The council of war sentenced pa to be burned at the stake, and they tied
him to a tree and began to pile sticks around him, and pa told me to go
to the circus lot and give an alarm, and send the hands to rescue him.
Gee, but didn't I run though, and yell an alarm big enough for a
massacre. I told the hands, who were sleeping under the seats, or
playing cards on the trunks that the Indians were burning pa at the
stake, and some of the hands said that would serve him right, and the
fellows that were playing cards said they didn't want to break up the
game when they were losers, to rescue no baldheaded curmudgeon. I
thought pa was a goner, sure, 'cause I could hear the Indians yell, and
I thought I could smell flesh burning. Oh, but I was scared for fear
they would burn pa alive.
[Illustration: The Indians Tied Pa to a Tree and Began to Pile Sticks
Around Him.]
Just then the man who had charge of our cannibals, who each had a dog
that they were looking for a place to roast, came along and I told him
about the Indians' corn roast, and he ordered the cannibals to go drive
the Indians away from their fire and roast their dogs. Well, it worked
like a charm, and the cannibals made a rush for the Indians and drove
them away just as they had lighted the fire around pa, and we were not a
minute too soon.
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