“You are young—therefore you are indiscreet. I have saved your life; I would be your friend. But if you don’t desire my friendship, I can turn you over to the tender mercies of those red fiends, who are hungering to tear you limb from limb. Even now they are grumbling about my interference. I may lose my life for my temerity. You’re ungrateful.” “If you regret your act of mercy and fear for your own safety,” Douglas sneered, “call your savage hounds and tell them to do their worst. I can die fighting.” “I don’t regret what I have done,” Bradford returned huskily, a shade of sadness in his voice, “nor do I fear for my own safety. I don’t value life—I don’t fear death. And I’ll save you or perish with you. But you must listen to reason; you must do my bidding. Just at present I have great influence with the Indians. I’ll exert it to the utmost in your behalf. But you and your vicious dog have sorely punished your assailants. Two warriors are dead and several others are wounded. Their comrades thirst for revenge. Hist! Here they come. Say not a word—leave it all to me.” A stalwart Indian came forward and grunted surlily: “The paleface’s arm is strong—his aim is sure; the fangs of his dog are long and sharp. Two braves are sleeping with their fathers; and three others are binding up their wounds. The paleface and his dog must die.” “No, he shall _not_ die, chief,” Bradford cried angrily. “He fought for life and liberty. You assailed him twenty to one. I rescued him—he is my prisoner. I shall take him to the village with me.” “He is _not_ Scar Face’s prisoner,” the chief returned fiercely, laying his hand upon his tomahawk—while his warriors crowded around him, muttering threateningly. “Tenskwatawa shall decide,” Bradford answered coolly. “Tenskwatawa is a squaw! He promised us victory; we met defeat.” “Say that to Tenskwatawa, and he will cast a spell upon you.” A grayish pallor overspread the chief’s dusky visage. His eyes dilated and his jaw dropped. Bradford quickly followed up the advantage he had gained. Leaning forward, he whispered in the Indian’s ear: “Shall I repeat your words to the Prophet?” Abject terror took possession of the chief. He trembled, and gasped for breath. His warriors uttered startled grunts and drew away. Bradford continued sternly: “Then, take your braves and be off to the village. I will follow with the prisoner.” Without a word in reply, the savages obeyed the order. Bradford waited until they had disappeared within the walls. Then turning to Douglas, he said: “Come—you must accompany me.” “We’re alone,” Ross answered quietly; “you can’t compel me to go with you.” “_My_ gun is loaded—_your’s_ is empty,” was the significant reply. “True—but you wouldn’t shoot me.” Bradford started. “What makes you think that?” he asked quickly. “I don’t know. But you wouldn’t.” “No, I wouldn’t injure you—even if you left me to my fate.” “Your fate? I don’t understand you.”