It was Stephen's intention to return to Portsmouth on the following morning, and the friends sat around the camp-fire until a late hour that evening. Walter had many messages to send to his mother and Master McCleary, and if the messenger remembered them all his memory must have been prodigious. Finally, the young men crept into the lean-to where Sewatis lay, apparently sleeping, and very shortly after they had stretched themselves out on the fragrant fir boughs their eyes were closed in slumber. Then, if a spectator had been in the vicinity, would have been witnessed a singular scene. Soon after the heavy breathing of the white men told that they were in the land of dreams, Sewatis rose to a sitting posture, listened intently, although nothing could be heard save the cries of the night-birds and the usual sounds of a forest when the mantle of darkness has fallen. The Indian lay down again; but even as his head touched the fir he began to slip softly toward the fire until his body was outside the shelter of the lean-to. Then he rolled over and over until the bushes hid him completely, and no sound came to tell of his whereabouts. Ten minutes after he disappeared a face peered from amid the foliage, and the odour of rum might have been detected upon the air. The sleepers were suddenly awakened by a crashing amid the underbrush, and as they leaped to their feet, awake and on the alert in an instant, Walter cried,-- "Look out, there! don't shoot! One of those is Sewatis; but who is he struggling with?" At that moment the combatants rolled toward the fire in such a manner that the faces of both could be seen, and Stephen cried,-- "It's Jim Albert! Look out for yourself, Walter; he has come here for mischief!" "And he seems to be getting about as much as he wants," Walter replied, grimly, as he darted forward to assist Sewatis in case it should become necessary. The Indian did not require aid, for before either of the boys could have interfered, he was uppermost, clutching Jim Albert by the throat so vigorously that the latter's tongue was protruding from his mouth. "Don't kill him! Don't kill him!" Walter shouted. "Not yet; big rascal!" Sewatis muttered, as he deftly tied his blanket around the upper portion of the prisoner's body in such a manner that the intruder was helpless to do anything save kick, and that was not a pleasant form of exercise, as he soon learned, for the fire was so near that at the first attempt his toes were buried among the glowing coals. After that painful experience the prisoner remained quiet, and in a few seconds Sewatis had him trussed hand and foot, like a chicken ready for roasting. "Me fix him! heap big rascal!" the captor exclaimed, lying down once more as unconcernedly as if nothing out of the usual course of events had transpired. "What do you suppose this fellow came here for?" Stephen asked, as if unable to surmise the reason for Jim Albert's presence.