Soon the log fire blazed brightly, and the horses were tied to ropes, enjoying the rest and the grazing abundantly.
"Where did you get that meat from?" Fred asked; "why, you have stacks of it."
"All Indian meat," the girl laughed; "spoils of war."
"Oh, tell us the story," Matthew asked again.
"Wait, until we are eating."
Afterwards, while they were sitting around the fire with the juicy meat stuck on bits of wood, and eating as if they had fasted for a week, Agnes told her story.
"You see," she began, "I ventured out very bravely, but I made the mistake which others made, and did not look out for the Indians."
"Your brother is guilty," Fred smiled; "the same fool head rests on us both. We are flesh of one flesh."
"Well," the girl went on; "the first thing I felt, were two arms around me, and then a band which pinned my hands together. A rude hand was thrust before my mouth, so that I could not cry out. The Indians then carried me up the bank, and brought me to the camp, where they quartered me with the women, quite comfortably, but nevertheless a prisoner."
"Just my story," Fred interposed, "only they did not trust me with the women."