Cromer’s wound had been rudely dressed by a Chippewa doctor, and he felt much relieved while they conversed in their prison.
“It must be near day,” said the trader, after a long pause, “for it looks so dark out. The village is asleep.”
“Do the guards slumber?” questioned the White Tiger in a whisper.
“Not much!” said Cromer, lightly. “When you catch a Chippewa asleep when he’s entertaining such visitors like ourselves, you’ll see it rain scalps. Now it’s getting lighter we’ll soon learn if they took Ahdeek out last night.”
With the dawn of day excitement entered the village. Old warriors were seen conversing excitedly, and a strange, knowing smile played with the lips of the younger ones.
“I told you so,” said Doc Cromer, turning from a crack to young Webb, who reclined on a couch of wolf-skins. “They took Ahdeek last night.”
The White Tiger sprung to his feet, a painful expression crossing his face.
“Did they kill him?”
“Don’t know; the torturers haven’t come back. Some suspicious old greaser has just discovered the boy’s empty lodge.”
“Curse the fiends!” grated the Tiger. “Ahdeek was the best friend I had in the world. I loved him as a brother and—here, Doc, untie my hands and let me gripe a knife. By Heaven! I’ll make a red pathway through this accursed den of devils for last night’s work.”