“To be sure they did, my lad; they took his weppuns, and then they set him on his knees, and pulled all the hair off his head to make an ornament for one of their belts, and then, because he hollered out and didn’t like it, they took their lariats and tethering pegs, and after fixing the pegs in the ground, they put a rope round each of his ankles and his wrists, and spread-eagled him out tight, and then they lit a fire to warm themselves, for it was a very cold day.”
“What!” cried Bart, looking aghast at his companion, who was evidently bantering him.
“Oh no, not to roast him,” said Joses, laughing; “they didn’t mean that. They lit the fire on purpose to warm themselves; and where do you think they lit it?”
“In a hole in the ground,” said Bart.
“No, my boy; they lit it on that poor fellow’s chest, and kept it burning there fiercely, and sat round it and warmed themselves; and the more that poor wretch shrieked for mercy, the more they laughed.”
“Joses, it’s too horrid to believe,” cried Bart.
“Well, it does sound too horrid; don’t it, eh? But it’s the simple, honest truth, my boy, for some of they Injuns is regular demons, and stop at nothing. They do any mortal thing under the sun to a white.”
“Then you would not surrender?” said Bart.
“Surrender? What! to an Indian? Not till I hadn’t got a bit o’ life in my body, my lad. Not before.”
“But would you have me turn upon them and shoot them, Joses?” said the lad, with all a boy’s horror of shedding blood.