The prisoners were dragged out into the open space and questioned angrily. Whirling Breeze stood in front of them for a while, and then, taking Jules by the shoulder, he led him into the cabin. “He’s tryin’ to git him to tell whar we ar’ hid,” said Ben, chuckling hugely. “He’ll make a good deal out’n Jule, I reckon. Take keer not to show yerself, gal, it won’t do. Ef they catch sight of a woman, they’ll foller her till doom’sday but they’ll ketch her. But we’ve got things our own way. Ef Jule _knew_ he wouldn’t tell, and as he don’t know whar we ar’, he _kain’t_ tell. So we ar’ safe two ways, don’t ye see?” Shortly after, Jules and Whirling Breeze came out of the cabin, the Indian excited and gesticulating violently. The sound of his voice even reached the rock on which the watchers stood. But, they could not distinguish his words. At last they bound the prisoners, and placed them on horses. This done, the entire band trooped away. In a few moments all was still, and nothing remained to show that a visit had been made but the two broken beaver-huts, a few scattered beads, with here and there a broken shaft, a feather, or a worn moccasin. To the surprise of the trapper, his horse, which had run back to the camp when the wolves attacked them, was left at liberty as well as the Dutchman’s. Millicent had sunk down upon her knees, her face buried in her hands. The man who had saved her from deadly peril, who had placed his own life in jeopardy to save hers, who had kept up his courage and hers in starvation and fatigue, and had taken deep wounds in her behalf, was a prisoner in the hands of a bloodthirsty enemy! She never knew her love till now. “It’s hard, gal,” said Ben, sadly. “I agree to that. But it happens often out hyar on the plains. I’m sorry. But we couldn’t help it.” “He was a brave man,” she said, sobbing. “He saved my life twice, and now he is gone.” “Don’t you give it up. Thar ain’t no use of _thet_. Pshaw! He may git away. He’s a bright young chap, and he may get cl’ar. Let’s hope so. Blame it, he hez got a good chaince. Let’s go back to camp. Ar’ you goin’ with me, or will you stay hyar, Jan?” “I coes mit you, Penn.” “That’s right. Stick by me. You scratch my back an’ I’ll scratch your back. I know what they’ll do with Jule. He will hev a four-ounce ring in his nose, and be painted red, yaller and green. I wouldn’t mind _thet_ ef they won’t kill him. I’ve wore the chief’s paint myself, and it ain’t so bad to be chief in a tribe, and I judge he’ll be a chief ef he don’t make ’em too mad at him.”