All was still for many minutes. Then he felt, rather than saw, that he was not alone. A heavy hand was laid on his wrists, untying the thongs, and his captor's voice again ordered him to "March." The moon had risen and its light filtered through the tree-tops. Stumbling forward, and guided as before, he went on till they came up with the main party of Indians. He looked to see if there were other scalps, shuddering as he did so; but, save that one at the belt of his captor, he saw none which had been freshly taken. He therefore concluded the others of his party had escaped in the boats, leaving him to his fate. There were other scalps, but they were not from white people. Evidently the Indians had been South and had battled with their hereditary enemies, the Cherokees. For several miles the Indians continued their march. Rodney was faint from hunger and thirst when finally they camped for the night. Dried venison was eaten, the boy receiving his share with the others, also an opportunity to drink his fill at a cool spring. He then was stretched upon the ground and each wrist and ankle was tied to a separate sapling. The red men prepared for sleep and no one was assigned to guard. Little sleep came to him. Thoughts of home, of his father in the great wilderness, flitted through his mind all night and he rose unrefreshed and sore in every muscle. The next day they continued their journey, from sunrise to sunset, stopping at noon for a hasty lunch. The second night he was treated as on the first, but slept soundly because of sheer exhaustion. The following day the party killed a deer. The Indians, as was their custom, gorged themselves on the meat, eating it half raw. They cut up some of the best of it to carry along with them. That night, their heavy eating made the savages sleep soundly. Rodney, bound as on the previous nights, lay looking up through the trees at the moon, occasional glimpses of which it was possible to get through the branches. For a time his thoughts were far away from his surroundings. Suddenly he became conscious of something cold and metallic under his right hand. It was a knife! Evidently one of the Indians, when cutting up the meat, had accidentally dropped it. Somewhat awkwardly, for his hand was tightly bound, he managed to clutch the blade in such a manner that after persistent effort he succeeded in cutting his bonds. His joy at the sense of freedom almost made him faint when he found himself clear. Quietly and slowly, it seemed as if the beating of his heart must waken the savages, he got possession of one of the rifles. He knew that a snapping twig would probably mean his destruction. He had heard of captives, who, in such straits as his, had slain their captors while they slept. The thought was revolting to him. Cautiously creeping away into the outer darkness, it seemed hours before he dared press forward without fear of making a noise. CHAPTER VI A WILD FLIGHT