It is now necessary to go back a little, to learn how poor Henry fared, after he and Sam Barringford escaped from the Indians who had made them prisoners. Henry was on a good horse, but in leaping over some rocks the steed went down into a hollow, striking its head heavily. The youth was thrown off, and he and his steed were both stunned. When Henry recovered he was again in the clutches of the red men. Three of them surrounded him and threatened to take his life on the spot if he did not submit, and they soon after bound his hands behind him with rawhides. The horse was found to be still fit for use, and Henry was bound on the animal’s back. Then the party of Indians journeyed off to parts unknown. Henry had suffered before, but now his red captors treated him worse than ever. They were a low grade of warriors, in reality outcasts, and hardly knew what to do with their white prisoner. They moved on for several miles, and then went into camp near the bank of the Ohio. Here they took Henry from the horse and fastened him to a tree. They had some food for themselves, but did not offer their captive a mouthful. They did, however, give him a drink, for which he was thankful. Henry wondered if Barringford had escaped or been shot down. He saw no new scalp among the red men, which gave him a slight hope. “If he got away maybe he will bring somebody to rescue me,” thought the youth, but hour after hour went by, and nobody came near the camp. Fortunately for Henry, the weather was exceedingly mild, so that he suffered little from the cold. He tried several times to question the Indians, but they understood little English and were not inclined to answer the questions he put. One slapped him in the face and another put a handful of soft snow down his back. Then they went away, to talk among themselves, leaving him alone. He tried with might and main to either slip or break the bonds which bound him, but with no success. He looked around for some other means of getting away, but nothing presented itself. Soon after consulting among themselves, some of the Indians went away, leaving only one red man on guard. This fellow, a warrior with a visage horribly pitted from smallpox, and a squint in one eye, wrapped himself in his blanket and sat down on a log, his bow and arrows across his knees. A half-hour slipped by and the Indian dropped into a doze. Henry watched him with interest, and a little later saw that the warrior was fast asleep. “Now, if only I could break these bonds and get away!” sighed the youth to himself. Once again he went at the rawhide, but all he could do was to cut his wrists. At last he gave up in despair. The other Indians came back soon after this, bringing some additional warriors with them. One could speak English, and he questioned Henry closely about himself and about those at the trading post.