NOT LESS powerful was the effect produced upon the Indian warriors by this unexpected action of the sick boy.

They gazed upon him almost in stupefaction. Then they began to murmur expressions of wonder, not unmingled with awe. To their superstitious minds it seemed like a direct interposition of God in Tom’s favor. And who shall say that it was not so? Who shall say that the kindly and compassionate impulse which led Miantonimo to Tom’s rescue was not God’s work?

New hope sprang up in Tom’s heart as he felt the arms of the Indian boy closely encircling him. He knew that Miantonimo was the chief’s son, and likely to prove a powerful intercessor. He would have returned the embrace if he could, but his arms were pinioned, or failing that, have thanked him warmly, but he knew the Indian boy could not understand him.

“Miantonimo!” he said, softly, and his eyes were full of gratitude, which the boy chief could understand.

Miantonimo, still encircling Tom with his arms, turned his head, and in the Indian language, said:

“Save him, my father, let him be my brother.”

“The Great Spirit has spoken through my son,” said Wanuka, the chief, gravely.

“Then shall he live?”

“He shall live. No harm shall come to him,” said the chief. “Unbind him. He shall stay with us, and be brother of Miantonimo.”

This decision seemed to please the Indian braves, who murmured in approval.

Two of them, at a signal from Wanuka advanced, and loosened the ropes that confined the boy prisoner.

Peter Brush and Lycurgus B. Spooner looked on with joy, not unmingled with amazement.

“It is wonderful!” ejaculated Brush.

“Wonderful, indeed, friend Brush. It seems to me like a direct interposition of the Almighty.”

“That Indian boy is a trump. I’d like to shake hands with him.”

“So would I, but it might be misunderstood. It will be best to keep quiet and let things take their course.”

No sooner was Tom unbound, than with boyish warmth of heart he threw his arms around the neck of Miantonimo and gave him a brotherly embrace.

Wanuka and the Indian warriors looked on with approval, for was not Tom to remain with them and become the brother of their future chief. Their satisfaction was increased by the improved looks of Miantonimo. He no longer looked sick, but his manner was sprightly and his eyes sparkled. It was difficult to believe that he was the same boy who for days reclined, weak and spiritless, by the log-fire, wrapped in blankets. “The Great Spirit has cured him!” went from mouth to mouth.

“Give me my bow,” said the Indian boy.

It was brought to him in wonder, and in place of resuming his position on the ground, he signed to Tom to come with him to a vacant spot near by, and putting up a mark, made him shoot at it.

Tom was no archer, and his shot was wide of the mark.

Miantonimo, laughing, took the bow, and carefully adjusting it, struck the object at which he aimed.

“Well,” said Peter Brush, “that beats all I ever heard of. I don’t believe I’m awake. Pinch me, to make sure.”

“No need of that, friend Brush. Tom has had a signal deliverance. Just now he was in danger of being sacrificed; now he is a prime favorite.”

Just then the interpreter, after a brief conference with the chief, advanced toward our two friends.

“Wanuka bids me say that you are free. You can go where you will.”

“And may Tom go, too?”

“Who is Tom?”

“The boy.”

“No, he will stay with us. He will be the brother of Miantonimo.”

Peter Brush and Dr. Spooner looked at each other in perplexity. Tom’s life was saved, but the Indians were resolved to keep him a captive, and that, they knew, would make him miserable.

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish, doctor,” said Peter. “Must we leave Tom here?” “I am afraid we must,” said the doctor, slowly.

“I have a great mind to say that he is my son, and I can’t do without him.”

“Better not. If the Indians should find out that it is a deception, the consequences might be serious. Besides, they wouldn’t let him go even then.”

“Do you think not?” asked Brush, doubtfully.

“I feel sure of it. Tom owes his life to the sudden fancy which Miantonimo has taken for him. When the boy is just recovering, you may be sure his father will not allow any fancy of his to be thwarted. Tom must stay.”

“And spend his life with the Indians?”

“No. Tom is a smart boy. Sooner or later he will escape. He is lucky to save his life, even by a long term of captivity. We will bid him farewell, and urge him to keep up a good heart, and persuade them to let him go as soon as possible.”

Brush and Dr. Spooner signified their desire to speak to Tom, and our hero was allowed to approach them.

“Tom,” said Brush, “we hate to leave you here, but the doctor thinks it wouldn’t do to oppose the plans of the Indians. As soon as Miantonimo is well, use your influence with him to procure a release from captivity. I can’t tell whether we shall meet again, but I hope so.”

“Good-by,” said Tom, sadly. “I ought to feel thankful that my life has been saved, but it seems hard to stay here.”

“Be patient, and your deliverance will come. There are plenty of things that may turn up. Keep a stiff upper lip, and keep friends with the redmen, at any rate, and especially with Miantonimo. He’s a regular trump, that boy is. He’s the first Indian I ever liked.”

“Yes, he’s a good fellow. I wish I understood his language, and could talk with him.”

“Try to learn; it will help you.”

A few words more, and the two white men left the Indian camp, and pursued their way westward.

Poor Tom followed them with longing eyes, and his heart was heavy within him.