“Don’t say nor do nothing—jest wait till they come to me,” said Sneak, with great composure. “Do you jess keep your mouth shet—it’ll be a long while a kindling—it won’t begin to burn your legs for an hour.” “Oh, goodness gracious! My knees begin to feel warm now. Oh, pray have mercy on me, good Mr. Osage!” cried Joe, before the flame was as large as his hand, and yet full three feet distant from him. The greater portion of the fagots being green, the fire made very slow progress, and it was necessary for the savages to procure a constant supply of dry splinters to prevent it from going out. At length, after the combustible material had burned out, and been replenished several times, the more substantial billets of Joe’s pile began to ignite slowly, and the old Indian then took up a flaming brand and moved towards Sneak. “Come on! you snarvilerous rattlesnake you, I’ll show you sights presently!” said Sneak. “You brave fellow—me burn you _quick_,” said the savage, applying the torch, and, stooping down, placed his face within a few inches of the crackling blaze, and began to blow it gently. Sneak twisted his head round the tree as far as possible, and the next moment the powder exploded, throwing down the pile of wood, and dashing the savage several paces distant violently on the ground, and blackening and scorching his face and hair in a terrible manner. The other Indians instantly prostrated themselves on their faces, and uttered the most doleful lamentations. Thus they remained a few minutes, evidently impressed with the belief that the Great Spirit had interfered to prevent the destruction of the prisoners. Hastily gathering up their arms, they fled precipitately in the direction of their distant home, and their yells of disappointment and defeat rang in the ears of their captives until they died away in the distance. “Sneak! make haste! they may come back again!” said Joe. “They’ve tied my feet so tight I’m afraid I can’t undo it in a hurry,” replied Sneak, endeavouring to break the cord by thrusting a stick (that he had slipped from the pile to knock out the brains of one of the Indians should his gun-powder plot not succeed,) between it and the tree, and forcing it out until the pain produced became insufferable. By this means the cord was loosened gradually, and moving it a little higher up where the muscles had not yet been bruised, he repeated the process. In this manner he laboured with certain but tardy success. But while he was thus engaged, Joe’s predicament became each moment more critical. The wood being by this time pretty well seasoned, began to burn more freely. The blaze was making formidable advances, and the heat was becoming intolerable. “For heaven’s sake, Sneak!” cried Joe, “make haste and come here, or I’ll be roasted alive!” “Wait till I get away from my own tree,” replied Sneak.