It was not the scream of wolves they had heard, but a cry of far different import.

It was the yell of human voices--_the war-cry of Indians_! All three stood speechless with terror; but, even could they have spoken, there was scarcely time allowed them to have uttered a word; for, almost simultaneous with the yells, there was a rushing forward of dark forms; and the next moment fifty tall savages were around them.
Basil, who had been farthest out from the fire, was knocked senseless by a blow; while Lucien and Francois, who did not think of using their guns, were seized by the brawny arms of the Indians and held fast.

It was fortunate for them that they did not make any resistance, else the savages would have killed all three upon the spot.

As it was, even, they seemed for a while undetermined whether to do so or not--as it was one of their number that Basil had mistaken for a wolf, and the shot had wounded the Indian, which, of course, exasperated them greatly.
Perceiving, however, the small force of the party, and that the boys made no farther resistance, they gave up the idea of killing them on the spot, but bound the arms of all three behind their backs; and then, after having mounted them on their horses, and gathered up their guns and blankets, led them out of the valley.

At a short distance off, the Indians reached a spot where their own horses were tied.