“You mean——”
“That if we’re asked to join the tribe, we’d better not refuse. It’s life if we can deceive them, and death by horrible torture if we refuse.”
“I don’t like the notion of even seeming to be an Injun,” spoke Stuart, who was a brave man and stubborn in his courage. “But whatever you think best, that I will do.”
That night they were given a couple of bearskins to lie upon, and their bonds were looked to with much care. They slept fairly well but were awake at dawn when the savages began to stir about the camp. Some meat and a sort of porridge made of Indian corn, crushed between two smooth stones, was given to them; and after they had eaten, the Shawnee chief approached, followed by the eldest of his warriors. Silently they sat before their prisoners, seeming to study them with the utmost attention. After a space the chief spoke.
“The white faces are prisoners; they were taken in war by Black Wolf and his braves; they are without arms, they are helpless.”
Neither Stuart nor Boone made any reply to this; but the warriors, upon the words of Black Wolf being interpreted to them, expressed their approval by nods and throaty murmurs.
“Far away, toward the rising sun, are the friends of the white face, far away where the morning first touches the forest are his lodges. Neither friends nor lodges will he ever see again.”
There was another pause; Black Wolf studied the expressions of their faces intently. But still they made no reply. The chief then resumed:
“You have killed in the hunting-grounds of the Shawnees, and for this your lives belong to Black Wolf and his braves. But the chief would spare you; he does not wish to see you die. Rather would he see you, his brothers, living in the wigwams of the Shawnees and taking to the war-path against his people’s foes.”
This being repeated in the Shawnee tongue to the elder warriors, was greeted with a chorus of approving grunts. And then Black Wolf asked: