When he came to himself again he found that he was bound by ropes to the tree, and that flames were licking at his feet and legs, while by the light of the fire and through the mist of smoke he saw hideous figures of red men dancing round him, menacing him with their spears and knives and tomahawks.
The fire nipped his shins, the ropes were cutting into his flesh, the sparks and smoke were choking him.
"Kiddie! Kiddie!" he cried aloud in his anguish of body and mind.
And then, from immediately behind him, there came a calm, steady voice—
"All right, Rube; all right. I'm here."
Never, never, though he should live to be a hundred, could Rube Carter forget those magical, unexpected words, coming to him as they did in the most awful moment of his young life!
He did not ask himself just then how it had been possible for Kiddie to find him and to penetrate the crowd of excited Indians unnoticed and unhindered. All that he thought of was that Kiddie was here to rescue him from the torturing death from which there had seemed to be no faintest hope of escape.
But even yet escape had not been achieved.
The rising flames were scorching his legs, the flying sparks were stinging his face and neck, the resinous smoke of the pine wood was stifling him, and the madly-gesticulating Redskins were prodding at him with their long spears and striking at him with their tomahawks to see how nearly they could hit him without yet touching him. They prolonged the process of cruelty to increase his mental suffering; but the delay gave Kiddie his chance.
"Cut the rope, Kiddie—cut the rope!" Rube cried, not knowing that Kiddie's sharp knife had already done its work.