“For that I would do anything you can ask,” he said.
“Very good,” said Van Dorn, and put the pistol back in his pocket.
“Name the service,” said the redskin.
“I want you to take the captive out a little distance from the camp as soon as it is light enough for you to see, and run your knife across his throat,” said James Van Dorn.
“Is that all,” cried the Indian villain, in great surprise. “White chief, the boy is doomed. When I can see friend and foe I will take him away.”
By which the red rascal meant that he could perform the service when it was light enough for him to distinguish a friend from a foe.
“Do so,” said Van Horn, “and the little gun is yours.”
The hours rolled painfully by to the poor boy, and when morning dawned he was glad to have his bonds released by Little Deer, who lifted him to his feet.
For a moment the boy was unable to stand alone, but when the blood began to move through his veins he was all right once more.
A strange buzzing began to rack through his head and the boy feared that he was about to have another attack of the fits he was subject to.