“There—there!” the older man murmured kindly. “Don’t take it to heart. I must be cruel to be kind. To-day I’ve allowed you to keep your arms, thinking you might need them to defend yourself against the defeated and maddened Indians. But that danger is past. And now I must ask you to give them up. Will you hand them over quietly or must I force you to give them up?” “Why should I make useless resistance?” Douglas cried passionately. “You have me in your power—your red fiends stand ready to do your bidding. Take my arms. But, remember—you shall pay dearly for the indignities you are heaping upon me!” Hiram Bradford sighed deeply as he arose and passed Ross’s gun and knife through the door, to one of the guards outside. Then, rolling himself in his blanket and hugging his own rifle to his breast, he remarked: “I’m going to try to sleep. You’d better follow my example.” Douglas made no reply. Duke curled up at his master’s side, and lay blinking at the red coals. The fires gradually burned down; and slumber and silence fell upon the camp. CHAPTER VII. Several days passed. Ross Douglas’s arms were not restored to him. He was permitted to wander about the camp at will; but he noted that whenever he approached the confines of the place, two or more armed and watchful warriors were always near him. Each night he was closely guarded; each day he was constantly watched. He evolved one plan of escape after another—only to cast them aside as impracticable. He fumed and fretted—it did no good, however. He was still a prisoner—and doomed to remain such, so far as he could foresee. Bradford remained cool, suave—but inflexible as steel. He procured for his prisoner the best the camp afforded; he granted him many privileges. But all the while he maintained a rigid surveillance over his every movement. Ross could not understand the man or his motives; nor could he analyze his own feelings toward him. One moment the younger man enjoyed the older’s company, and chatted pleasantly with him; the next he hated the sight of the scarred face, and was ready to leap upon its possessor and tear him limb from limb. La Violette kept to herself. When she left her cabin she did not mingle with the savages. An aged squaw was her attendant. More than once Ross saw her straying up and down the bank of the stream. But she took no notice of his presence; and he did not approach her. Yet at night he met her in the land of dreams, and held converse with her.