"Ye're th' doctor," the man replied, with reluctance, as they approached the wounded Indian, who had sagged against an upstanding rock.
"We won't need to tie that hand," grinned Toad, pointing to the Indian's right arm which dangled loosely from the shoulder. "Come along ye murderin' houn'!" he cried jerking the savage to his feet. "An' no foolin', neither." As he talked, he produced a stout caribou hide thong, which he knotted skilfully about the Indian's good wrist, and deftly inserted a short stick into the knot. "Guess this here little persuader'll break ye to lead all right," he remarked, as the captive flinched under the pain of a tentative twist of the stick. "Hullo! There's our frien' with his blanket!"
"Let's hike, then," urged Connie, stooping to recover the cartridges from the body of the dead Indian. "Bring the rifles," he ordered. "We may need 'em."
When the three reached the village with their prisoner, the Brushwoods could scarcely be re- strained from meting out swift vengeance upon him—five members of the tribe having been killed and a half-dozen wounded during the first attack.
