He was a white man, and had killed two Indians, and that was enough.
Besides, how did they know whether he told the truth or not?
He was a paleface, and palefaces had crooked tongues, and their words could not be depended upon. Besides their brethren were dead, and could not speak for themselves.
Finally it was decided in the grand council of the tribe that he should suffer death, and although they called him a paleface, as he had joined the tribe he should be treated as an Indian, and suffer death by torture in order that he might have an opportunity of showing how he could endure the most horrible torment without complaining.
The case of Flint now seemed to be a desperate one. He was bound hand and foot, and escape seemed out of the question.
Relief came from a quarter he did not anticipate.
The place where this took place was not on the borders of the great lakes where the tribe to which Flint had attached himself belonged, but on the shores of the Hudson river a few miles above the Highlands, where a portion of the tribe had stopped to rest for a few days, while on their way to New York, where they were going for the purpose of trading.
It happened that there was among them a woman who had originally belonged to one of the tribes inhabiting this part of the country, but who while young, had been taken prisoner in some one of the wars that were always going on among the savages. She was carried away by her captors, and finally adopted into their tribe.
To this woman Flint had shown some kindness, and had at several times made her presents of trinkets and trifles such as he knew would gratify an uncultivated taste. And which cost him little or nothing. He little thought when making these trifling presents the service he was doing himself.
Late in the night preceding the day on which he was to have been executed, this woman came into the tent where he lay bound, and cut the thongs with which he was tied, and telling him in a whisper to follow her, she led the way out.