"You don't tell me so? Why _he_ must have been drunk to have said that. _You_ don't like fire-water, do you?" "No--no like--_heap_ bad! Ugh!" brazenly lied the rascal. "Does my brother know where One Eye is?" suddenly asked Fred. Bob-tail looked steadily at the young settler for a moment, and then slowly shook his head. Stevens drew nearer, whittling upon a heavy, half-bent ox bow of hickory. "Let Bob-tailed Horse listen. I have a little story to tell him," slowly returned Fred, as his gaze met that of the Indian. "A little bird told me that the Siouxs were getting mad at their white brothers. That Bob-tailed Horse was one of them. That he had sworn he would take the scalp of a white man before another sun. Is this story true?" The savage shifted his gaze and glanced swiftly around the room. Stevens still whittled on, idly whistling; the women sat gazing upon the--to them--incomprehensible scene, with strange emotion. Fred deliberately resumed: "This bird also told me that Bob-tailed Horse would go to the cabin of a pale-face and ask for lodging and food, pretending he was weary and sick, so that he might open the door to One Eye and Dusky Dick, and let them enter to kill the whites without danger to themselves. Did the little bird tell me true?" The Indian stood motionless as if carved from stone, save that one hand slowly glided up toward his belt, where hung a knife and hatchet. Then Wilson coughed. Stevens sprung forward with uplifted ox-bow, and ere the fated red-skin could stir a step, the heavy club descended upon his head with crushing force. He tottered feebly, and then fell forward into Fred's arms, who allowed the senseless form to fall to the floor. Both women uttered a little cry of wondering alarm at this sudden and unexpected move, but then a gesture from Stevens checked all further outcry. "Hush!" he cried, sternly; "don't make any noise, for your lives! Shut the door, Jennie, quick. There may be others of the devils prowling around. Fred's story was a true one. This carrion was a spy, who intended giving us up to his friends to-night." Fred stooped over the stricken Indian, and carefully examined the wound. He found that, though senseless, the rascal still lived; his skull had not been fractured, though the blow seemed enough to have killed an ox. "What shall we do with him, Stevens?" he asked, doubtfully. "_Dead men tell no tales!_" sternly responded the old settler, a deadly glitter in his black eyes. "No--no, do not kill him, husband!" cried the wife, springing forward, as he raised aloft the blood-stained ox-bow. "It is him or us, Mary," but the uplifted arm slowly sunk. "He would have killed us all, after eating our food!" "Tie him and put him down the pit," suggested Jennie. "It will do, Stevens," said Wilson. "They will find we suspect their plans, anyhow, when they find we are gone. It would only make them hotter after us, if we killed him."