and to the agony it had in store for him. But in a moment his courage came
back, the strong will once more took command of the body and the spirit,
and he looked up with stoical eyes at his captors. He knew that resistance
now would be in vain, and, relaxing his muscles, he saved his strength.

The warriors laughed a little, a soundless laugh that was full of menace,
and bound him securely with strips of buckskin cut from his own garments.
Then they stood up, and Paul, too, rose to a sitting position, gazing
intently at his captors. They were powerful men, apparently warriors of
middle age, and Paul knew enough of costume and paint to tell that they
were of the Shawnee nation, bitterly hostile to him and his kind.

His terrors came back upon him in full sweep. He loved life, and, scholar
though he was, he loved his life in the young wilderness of Kentucky,
where he was at the beginnings of things. Every detail of what they would
do to him, every incident of the torture was already photographed upon his
sensitive mind, but again the brave lad called up all his courage, and
again he triumphed, keeping his body still and his face without
expression. He merely looked up at them, as if placidly waiting their
will.

The two warriors talked together a little, and then, seeming to change
their minds, they unbound the boy's feet. One touched him on the shoulder,
and, pointing to the north, started in that direction. Paul understood,
and, rising to his feet, followed. The second warrior came close behind,
and Paul was as securely a prisoner as if he were in the midst of a band
of a hundred. Once or twice he looked around at the silent woods and
thought of running, but it would have been the wildest folly. His hands
tied, he could have been quickly overtaken, or, if not that, a bullet. He
sternly put down the temptation, and plodded steadily on between the