Three separate times Jack Carleton noticed a peculiar jar of the tree in which he was perched. He felt no alarm, but some curiosity to know the cause.

Peering downward between the limbs, he could see nothing to explain the occurrence. The first time he concluded it was imagination, but when it was repeated twice he knew there was "something in it". Still, as the most careful search failed to reveal the cause, he was at a loss to explain it. His first thought was that some animal might be chafing his body against the trunk, but that was unlikely, because no creature was visible. Then, when he noticed there was enough air stirring to cause a gentle swaying of the branches, he concluded that the disturbance was due to the friction of some of the limbs against others. The theory was more ingenious than reasonable, but was accepted in lieu of a better one, and once more the lad fixed his eyes on the open space across the stream.

The other Pawnees had not put in an appearance, and before they did so, the young gentleman in the tree-top found he had something on hand which required his whole attention.

A fourth time a jar went through the trunk from base to summit, and the disturbance was more marked than before.

"There must be some animal down there—"

Jack Carleton grasped a limb above him, leaned far over and peered among the branches below, but his examination was not finished when he saw the hand of an Indian warrior reach around the trunk, at a point half way between the top and the base, and grasp the rifle which the young Kentuckian had skewered between several supports. The stock caught slightly, and, while disengaging it, the savage brought his head into view.

He wore no scalp-lock, as was the fashion among many tribes, but the long, coarse hair dangled about his shoulders, and yellow, crimson and blue paint were mixed in that on his crown. There were no feathers, however, such as Deerfoot was fond of displaying, and the body was covered with a thin shirt of deerskin above the waist.

The Indian must have glanced aloft from the ground and taken in the situation at once. He had climbed with great care, and, when he stopped, was slightly below the point were rested the rifle of the youth. Had the latter taken the alarm, when he felt the first jar, he could have scrambled down and secured his gun ahead of the Indian. It would have been a stirring race between them, but as I have shown, the first knowledge of the truth came to Jack when he descried the extended arm and saw the coppery fingers in the very act of closing about his property.

Inasmuch as the dusky thief was forced to reach upward to seize the weapon, his face was lifted enough for the lad to gain a partial view of his countenance. It was similar to many he had seen among the Sauks and elsewhere. The forehead was broad at the base and narrow at the top (which was close to the forehead) and very retreating. The protuberant temples, small eyes, heavy nose, wide mouth and retreating chin—the whole smeared with daubs of paint, such as soiled the horsehair-like covering of his head, rendered the features the most repulsive on which the lad had ever looked. He certainly had never beheld a more unwelcome visitor.

Having secured the property of the lad, the warrior now threw his head further back, and looked directly up at him. The face, ugly as it was, appeared the worse because of the grin that split it in twain and displayed the white teeth which gleamed like those of a ravenous beast. The expression and action said as plainly as could the words themselves:

"It's no use, young gentleman; you may as well come down."

The Indian did not speak, and his frightful smile gradually relaxed until his mouth assumed its normal width. Then, holding the captured rifle in one hand, he began descending, Jack Carleton remained astride of the upper limb, watching the warrior, who went down with the nimbleness of a monkey. Viewed from above, the sight was odd. He seemed to see nothing but a mass of dangling hair and an indefinite number of arms and legs which were sawing back and forth, and moving up and down, while the body to which they were attached, remained stationary. The illusion, however, was dispelled, when the Indian made a slight leap and landed on the ground.

Immediately he turned, and standing close to the trunk (the better to see among the limbs), fixed his eyes on Jack Carleton, and solemnly beckoned with his arm for him to descend.

"My gracious!" thought the latter, "I don't believe there's any help for it. Ah, if Deerfoot only knew!"

It occurred to the youth that possibly the Shawanoe could be reached by signal. He hastily drew aside the leaves and looked toward the spot where he saw him but a short time before. But the scene had changed. Deerfoot was gone, and the Pawnees were swarming back to camp, a number listening with rapt attention to the monumental yarns which Lone Bear and Red Wolf were pouring into the ears of their credulous listeners, whose experience having been what it was, prepared them to believe almost any thing.

"No help from there," concluded the youth with a sigh, as he let the leaves come together and shut out his view of the other shore; "I wonder what this warrior will do with me; I suppose he will run me over to the rest, and they'll even up matters by taking their vengeance on me—helloa! there's no need of that!"

Looking downward, Jack saw that his captor was no longer beckoning for him to descend. Like the old farmer, who, finding there was no virtue in grass, resorted to stones, the Indian had substituted the gun, and held it pointed at the youngster, who was slow in moving from his lofty perch.

There was no call to fire; the youth grasped the situation at once and began lowering himself with great promptness. While doing so, he occasionally took a peep between his feet, and each time saw the warrior standing erect and following his movements with the gun, as a hunter does when aiming at a gyrating bird.

"I hope I'm giving satisfaction," muttered Jack, who felt the cold perspiration breaking out all over his body; "if he isn't satisfied, I'll let go and drop. I wish I could do it, so as to fall on his head and break his neck." When almost to the ground, Jack was relieved to observe the red man lower his weapon. He heard the click of the lock, as he let the flint down in place. It was a vast relief from suspense, but it may be doubted whether, after all, Jack's danger was any less than before. Whatever sinister thoughts were in the mind of the red man remained when the young Kentuckian stood before him an unresisting prisoner.

I need not say that while Jack Carleton was descending the tree he thought hard and fast. He was in a situation of the gravest peril, and there was no human arm on which he could rely for help. His hot Kentucky blood was aroused, and he resolved that if his captor offered him harm or indignity, he would give him the hottest fight of which he was capable. The youth still had his knife and he meant to keep it. While coming down the tree, he quietly shoved it inside of his coat where it could not be seen, but was available for instant use.

He feared the warrior had several comrades with him, but was relieved to find that such was not the case.

"He must have seen me from the other side," was the conclusion of the youth, "and slipped across without my noticing him, just as those Sauks got behind Otto and me when we never dreamed of danger. He ain't the Indian that was looking at me; I suppose that one who tumbled over Deerfoot told this dog, and here he is."

Dropping the stock of the captured rifle on the ground, the red skin grasped the barrel near the muzzle, standing in an easy attitude, with the weight of his body resting on one foot, and looked into the eyes of Jack Carleton, as if trying to read the secrets of his breast.

The youth was almost as tall as his captor, and he returned the scrutiny. He did not assume any defiant manner, for he was far from wishing to exasperate him who was master of the situation.

"I think I could give him a pretty good tussle," was the conclusion of Jack, "and whenever he chooses to sail in, I am ready, but I wish things were nearer even between us."

It was noticeable that the only rifle in sight was the one belonging to the prisoner. It seemed incredible that the warrior should have left camp without the indispensable weapon, though, if he had brought it away, it was now invisible.

But, in addition to the stolen piece, he carried the tomahawk and knife at his girdle, and there could be no question that he was an adept in their use.

When Jack looked down from his place in the tree top on the countenance of his captor, he perceived a curious distortion, which was now explained. At some time in his history the Indian had received a slash across the face, which clove the bone and cartilage of the nose and laid one of the cheeks open. The cicatrice, combined with the natural ugliness of the features, and the greasy ocher and paint, daubed and smeared over the skin, rendered the countenance of the warrior as frightful as can be conceived.

But Jack Carleton had met too many hideous Indians to be disturbed by their appearance. It was the action of this one in which he felt interest.

It was a noteworthy feature of the young Kentuckian's capture, that he was angered by the evidence that the Indian had brought no gun with him. Such a course implied that the youth was held in light regard, and not deemed the equal of a warrior in a hand-to-hand struggle.

"They think I am nothing but a boy," he thought, "and so they sent a warrior so horrible of face that they hope he will scare me out of my wits; at any rate, they don't believe it worth while for him to bring a gun; may be he'll regret that before he is through."

Having scrutinized the captive from head to foot, the captor seemed to be satisfied. Without attempting any words, he beckoned as before for Jack to follow him. The gesture was made at the moment the warrior turned and began walking over the course parallel to the river and leading toward its mouth.

The action placed Jack behind his master, instead of in front, and it could not but suggest several desperate expedients to him, who was resolved not to allow himself to be taken across the river. He had witnessed enough from his elevated lookout to convince him that the stream on his right was his Rubicon; if he once passed that, there would be no return.