It would be difficult to fancy a state of more torturing suspense than
that endured by the companions of Boone and Calloway, who had been left
behind the hill. Though they had slept little since the commencement of
the expedition, and had been encouraged by the two fathers, their
leaders to sleep that night, the emergency was too exciting to admit of
sleep.

Often, during the night, had they aroused themselves, in expectation of
the return of the fathers, or of a signal for action. But the night wore
away, and the morning dawned, without bringing either the one or the
other. But notwithstanding this distressing state of suspense, they had
a confidence too undoubting in the firmness and prudence of their
leader, to think of approaching the Indian camp until they should
receive the appointed signal.

It would naturally be supposed that the deliberation of the Indian
council, which had been held to settle the fate of Boone and Calloway,
would end in sentencing them to run the gauntlet, and then amidst the
brutal laughter and derision of their captors, to be burnt to death at a
slow fire. Had the prisoners betrayed the least signs of fear, the least
indications of a subdued mind, such would in all probability have been
the issue of the Indian consultation. Such, however, was not the result
of the council. It was decreed that they should be killed with as little
noise as possible; their scalps taken as trophies, and that their
daughters should remain captives as before. The lenity of this sentence
may be traced to two causes. The daring hardihood, the fearless
intrepidity of the adventure, inspired them with unqualified admiration
for their captives. Innumerable instances have since been recorded,
where the most inveterate enemies have boldly ventured into the camp of
their enemy, have put themselves in their power, defied them to their