Rising from the floor like the rebound of a rubber ball, his long arm with the glittering hatchet made a wide sweep, and the young braves scattered like frightened sheep.

He made a dash for the door and, incredible as it may seem, his movements were so quick he would have escaped from their very midst without a scratch but for one unforeseen circumstance.  The clay floor was wet and slippery; his feet were hardly in motion before they slipped from under him and he fell headlong.

With loud yells of triumph the band jumped upon him.  There was a convulsive, heaving motion of the struggling mass, one frightful cry of agony, and then hoarse commands.  Three of the braves ran to their packs, from which they took cords of buckskin.  So exceedingly powerful was the hunter that six Indians were required to hold him while the others tied his hands and feet.  Then, with grunts and chuckles of satisfaction, they threw him into a corner of the cabin.

Two of the braves had been hurt in the brief struggle, one having a badly wrenched shoulder and the other a broken arm.  So much for the hunter’s power in that single moment of action.

The loft was searched, and found to be empty.  Then the excitement died away, and the braves settled themselves down for the night.  The injured ones bore their hurts with characteristic stoicism; if they did not sleep, both remained quiet and not a sigh escaped them.

The wind changed during the night, the storm abated, and when daylight came the sky was cloudless.  The first rays of the sun shone in the open door, lighting up the interior of the cabin.

A sleepy Indian who had acted as guard stretched his limbs and yawned.  He looked for the prisoner, and saw him sitting up in the corner.  One arm was free, and the other nearly so.  He had almost untied the thongs which bound him; a few moments more and he would have been free.

“Ugh!” exclaimed the young brave, awakening his chief and pointing to the hunter.

The chief glanced at his prisoner; then looked more closely, and with one spring was on his feet, a drawn tomahawk in his hand.  A short, shrill yell issued from his lips.  Roused by that clarion call, the young braves jumped up, trembling in eager excitement.  The chief’s summons had been the sharp war-cry of the Delawares.

He manifested as intense emotion as could possibly have been betrayed by a matured, experienced chieftain, and pointing to the hunter, he spoke a single word.

* * *

At noonday the Indians entered the fields of corn which marked the outskirts of the Delaware encampment.

“Kol-loo—­kol-loo—­kol-loo.”

The long signal, heralding the return of the party with important news, pealed throughout the quiet valley; and scarcely had the echoes died away when from the village came answering shouts.