“Oh, Sneak, don’t leave me here, to be burnt by myself!” said Joe. “You wouldn’t promise to give any thing to ransom me, a while ago—I’ll cut stick as quick as I kin.” “Oh, Sneak, I can’t untie my hands! If you won’t help me, I’ll call the Indians.” But Joe was saved the trouble. He had scarce uttered the word when all four of the Indians suddenly appeared, and throwing down their wood, proceeded with much haste to put their horrid purpose in execution. They heaped up the fagots around their victims, until they reached half way to their chins, and when all was ready, they paused, before applying the fire, to enjoy the terrors of their captives. “You cold—me make some fire to warm—huh,” said the old Indian, addressing Joe, while the others looked on with unmixed satisfaction. “Oh! my dear Mr. Osage, if you only knew how much money you’d lose by killing me, I know you’d let me go!” said Joe, in tremulous but supplicating tones. “You lie—you got no money,” replied the savage; and, stooping down, he began to split some dry wood into very small pieces to kindle with. Joe looked on in despair, and seemed to anticipate a blister from every splinter he saw. It was different with Sneak. Almost hid by the wood heaped around him, he embraced every opportunity, when the eyes of the savages were turned away, to endeavour to extricate himself from the cords that bound him to the tree. Hope had not yet forsaken him, and he resolved to struggle to the last. When the old savage had split off a large quantity of splinters and chips, he gathered them up and began to arrange them in various parts of the pile of green timber preparatory for a simultaneous ignition. While he was thus engaged, Sneak remained motionless, and assumed a stoical expression of features. But when he turned to Joe, Sneak again began to tug at the cord. “Oh pray, Mr. Indian!” exclaimed Joe, when he saw the savage carefully placing the combustible matter in all the crevices of the pile around him—“just only let me off this time, and I’ll be your best friend all the rest of your life.” “Me warm you little—don’t cry—poor fellow!” replied the Indian, striking a light with flint and steel. “Oh, Sneak, if you’ve got a knife, run here and cut me loose, before I’m burnt to death!” said Joe, in the most heart-moving manner. “Keep your mouth shet!” said Sneak; “jest wait till they go to put some fire here, and I’ll show you a thing or two,” he continued, pouring a handful of _powder_ among the dry splinters. The effect of the explosion when the Indians attempted to surprise Glenn’s premises occurring to Sneak, and recollecting that he had a quantity of powder in his pockets, he resolved in his extremity to try its virtue on this occasion. “But they’re going to burn me first! Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Joe, as he beheld the savage applying the fire to the splinters near his feet.