Chapter Thirty Seven.
Death at the Stake.
At night they encamped in the forest.
Lighting no fires, lest the light might betray them to their enemies, they produced from their packs some dried meat and meal cake.
Cris did full justice to the humble fare, although he made rather a wry face at the gourd of spring water with which he was invited by his captors to wash down the frugal repast.
Mastering his aversion, he, however, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls.
Supper over, two of his captors wrapped themselves up in their blankets, and immediately fell asleep. The other two remained awake, watching him.
Carrol saw that any attempt to escape under the eyes of two Indians would be idle.
One he might have coped with, even unarmed as he was. Two would be more than a match for him, and he knew that on the slightest alarm the sleeping men would awake, making it four to one.