madly for the militia. The dozen flung themselves across the stream, I
hot in their wake, through Mr. Brady's gate, which was open; and there
was a scene of sweet tranquillity under the lantern's rays,--the North
Wind and his friends wrapped in their blankets and sleeping the sleep of
the just.

"Damn the sly varmints," cried Tom, and he turned over the North Wind
with his foot, as a log.

With a grunt of fury the Indian shed his blanket and scrambled to his
feet, and stood glaring at us through his paint. But suddenly he met the
fixed sternness of Clark's gaze, and his own shifted. By this time his
followers were up. The North Wind raised his hands to heaven in token of
his innocence, and then spread his palms outward. Where was the proof?

"Look!" I cried, quivering with excitement; "look, their leggings and
moccasins are wet!"

"There's no devil if they beant!" said Tom, and there was a murmur of
approval from the other men.

"The boy is right," said the Colonel, and turned to Tom. "Sergeant, have
the chiefs put in irons." He swung on his heel, and without more ado
went back to his house to bed. The North Wind and two others were easily
singled out as the leaders, and were straightway escorted to the garrison
house, their air of injured innocence availing them not a whit. The
militia was dismissed, and the village was hushed once more.

But all night long the chiefs went to and fro, taking counsel among
themselves. What would the Chief of the Pale Faces do?