He thought of his own probable fate: what was there to expect but torture and death? He remembered to have read that the Indians sometimes carried a prisoner a long distance that the rest of their tribe might share the delight of witnessing his dying torments. Rupert shuddered at the thought that this was the fate reserved for him, and feeling very weak, half hoped he might die on the way to meet it.
Silently he lifted up his heart in prayer to God for help and succor in this his sore extremity, and that the consolations of God might not be small to the dear ones at home—especially the tender mother—when the news of his sad fate should reach them.
The last gleams of the setting sun lighted up the lofty pathway they were pursuing, but down in that deep valley at the foot of the mountain it was already growing dark; he could see into its depths as he lay with his cheek resting on the neck of the pony; turning his head, the wall of rock towering on the other side came into view.
He was bound hand and foot and could lift only his head; he seemed to have hardly strength for that; but, anxious to learn the number of his captors and whether he were the only prisoner, he made an effort, feebly lifted it, and glanced before and behind him.
He could only see that there were several mounted Indians ahead, and one or more in his rear, all hideous in war-paint and feathers; there might be many more at each end of the line—for they were travelling single file, along the narrow, winding path, but a small portion of which came within the line of his vision. And there might be other prisoners, though he saw none.
Even that slight exertion had exhausted him; his head dropped, and again pain of body and distress of mind were forgotten in a long and death-like swoon.
It was night, lighted only by the stars, and the path winding downward, when again he revived for a few moments shivering and benumbed with cold, weak and faint with hunger and loss of blood, and suffering greatly from the pain of his wounds.
He heard no sound but the rush of a mountain torrent and the clatter of the horses' hoofs over the stony way; he had scarcely more than noted these things when again his senses forsook him.
When next he revived, two of his captors were busy in undoing the rope that made him fast to the pony, which was standing stock still on level ground only a few feet from a fire of brushwood, that sent up flame and smoke and blazed and crackled with a cheery sound which spoke of warmth for benumbed limbs, while some venison and trout broiling on the coals gave out a savory smell.