Fred Wilder came to his senses as his friends were carrying him to
their camp. They had gone on for the purpose of meeting a band of
friendly Crows, supposing that Old Blaze and Silverspur would recover
their horses, and would have no difficulty in overtaking them. When
Silverspur told them of his adventure, and described his terrible
race, he received plenty of sympathy, and praise from the open-hearted
mountain men, who could well appreciate the motive that prompted him to
incur such danger to save his friend.
“That was a purty smart run fur a chap from the settlements,” said
one of the party; “but it warn’t a very big thing. I’ve knowed Indian
runners to make more than a hundred miles in a day.”
It was a big enough thing to suit Silverspur, and his swelled legs
were somewhat too big to please him. He was in such pain that he was
hardly able to stir for several days. Fortunately for him he was not
obliged to move. His companions had encamped with a band of Crows, and
expected to remain a week or longer in that locality.
The men who had gone in pursuit of Silverspur’s pursuers brought in
three scalps, and declared that the runners were Arapahoes. Bad Eye,
the chief of the Crows, said that they might expect an attack, as the
Arapahoes were probably awaiting an opportunity to pounce upon his
people, toward whom they had lately manifested the most inveterate
hostility.
The third day after Silverspur’s arrival, Old Blaze came limping into
the camp, and was overjoyed at finding his friend alive. The Indians
had passed within a few feet of him without observing him. When they
had gone by he crawled out of his hiding-place, and followed the trail
as rapidly as he could, being compelled to seek concealment every now
and then, to avoid straggling parties of Indians.
He brought the intelligence that the Arapahoes were a war-party, that
they were in strong force, and that they were undoubtedly intending
to commit depredations upon the Crows. As this coincided with the
opinion of Bad Eye, the camp was removed to a bend in the river, and
the Indians, with their white allies, began to fortify the position. A
slight breastwork was thrown up across the bend, and the horses were
driven back into the semicircle, as the rear of the camp was rendered
impregnable by the river.
The next morning the Arapahoes came in sight, and the camp was fairly
invested. The Crows and the white men, perceiving that they were
largely outnumbered, made every preparation for defense.
The Arapahoes seemed inspired by a desperate resolution to exterminate
the band of Crows. They made charge after charge upon the breastwork,
with the greatest fury, and on two occasions nearly gained possession
of it. The white men persuaded their Indian allies to act altogether
upon the defensive, to content themselves with repulsing the attacks
of their assailants, and to labor as much as possible to strengthen
their position. By this means, they argued, the Arapahoes would tire
themselves out, and, when they should become wearied, they might be
charged and put to flight.
Night put a stop to the struggle, and the Crows hoped that their
inveterate enemies would retire from the contest; but in this they were
mistaken. In the morning the assault was vigorously renewed, and it was
only by the most determined fighting that the Crows could hold their
ground. If it had not been for the assistance of the white men, they
must have been driven into the river, and nearly all of them would have
perished.
By noon the attack had slackened considerably. It became evident that
the ranks of the Arapahoes had been thinned by the close fire of their
antagonists, and that they had become fatigued by the incessant labor
of battle. The time had come for the besieged to assume the offensive,
and they prepared to attack in their turn. Old Blaze gave directions
for horses to be made ready for fifty men, with whom he proposed to
make a détour through the timber, and fall upon the rear of the enemy,
while the others should charge in front.
Foremost among the Arapahoes, urging them on in every attack, and
fearlessly leading the charge up to the very muzzles of their guns at
the breastwork, was a person who attracted attention from the beginning
of the engagement, and who was soon recognized as a woman. The Crow
chief said that she was the same woman who had been conspicuous in
several attacks upon the Crows, and Old Blaze, believing her to be the
person of whom White Shield had spoken, told Silverspur that Dove-eye
was among the combatants.
Fred Wilder was so weak and sore after his hard race, that he was
unable to take part in the battle; but, when he learned that Dove-eye
was in the ranks of the Arapahoes, he could not restrain his impatience
to see her.
Without speaking of his intention to Old Blaze, who would not have
allowed him to move, he crawled out of the lodge in which he had been
lying, saddled a horse, mounted, and rode forward to the breastwork,
where the Crows were preparing to charge upon their adversaries.
The charge was made before he reached the forest. The Arapahoes
discovered, as they began to fall from their horses, that they were
attacked in the rear, and were thrown into confusion. The Crows and
their white allies took advantage of this moment to sally out and fall
upon their foes. As they were comparatively fresh, both men and horses,
while the Arapahoes were wearied by their repeated assaults, the
movement was a complete success.
Silverspur, hardly able to sit on his horse, soon perceived that it
would be useless for him to attempt to overtake the charging party, and
he took his station upon an eminence, from which he could have a good
view of the surrounding country.
He saw that the Arapahoes were already broken, and were flying in all
directions, hotly pursued by their vindictive antagonists. He looked in
every quarter for Dove-eye; but his head was so dizzy, and his eyes
were so dim, that he was unable to see far, and he was about to move
away, when a warrior came galloping up the slope toward him. As the
warrior approached, he perceived that it was a woman. A moment more,
and he recognized Dove-eye.
She was beautiful indeed. Silverspur thought that he had never seen any
wild thing that was half so lovely, and it did not detract from her
beauty and grace that she was riding man-fashion, as a warrior must.
She was richly attired in the Indian style; her head was crowned with
a plume of painted feathers, and her saddle was a panther’s skin. She
rode a splendid coal-black horse, and carried a battle-ax in her right
hand. Her hair, unlike the coarse and straight locks of the rest of her
tribe, was wavy and inclined to curl; her complexion was a rich olive,
instead of copper-color, and she had not the high cheek-bones peculiar
to the Indian race. With her cheeks guiltless of paint, glowing with
excitement, and her eyes flashing fire, she was beautiful indeed.
Silverspur urged his horse toward her as she rode up the slope, and
called her by name; but she whirled her battle-ax in the air, and
launched it full at his head. As he dodged to avoid the missile his
small remnant of strength deserted him, and he fell from his horse to
the ground. When he recovered himself, the warrior was out of hearing.
Picking up the battle-ax, he slowly walked back up to camp, whither his
horse had preceded him.
The Crows came in loaded with scalps and full of joy. Although they had
lost a number of warriors, they had a grand scalp-dance, in which the
women participated most heartily. Silverspur and Old Blaze did not join
the dance, but conversed of Dove-eye and of her part in the battle.
“She fit like a tiger,” said the trapper. “It’s my opeenyun that she’s
got a partic’lar spite ag’inst the Crows, judgin’ by the way she
pitched into ’em.”
“It is sad to think that she should have taken up the battle-ax and
become so bloodthirsty.”
“Rayther sad fur the Crows, shore enough. Her lettin’ go the battle-ax
would hev been sadder fur you, ef ye hadn’t dodged the weapon. Are you
sartin it is the same gal?”
“I have not a doubt of it. I saw her plainly, and I could not be
mistaken. Those flashing eyes, that rich olive complexion, that queenly
carriage, could not be forgotten. There was no change in her, except
that she seemed more beautiful than ever.”
“Yaas, I reckon. Handsome is as handsome does, ’cordin’ to my notion,
and it don’t look over and above handsome to see a gal trottin’ out on
the war-path and flingin’ bloody battle-axes about. ’Pears like she
didn’t know ye.”
“I suppose she did not,” replied Wilder, as his countenance fell.
“A knock-down blow with that battle-ax of her’n wouldn’t be what ye
might call a love-tap, and it warn’t no common way of lettin’ ye know
that she hadn’t forgot ye. But ye oughtn’t to be down-hearted, boy.
Remember how ye fooled Old Blaze down to St. Louey. Tell ye, thar’s a
powerful differ atween a chap with long ha’r and beard, and his face
brown and his leggin’s on, and the same chap when he is short-sheared
and class-shaved, and has got the look of the settlements onto him. The
gal was just from the fight, too, whar every white man was an inimy. Ye
may count it sartin that she didn’t know ye.”
“I believe you are right. I must find her, old friend.”
“I allowed ye’d found her to-day. Leastways, ye found her battle-ax.”
“I must see her and speak to her. If it is necessary to go among the
Arapahoes to find her, I must seek her there. Will you help me, or is
it too much to ask?”
“Ye kin bet yer life that Old Blaze will stand by ye.”