"Now tell me, Dick; I am looking as if I'd lost my last friend. What has happened? I am sure you have made some discovery." "Oh! not so very great," replied Dick; "only that I believe I can get my hands free with very little effort." "How does that happen?" wondered Roger; "mine are as tight as they can well be. Did that Indian favor you when he fastened us up the last time; or was it through an accident?" "Neither one nor the other, it happens," said the second prisoner, coolly. "I remembered to swell up my wrists in a way I can do, when he was putting the thongs around them. By reducing them to the utmost, my hands are almost free, and it will take but little effort for me to free them entirely." "And then you can set me loose, too, though I am afraid it will take you a long time to get those knots undone. It must be an Indian way of tying thongs, for I never saw its like before." "There is a better way than that," Dick assured him. "Don't turn your head just now to look, because Lascelles is watching us like a hawk; but some time later on, when his back is this way, cast your eyes to the right, and, sticking in the tree not more than five feet away, you will see my hunting knife!" "Oh! how came it there?" demanded Roger, watching the French trader, and ready to take advantage of the fact if Lascelles should happen to look away, even for a moment. "I saw a brave give it a jab into the tree when he was cutting some thongs from a strip of buckskin before we were tied up; and ever since I have watched to see if any one removed it. So far, it has remained there." The Indians had by this time settled down to take things as comfortably as conditions allowed. The fire was sending out considerable heat, and around the cheery blaze the red men squatted, each with his gaudy-colored blanket about his shoulders. Some of them were scantily clad for the wintry season, though doubtless it did not occur to them in that light, as they had become habituated to exposure. The two boys looked at the picture presented. They would, if they were fortunate enough to live through the experience, often recall it in future days, and, it was to be hoped, under happier skies. High the sparks soared from the fire, with the red tongues of flame jumping up as though in riotous sport. The bending tops of the neighboring pines seemed to be whispering together as though communicating the secrets of the wilderness. It was all so strange and wonderful, even after the remarkable sights they had looked on of late, that Roger asked himself whether it could be real, or only a dream. Several of the Blackfeet had produced red clay pipes and were smoking some weed that, for all the boys could tell, may have been tobacco, cured after their own tribal fashion. "I only wish I could put something in that stuff to make them sleep like logs until dawn," said Roger.