One of the savages had already secured his rifle; and, as he arose, one stood on either side of him and took a firm hold of his arms. By this time there were a score of other savages around, all dancing, shouting, and yelling; and in the midst of them our friend Jenkins was marched into the center of the Indian village.
Immediately a score of Shawnees scattered into the wood, to ascertain whether there were any more whites lurking in the vicinity, while Jenkins was hurried into a lodge, thrown upon his face, his hands tied securely behind him, and his feet locked as tightly together, as if they had been screwed in a vice.
"Consarn it! what's the use in serving a feller that way? I told you I wouldn't run away, and you shouldn't doubt my word."
Some eight or nine remained to guard, but no one seemed disposed to heed his request.
"You ugly old heathen, standing there by the door, grinning at me, just loosen these cords, will you?" said Jenkins. The Indian, still paying no attention to his entreaties. Jenkins supposed he did not understand the English language; and he repeated his request in a louder tone, as though that would assist his understanding. But with no better effect. "I don't want the cords loosened—wouldn't have them untied if you wanted to do it," he added, sullenly.
As his captors still evinced no desire to do anything more than watch him, he resigned himself sullenly to his fate, and ceased speaking.
The night wore slowly away without any noticeable change taking place in his condition. Sleep, under the existing circumstances, was out of the question, and Jenkins contented himself—if the expression is allowable—with maintaining a moody silence, varied now and then by a gratuitous insult to those around, which, luckily for him, they failed to comprehend.
While this sleepless guard was being kept upon our unfortunate friend, there was another tribunal, as sleepless and vastly more important to him. In the chieftain's lodge was assembled half a hundred warriors, debating the matter of life or death. It could be hardly said there was a debate upon that either; for all agreed that their victim should die—agreed that he should not only die, but be burned at the stake!
They were considering only when this should be done. It could not be expected there would be a single dissenting voice as to his fate, and there was none. But the question was whether the war-expedition should be deferred by consummating the torture, or whether it should be left over until they returned. It was their intention to start upon the morrow for the settlement which we have so often referred to; and rightly fearing that every hour of delay was a day's gain to their intended victims, it was at last decided that Jenkins should be kept until their return, when he should suffer the awful torture of death by fire. They knew their passions would be inflamed to that pitch that the agonies of their prisoner's torment would be the most exquisite pleasure they could enjoy.
Most fortunate, indeed, for Jenkins was it that the renegade was not present at that council. Had he been, he never would have seen the light of another morning; for he had learned long before that no white prisoner was sure to them until he had been a victim to their vengeance. The renegade had left only a day or two before for the Indian towns in the Sciota valley, and consequently knew nothing of Jenkins' capture.