"Ugh! Take um scalp first, burn him after," and Little Beaver made some expressive signs.
"Wah—bully—me heap wicked," rejoined the Woodpecker, expectorating on a stone and beginning to whet his jack-knife.
The keen and suggestive "weet, weet, weet" of the knife on the stone smote on Guy's ears and nerves with appalling effect.
"Brother Woodpecker, the spirit of our tribe calls out for the blood of the victim—all of it."
"Great Chief Woodpecker, you mean," said Sam, aside. "If you don't call me Chief, I won't call you [222] Chief, that's all."
The Great Woodpecker and Little Beaver now entered the teepee, repainted each other's faces, adjusted their head-dresses and stepped out to the execution.
The Woodpecker re-whetted his knife. It did not need it, but he liked the sound.
Little Beaver now carried a lot of light firewood and arranged it in front of the prisoner, but Guy's legs were free and he gave it a kick which sent it all flying. The two War-chiefs leaped aside. "Ugh! Heap sassy," said the ferocious Woodpecker. "Tie him legs, oh, Brother Great Chief Little Beaver!"
A new bark strip tied his legs securely to the tree. Then Chief Woodpecker approached with his knife and said:
"Great Brother Chief Little Beaver, if we scalp him there is only one scalp, and you will have nothing to show, except you're content with the wishbone."