“My father is dead,” she said, mournfully. “The bad men who follow William Jackwood, killed him because he would not kneel to them or beg for his life. Now, Jackwood follows me and I fear him, and I ask the protection of the great chief from this bad man.” “Has the son of Red-Bird lied to me?” cried Black-Hawk, sternly. “He told me that the Wild Rose loved him and would come into his lodge gladly.” “He has lied,” she answered. “He knows that I hate him above all men on earth, and that I would die sooner than permit myself to be his wife.” “Be careful, girl,” hissed Jackwood. “You will raise a tempest which you can not quell, if you do not look out.” “I have no fear of the result. Any thing would be preferable to a union with such a wretch as you are.” “Look you, Black-Hawk,” cried Jackwood, turning fiercely upon the chief. “When I agreed to aid you, remember that I told you that this girl must be mine and you promised that I should have my will.” “That was when Black-Hawk believed that the Wild Rose loved you,” replied Black-Hawk. “She has asked for my protection and it is given. Let the son of Red-Bird seek another mate; the Wild Rose is not for him.” A tempest of furious passions raged in the heart of William Jackwood. At any other time or place he would have shot the old chief down without any remorse, and even here, in the midst of his warriors, he was tempted to do it, even at the risk of his own life. With a mighty effort he restrained himself, and turned away with a malevolent glance at Sadie, which she returned by one of defiance. Several of the principal braves were looking on, and there was some murmuring, for these men recognized the good old maxim—‘to the victor belong the spoils.’ While they stood thus, there was heard a triumphant shout upon the river, and several men started away to see what it meant. They were soon heard coming back, and directly after a compact body of men, those who followed Will Jackwood, poured into the camp, leading in their midst, as prisoners, Captain Melton, Cooney Joe and Tom Bantry. A look of ferocious joy beamed upon the face of Will Jackwood, for he saw a chance for revenge. CHAPTER XII. SADIE’S SACRIFICE. The prisoners marched firmly, and not a cheek blanched as they saw where they were led and realized the fearful danger in which they stood. Will Jackwood started forward and addressed one of his subordinates, who, for the time being, had been in command of the band. “Did _you_ take them, Justin? If you can say that you did so without aid from the Indians, then you may ask any thing you like at my hands.” “Nary red,” replied the man. “We caught them crossing the river in a canoe, and pounced on ’em almost before they could lift a hand, but that Cooney Joe laid out Jack Ferguson, and Saul Sloan has got a bad wound in the shoulder, from Melton’s knife. Is that satisfactory?”