Happily, the question of who should be
bride was left in abeyance. He became, too, almost reconciled to his
dress, or want of dress--though, to be sure, a coat of paint and a
blanket cannot, at the best, be regarded as more than a passably
efficient hot-weather costume. With the easy adaptability of boyhood,
Andrew Kerr had become almost a veritable Indian.
Now, Peewash all this time had looked with covetous eye on his former
slave, and desired to repossess him. A big price would have to be paid,
no doubt; but Peewash was prepared to bid high, and the owner could not
withstand a temptation, backed, as it was, by that bait irresistible to
a Red Indian, "firewater." The boy again changed hands, and now for some
time served his original captor.
About this period the Tribes again "dug up the hatchet," and set out on
a big war-trail. Cruel and bloody was the fighting, many the prisoners
taken and brought into camp from time to time. On one occasion young
Kerr was compelled to stand, a horrified spectator, among the exulting
Redskins as with yells of gratified triumph, warriors and squaws, young
men and children, gloated fiercely over the brutal torture and lingering
death of eight English prisoners. It was a grim and grisly spectacle,
for no form of torment--from the nerve-wracking test of knife and
tomahawk, arrow or bullet, aimed with intent to graze the flesh and not
immediately to kill, to the ghastly ordeal of red-hot ramrods and
blazing pine-root splinters thrust into the flesh or under the nails
--was omitted by those bloodthirsty red devils.
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