Unmoved by the taunts and jeers which Cris liberally bestowed upon them during the journey, the Indians continued to watch him narrowly.
It was about mid-day when they arrived at their destination.
On entering the Indian town Carrol was thrust into one of the houses, where he was left to await the order of Wacora as to his final disposition. Four guards were kept over him, two inside the house, the other two without.
He expected immediate death, but he was left undisturbed for the rest of the day, and at night received some supper, consisting of dried meat, bread, and water. He was then permitted to pass the hours till morning as seemed best to him.
The hunter soon arranged his plans. He wrapped the blanket that had been given him around his body, and in a few moments was in a sound slumber.
His sleep lasted until a hand upon his shoulder, along with a summons to awake, aroused him.
It was one of his guards of yesterday who addressed him.
“Come!”
“Is that you, old Dummy?” asked he, recognising the Indian. “I can’t say I’m glad to see yur, since yur’ve broke in on the pleasantest dream I’ve had for a long time. But never mind, how shed you know that you whar a doing it, you poor savage critter you, that don’t know nothin’ but to handle a tomahawk, and raise the hair off a human head? What do you want with me now?”
“The warriors are assembled!”