As she disappeared with her burden Black Hoof said something to Lost Sister’s red husband. This warrior, very loath to miss the spectacle of a burning, sullenly glided after the woman. I feared he was sent to bring them back, but as they did not return I knew he was ordered to stand guard over them.
Now the opening was filled with the Shawnees, word having passed that Black Hoof was about to appease his war-medicine. Only the scouts and Lost Sister’s man remained out. Dale was stood on his feet and his upper garments were torn off from him. As they offered to lead him to the stake he struck their hands aside and with firm step walked inside the circle of brush which had been heaped up some five feet from the stake.
I closed my eyes and endeavored not to witness the scene but was unable to keep them closed. With a spancel rope fastened to his ankles Dale was further secured by a long cord tied around one wrist and fastened some fifteen feet up the trimmed sapling.
When the flames began to bite on one side he could hobble around the post to the opposite side. As the flames spread he would become very active, but each revolution around the post would shorten the slack of the wrist-cord. With the entire circle of fuel ablaze he would slowly roast. Black Hoof muttered some gibberish and applied the torch.
As the first billow of smoke rose and before the savages could commence their dancing and preliminary tortures, Ericus Dale threw back his head and loudly prayed:
“O God, protect my little girl! O God, have mercy upon me!”
Black Hoof jeered him, sardonically crying:
“The white man makes medicine to his white manito. Let Big Turtle[4] try him with a mouthful of fire. We will see if the white manito is weak or afraid to help his child.”
A burly warrior scooped up coals on a piece of bark and with a fiendish grin leaped through the smoke. Two rifle shots, so close together as to be almost one, shattered the tense silence as the savages held their breath to enjoy every symptom of the excruciating agony. Dale went down on his knees, a small blue hole showing where the bullet mercifully had struck his heart. Big Turtle leaped backward and fell into the burning brush. A warrior, acting mechanically, dragged the Turtle clear of the flames. He was stone-dead.
For several moments the Indians were incapable of motion, so astounding was this interference with their sport. It was the scream of a panther that awoke them to furious activity. Black Hoof shouted for his men to catch the white scout. Then he turned on me and raised his ax. The act was involuntary, for at once dropping his arm he ordered his men to extinguish the fire and to see I did not escape. Then he hurried into the forest.