He seemed to be mightily wrought upon.
"White man damn thief," he growled deep in his throat; "stole from little girl!" He put the locket in his pouch and resumed his stupidly indifferent expression.
When everything was ready for the delightful entertainment to begin, Long-Hair waved his tomahawk three times over Beverley's head, and pointing down between the waiting lines said: "Ugh, run!" But Beverley did not budge.

He was standing erect, with his arms, deeply creased where the thongs had sunk, folded across his breast.

A rush of thoughts and feelings had taken tumultuous possession of him and he could not move or decide what to do.

A mad desire to escape arose in his heart the moment that he saw Long-Hair take the locket.

It was as if Alice had cried to him and bidden him make a dash for liberty.
"Ugh, run!" The order was accompanied with a push of such violence from Long-Hair's left elbow that Beverley plunged and fell, for his limbs, after their long and painful confinement in the raw-hide bonds, were stiff and almost useless.