As early morning broke over the earth, two persons stood upon an eminence which overlooked the Indian village where Ashbey had taken up his residence. So close were they, that scarce two hundred yards separated them from the very cabin which contained Emily. These persons were none other than David Barring and his ally, Charles Markley. The former was pointing out to his companion the cabin of the renegade, and they were anxiously watching for any sign which should assure them that the one they sought was a prisoner within.

Was she there! If so, how long before they could rescue her? For the thought of failure never entered the lover’s heart. Suddenly, from every hut and wigwam, poured forth a host of savages, young, old, and heterogeneous, taking their noisy way toward the lower portion of the village.

As the three whites had approached the village, Alfred Markley had preferred an earnest request that he might be allowed to make the circuit of it, hoping to discover something of advantage to himself and companions. To this request, the scout had granted a ready consent—really supposing but little danger would exist at an hour so early.

Alfred set out joyously, fully confident of rejoining his companions within an hour. He had found the way more rough and obstructed than anticipated; so that, in order to keep the village in view, and exercise due caution, he was obliged to proceed very slowly. For this he cared but little, rather preferring to await the time when the people would be astir, as the sanguine fellow more than half fancied he would thus be enabled to see the prisoner.

A war-party of Indians, eager for the trail, had left the village a few moments before the three adventurers reached the vicinity. No sooner were they beyond the reach of other eyes, than their ardour cooled, and the entire party loitered about, until the light footfall of Alfred fell upon their keen ears. Without the least commotion, they instantly glided into cover.

All unsuspicious of danger, Alfred walked directly into the trap. He had been obliged to make a slight detour, in order to avoid some obstacles in his way. This had taken him more deeply into the forest. The first premonitions he felt of danger, was upon noticing some dusky form glide from tree to tree. What it was, he could not tell; but, knowing he was in danger, he darted behind another tree, only to find himself face to face with a hideously-painted savage!

Alfred was not the man to be tamely caught. His rifle was in his hand, and, darting back a pace, he delivered the astonished native a blow which ended his war-path forever, and transplanted him at once to the happy hunting-grounds of his forefathers. Scarcely had the blow descended, when three or four athletic braves hurled themselves upon the youth. Dropping his rifle as he fell, Alfred drew his hunting-knife, and, as an assailant exposed his breast, it was buried in his bosom.

A despairing yell arose from the Indians, as a third received a severe cut, and the remaining two, who were hurrying toward the scene, paused, dismayed. Putting forth all his strength, the youth shook himself from those who held him, and stood, for a moment, free. Ere he could realize the fact, a heavy blow from behind felled him to the ground, and, in a moment, he was bound, hand and foot.

Leaving their slain companions, the Indians made their way into the village, sending the wounded brave before them to bear the joyful tidings. As the clamorous multitude rushed about him, Alfred nerved himself for the worst.

As the word was given, he set his teeth, braced his nerves, and bounded forward like a deer. The young settler was strong of limb, and very active. None were fleeter of foot than he, and the speed with which he set forth, fairly astonished the warriors themselves. Nearly half the line was passed before the blows seemed to touch him. Then, as they came with more effect, he staggered beneath their weight. His strength proved sufficient, however, and he reached the end of the line, smarting and bruised, yet with a spirit unbroken. A yell from the Indians showed their appreciation of the sport, as the prisoner was led away to a place of security.

Upon the outskirts of the village was a strong, dark old cabin, built of logs, and covered with bark. The structure was clumsily formed, but solid, and the door so constructed as to bar heavily upon the outside.

This above-ground dungeon was opened, and Alfred, securely bound, was thrust in. The savages took a hasty survey, and, finding the place secure, set a guard and departed.

The prisoner’s arms and shoulders were bruised and swollen, while his head throbbed and ached fearfully. He endeavoured to think calmly of himself and companions, but the effort was too much, and he bowed his head with a groan.

* * * * * * * *

“I’m afeard they’ve got Alf,” said David, with a shake of the head.

Charles feared the same, but he could not bear the thought.

A few moments confirmed their worst suspicions, and revealed the fact that the daring youth was really a prisoner. With a gasp of pain, Charles clutched the arm of the scout, whispering:

“Good Heaven! it is Alfred.”

“It’s certainly him,” returned Dave, in a collected manner; “an’ I afeard he’s got us all into a scrape this time. But we can’t help it now. Thar’s one advantage; it’ll show us what force the reds have got here, an’ we can calculate accordin’ly.”

“But may there not be danger for Alfred?” asked Charles. “I fear they may sacrifice him, at once, in their excitement and rage.”

“Not a bit o’ danger there,” responded David, with the utmost coolness. “Yer see, Bill has control of all that’s done in this village, and the red reptiles ’d no more dare take the life of a prisoner, than jest nothin’ at all. They’ll save him till their cruel leader gits home—then’ll be the danger.”

It was a hard task to witness the preparations for torturing the poor fellow, but it could not be helped, and they were forced to be spectators of what seemed, to Charles especially, so cruel.

“Good, good!” vociferated the scout, ardently, yet in a careful manner; “but Alf did that capitally. He went in like a regular Injin-fighter, born and bred to it.”

The scout chuckled as he witnessed the sight.

“I knew they didn’t catch the boy nappin’,” was the satisfied exclamation which followed. “Two o’ the scamps got fixed, an’ more of ’em got to follow. I’ve been in Wild Bill’s pen once; but he didn’t keep me, nor he can’t keep Alf.”

As nothing more could now be accomplished, the party drew cautiously away, to await the coming of night. David had counted sixteen warriors, and he judged, rightly enough, that there were others keeping a strict watch over the other prisoner—the fair Emily Hinton. In all, probably twenty warriors. It seemed a fearful odds—twenty against two; but the scout was not a man to hesitate. The thought of abandoning a friend or comrade never entered his noble heart.