“Useless! What’s to hinder me from stabbing you to the heart, at this very moment, and making my escape in the darkness?”
“Peep out at the door,” Bradford returned coolly. “There’s a better answer to your question than I can give you.”
Ross acted upon his companion’s suggestion, and beheld two stalwart braves standing guard, one on each side of the doorway. Returning to the fire, the young man flung himself upon the ground and maintained a moody silence.
“There—there!” the older man murmured kindly. “Don’t take it to heart. I must be cruel to be kind. To-day I’ve allowed you to keep your arms, thinking you might need them to defend yourself against the defeated and maddened Indians. But that danger is past. And now I must ask you to give them up. Will you hand them over quietly or must I force you to give them up?”
“Why should I make useless resistance?” Douglas cried passionately. “You have me in your power—your red fiends stand ready to do your bidding. Take my arms. But, remember—you shall pay dearly for the indignities you are heaping upon me!”
Hiram Bradford sighed deeply as he arose and passed Ross’s gun and knife through the door, to one of the guards outside. Then, rolling himself in his blanket and hugging his own rifle to his breast, he remarked:
“I’m going to try to sleep. You’d better follow my example.”
Douglas made no reply. Duke curled up at his master’s side, and lay blinking at the red coals. The fires gradually burned down; and slumber and silence fell upon the camp.