Ward walked over to me and kicked me in the side. I must have groaned aloud, for he commanded:
“Shut up! I’m ripe for a killing.”
Matters had gone against his liking. He played with his ax nervously, his baleful gaze darting about the camp. I waited and at last his race heritage compelled him to talk, and he commenced:
“The old man was scared into doing what the chief told him to do. He would not at first, and the men were sent to bring the girl along. When he faced her he made a noise like a sheep bleating. Then he ran to the clearing and began his talk. The girl heard his words. She broke away and ran into sight of the cabins and screamed for them not to listen, that it was a trap. Black Hoof struck her with the flat of his ax. Now he swears he’ll roast the fool.”
“She is your prisoner!” I cried.
“He says she must burn.”
“There must be some way, something you can do!” I wildly insisted, my only thought being to spare her the immediate danger.
“I want her for my squaw bad enough to get her if I can,” he growled. “But if I’m to think of any plan I must be quick. They’ve got the stake nearly ready.”
He walked to where the warriors were collecting small fuel from between the fallen trees. One of them hauled a hollow maple log out of the débris and threw it to one side as being too heavy for a quick fire. Ward halted and rested a foot on it and bowed his head. Next he began tapping it with his tomahawk. His actions attracted the attention of the men, and Black Hoof asked:
“What does Red Arrow think is in the log? A snake?”