“Played out!” replied Dick, dropping exhausted on the sod. “Give me some rum, for I am half dead.” Jackwood put his flask to the mouth of the exhausted man and he drank long and eagerly, and drew a deep breath of relief. “Ah-h-h! That goes to the spot, Will. I’ve had a long run—chased by the devil’s kid, and it’s a mercy that I have got in alive. It all came of chasing that accursed girl, who got into the woods.” “It was not your fault, Dick,” said Jackwood. “Minneoba came in and told us about it, and we sent out parties after her, and one of them picked her up.” “Take care of her yourself, after this,” panted Dick. “I’ve seen the devil to-day, and fought him, and I don’t want any more.” “Where are the rest of your men?” “Gone under, I reckon. Jack Fish and Tracey got into the woods, and the rest are dead. I had to play ’possum, or I would have been cooked, too. Give me another drink, and I’ll tell you about it.” Jackwood gave him the flask, and for a moment nothing was heard except the musical gurgle of the liquor. When he lowered it, a considerable vacuum existed in the vessel, and he told the story of the chase after Sadie with many expletives not necessary to set down here. When he had finished the tale he did the same with the liquor, and stood up. “You are wounded, Dick!” “Nothing of much account. I’ve been cut and scratched in diving through the brushes, for that hairy cuss chased me almost into camp. I thought he’d never give it up.” “I don’t know who or what it can be,” said Jackwood, musingly, “and I don’t care much. Go and wash the blood from your face, and then get the men together, for we must leave this camp. It is all up with Black-Hawk, for Atkinson has come with an army, and he will clean out the Indians in the twinkling of an eye.” Garrett moved away slowly, and Jackwood advanced to the side of Black-Hawk, who was talking with Sadie. She did not look at him as he came up, but Minneoba faced him boldly, with her pretty face showing the utmost anger and contempt. “What has the son of Red-Bird said to frighten the Wild Rose?” she cried, angrily. “He is a coward and no brave.” “You had better send your daughter away, Black-Hawk,” said Jackwood, quietly. “I have borne insults enough in this camp, and will not stay here.” “The son of Red-Bird promised to stay and fight for his red brothers,” said Black-Hawk, reproachfully, “and when he sees the enemy in sight he runs away like a frightened hound. It is well; Black-Hawk would not have any except brave men follow him.” “It is false, Indian,” cried Will Jackwood. “Here, in the midst of your wild band, I defy you to prove that while you were true to me, I failed to do my duty like a man. But when you dared to take away my prisoner, my wife that is to be, in that day I leave you, never to return.” “Go,” replied Black-Hawk. “I have been deceived in the son of Red-Bird. His father died in the white man’s prison, and now he basely turns away when the battle is nigh.”