“The proper thing is to tie them to a stake,” said Laddie.
“What do you mean by killing our buffaloes?” asked Daddy, severely.
The prisoners preserved a sulky silence.
“Shall I shoot the green one?” asked Dimples, presenting his wooden pistol.
“Wait a bit!” said the Chief. “We had best keep one as a hostage and send the other back to say that unless the Chief of the Palefaces pays a ransom within three days—”
But at that moment, as a great romancer used to say, a strange thing happened. There was the sound of a turning key and the whole tribe of the Leatherskins was locked into the
hut. A moment later a dreadful face appeared at the window, a face daubed with mud and overhung with grass, which drooped down from under a soft cap. The weird creature danced in triumph, and then stooped to set a light to some paper and shavings near the window.
“Heavens!” cried the Chief. “It is Yellow Snake, the ferocious Chief of the Bottlenoses!”
Flame and smoke were rising outside. It was excellently done and perfectly safe, but too much for the younger warriors. The key turned, the door opened, and two tearful babes were in the arms of the kneeling Lady. Red Buffalo and Black Bear were of sterner stuff.
“I’m not frightened, Daddy,” said Laddie, though he looked a little pale.