lives against him. The fire is burning now before the council-lodge of the Shawnee. When it burns to-morrow the white hunter will be in its center, and the angry flames shall lap up his blood. The ashes of the Long Rifle alone shall remain to tell of the vengeance of the red chiefs.” The Indian still looked with searching eyes into the face of the prisoner as he told of the manner of his death. But if the Shawnee chief expected to see there the signs of fear, he was disappointed, for the iron-like muscles of Boone’s face never moved.
“Why in thunder do you want to tell a fellow that he’s a-goin’ to be roasted?” asked Boone, coolly. “Won’t it be time enough for me to find out when you tie me to the stake, and I see the smoke a-rising around me?”
The Indian was evidently annoyed that his words had not made more impression upon the scout.
“The white skin does not fear death, then?” the chief asked.
“Yes, I do,” answered Boone; “I fear it like thunder. Just you let me loose once, and see how I’ll run from it. Lightning will be a fool to my heels.”
The joking manner of the scout puzzled the red warrior. He knitted his brows for a moment, as if in deep thought. Then again he spoke.
“The white chief is a great warrior. What would he give to escape the fire-death of the Shawnees?”
Boone couldn’t exactly understand the meaning of the chief’s words, though the question that he asked seemed plain enough.
“Well, chief,” Boone said, after pausing for a moment, as if deliberating upon his answer, “life is sweet; a man would give almost anything for life. But the question with me now is, what can I give?”