'The flower of the hills fled to the woods with him--her tongue was
the tongue of a lying Sioux, but her heart was that of a brave
Assineboin.'

'Where is my child?' said the old warrior, in vain endeavouring to
penetrate the mystery of the hut's contents, and dropping his
figurative language under the influence of excitement--'say, Son of
the Evening Light, where is my child?'

The warrior gazed curiously at the old man; but folding his arms,
made no reply.

The Sioux warrior paused a moment, and then turning to his young men,
ordered them to bind the prisoner, and commence that long list of
atrocious cruelties which ever precede the death of a victim among
the Indians. The hut was scattered to the winds in a moment, and its
wood served to commence the pile which was to play the principal part
in the scene of torture. Ah-kre-nay looked on in silence, his lip
curling scornfully, until the preparations were all made; he then
took his place at the post with sullen composure, and prepared to
suffer in silence all the horrors meditated by the Sioux. A grim
warrior now stood forward with a keen and glittering tomahawk in his
hand, which he began waving and flourishing before the eyes of his
victim, in the hope of making him show some sign of apprehension. In
vain, however, did the old Sioux try every feint; now he would aim a
blow at his feet, and as suddenly change to his face; now he would
graze his very ear; and at length, enraged at the stoicism of his
victim, he raised the gleaming hatchet, as if about to strike in
earnest. The smart crack of a rifle was simultaneous with the
attempt, and the tormentor's arm fell useless by his side. With