They were powerful men, apparently warriors of middle age, and Paul knew enough of costume and paint to tell that they were of the Shawnee nation, bitterly hostile to him and his kind.
His terrors came back upon him in full sweep.

He loved life, and, scholar though he was, he loved his life in the young wilderness of Kentucky, where he was at the beginnings of things.

Every detail of what they would do to him, every incident of the torture was already photographed upon his sensitive mind, but again the brave lad called up all his courage, and again he triumphed, keeping his body still and his face without expression.

He merely looked up at them, as if placidly waiting their will.
The two warriors talked together a little, and then, seeming to change their minds, they unbound the boy's feet.

One touched him on the shoulder, and, pointing to the north, started in that direction.