"I was very quiet, for I wanted my hands untied, and I thought perhaps Red Feather would pity me and unfasten them.
"Little Mary was frightened nearly to death. She had not spoken since she saw the Indian strike father down,—when she screamed and fell senseless.
"For a good while I thought she was dead. She had revived a great deal, but had not spoken.
"About sundown Red Feather led us down past the spring, out into the woods, but not far away. We could still see the smoke rising from the burning houses. The Indians had gone some distance farther and camped with the white prisoners.
"Red Feather could speak English, so I told him if he would untie my hands, I would make his fire, and bake his corn cake for him.
"He was old and feeble, and had lost much of his natural cunning. He knew me, and trusted me; so without speaking, he took his hunting knife from his belt, cut the cords, and I was free.
"I took the hatchet that he gave me to cut some branches for a fire, and went to work very meekly, with my head down.
"I dared not speak to Mary, for fear he might see me, for his eyes were fixed on me every moment. I baked his corn cake in the ashes, and gave it to him. By this time it was dark, but the light from our fire shone far out into the woods.
"I noticed Red Feather did not watch me so closely, and his eyes would now and then shut, for he was very tired.
"He leaned forward to light his pipe in the ashes, when instantly, almost without thinking, I seized the hatchet, and struck him with all my might.