"This is what they call the fortun' of war, I 'spose?" he remarked, as he stood gazing at the ruins. "Wal, it war a ramshackle, crazy ole shanty anyhow, and I allers despised four walls an' a roof at the best o' times--still it war `home.' Pshaw!" he added, after a moment's silence, "what have I to grow molloncholly about, over sich a place as this--calling it `home,' when I still have the Savannas to hunt over an' sleep upon. If thar's such a place as home for me that's it, and no other." For all his stoicism, the old hunter sighed as he turned from the blackened spot which marked the site of his former dwelling. He paused at the bend of the road, where Crookleg had first met Nelatu, to gaze again at his ruined home. Not only paused, but sat down upon the self-same rail that the negro had perched upon, and from gazing upon it, fell to reflecting. So absorbed was he in his contemplation, that contrary to his usual custom, he took no note of the time, nor once removed his eyes from the subject of his thoughts. He did not perceive the approach of a danger. It came in the form of four individuals who had silently and stealthily crept close to the spot where he was sitting. Before he knew of their proximity, he was their prisoner. "Red-skins!" he exclaimed, struggling to free himself. His captors smiled grimly at his vain efforts. "By the eternal! I'm fixed this time! Darn my stupid carcase for not havin' eyes set in the back o' my head. Wal, you may grin, old copper-skins, it's your turn now--maybe, it'll be mine next. What are you a-doin' now?" Without deigning a reply the Indians bound his arms securely behind him. That done they made signs to him to follow them. "Wal, gentlemen!" said Cris, "yur about as silent a party as a man might wish to meet, darn me, if you aint. I'm comin'." "Much obleeged to you for your escort, which I ked a done without. Thanks to your red-skin perliteness for nothin'. Go ahead, I kin walk without your helpin' me. Where are ye bound for?" "To the chief," answered one of the men. "The chief! What chief?" "Wacora." Cris uttered an emphatic oath. "Wacora, eh? If that's the case, I reckon the days o' Cris Carrol air drawin' to a close. The fiercest and most 'vengeful cuss of them all, I've heard say. Lead on, I'll go along with ye willin, but not cheerful. If they kill me like a man I'll not tremble in a jint; but if it's the torture--there, go ahead. Don't keep the party waitin'." Brave heart, as he was, he followed them with as bold and free a step to what he believed to be his death, as if alone, and at liberty on the Savanna. The Indians without exchanging a word, either among themselves or with him, proceeded in the direction of Oluski's town. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. DEATH AT THE STAKE. At night they encamped in the forest. Lighting no fires, lest the light might betray them to their enemies, they produced from their packs some dried meat and meal cake.