Jim had been inveigled to the Mingo camp taking risks as he always did, and there been ordered to reveal the whereabouts of the hunting party.

He had refused, and endured the ordeal...

Memories of their long comradeship rushed through Boone's mind and set him weeping in a fury of affection.

There was never such a man as old Jim, so trusty and wise and kind, and now that great soul was being tortured out of that stalwart body and he could only look on like a baby and cry.
As he gazed, it became plain that the man at the stake was dead.

His head had fallen on his chest, and the Indians were cutting the green withies that bound him.