"It is from the lodge! The pale-faces have hidden beneath it, and are being roasted alive!"
The terror of the savages quickly gave place to emotions of anger, at thus being cheated out of the coveted scalps. The heat was now too intense for them to accomplish any thing in the way of releasing the sufferers.
Then they started back with cries of wondering dismay. A shrill shriek of fearful torture rung out, and then a figure sprung from the fiery furnace and darted toward them; its arms flung wildly aloft, its garments dropping in charred fragments from its limbs.
Then with another long-drawn cry, it sunk to the ground, almost at the feet of Sloan Young. The half-breed bent over it, but shrunk back at the horrible stench of burning flesh that arose from the body. Still he had recognized the unfortunate, burned and disfigured though it was.
"It is Bob-tailed Horse!" he exclaimed, turning to the chief.
And such was the case. He had been cast down the pit bound and gagged, as detailed, but soon recovered his senses. There he lay until he heard the angry voices of his confederates above him, and heard himself blamed for the disappointment.
He strove to cry out, but the gag had been firmly applied and his limbs were useless. In striving to free himself, he rolled over upon his face.
Then he heard the ominous crackling above him, and the pungent smoke that soon came to his nostrils, told him of a new and fearful peril. And yet he was helpless to avert it. His bonds would not give, nor could he utter even a groan.
The heat increased until the sweat streamed from every pore. The air became so close and hot that he nearly suffocated. At every breath it was like inhaling molten lead.
His prison became lighter, and he knew that the floor was being burned through. And still he struggled to burst his bonds; strove in vain. The skin cracked and shriveled up beneath the intense heat, and his tortures were excruciating.