This, then, was the old fellow’s scheme. This explained how it happened that he dared venture into the nest of desperadoes. Among the Indians of all tribes a deranged man is regarded with awe as one who has felt the touch of the Great Spirit. No redskin will harm a deranged person, believing the vengeance of the Great Father must fall on whoever does such a thing. Shrewd as he was, Crowfoot had not yet discovered that palefaces did not regard crazed people with such a feeling of awe.
“Take the girl away,” roared several of the men. “Let us settle with the old Injun.”
If Morgan thought of interfering, he was too late, for rude hands seized Felicia and dragged her away, in spite of her struggles. She cried and pleaded, but all her efforts were useless. Crowfoot paid no attention to her, nor did he heed the threatening weapons in the hands of the ruffians. Rising to his feet, he did a solemn dance around the fire, at the same time continuing his doleful chant.
“That yere certain is a death dance for him,” muttered Hackett, who realized that the men were aroused to a pitch at which they would insist on wiping the fellow out.
“The black moon him soon come up,” said Joe, standing with one hand outstretched as he finished his dance. “Then we see spirits of many dead warriors chase um buffalo over it.”
“You will have a chance to take a chase with the rest o’ the bunch,” snarled one of the men. “Stand back, boys, and watch me cook him.”
“Hold on!” cried another, catching the man’s wrist. “I opine I am in this yere.”
Immediately an argument arose as to which of them should have the satisfaction of killing the Indian who had once fooled them so thoroughly. While this was taking place Joe continued, apparently oblivious of his danger, talking of flying horses and a dozen other impossible creatures. He must have realized that his apparent madness was making no impression on these men, but he seemed determined to play the game through to the finish. At length, he squatted again beside the fire, resuming his doleful chant.
By this time it had been settled that some one of the party should have the privilege of shooting the Indian, for it was agreed that to waste a number of bullets on him was folly. There was some discussion as to the manner of choosing the slayer, but the desperadoes finally decided on drawing lots.
Hackett, who took no part in this demand for the Indian’s life, was chosen to prepare the lots, which he did. Then the men eagerly pressed forward to draw. The one who drew the shortest piece was to be the “fortunate” individual. All the while Crowfoot was guarded by men with drawn and ready weapons. Had he made an effort to get away he would have been riddled immediately.