Fred Wilder bore his captivity patiently; but this does not prove that
he possessed the gift of patience in a very remarkable degree. Dove-eye
was with him daily and hourly, and his admiration for the forest maiden
had strengthened into a passion. His heart was enthralled in such a
sweet captivity, that he took no thought of the captivity of his body.
He had not yet had time or occasion to think how this was to end. He
had given himself no uneasiness concerning the fate of White Shield;
he had not attempted to form a plan for the release of Flora Robinette
and her return to her friends; nor had he even guessed how he should
take Dove-eye away from the Arapahoes, if she should be willing to
leave them. Love, if not really a selfish feeling, is apt to crowd out
other thoughts and feelings.
It is probable that he would not have related to Flora his adventures
since she left him at the pass in the mountains, if she had not
questioned him upon the subject. When he recounted the conversation
which he had overheard between Martin Laurie and Jake Farnsworth, so
many emotions were excited in Flora’s bosom, that she at last burst
into tears.
“Why need you be so greatly troubled about it?” asked Wilder, when she
had wiped away her tears. “Those fellows can’t hurt you.”
“My father’s scalp! To think that it should be made the price of my
hand!”
“But you are not obliged to give your hand to the man who happens to
recover the scalp.”
“To think that he should be scalped, after having dreaded it all his
life, and that his scalp should now be drying in some Blackfoot lodge.
It is too horrible!”
“You are mistaken there. The scalp is not among the Blackfeet. I
brought it with me when we left their village.”
“_You_ did?” exclaimed Flora, opening her eyes very wide.
“I did; but it does not follow that I am to marry you,” replied Wilder,
with a smile at Dove-eye.
“No; for the medicine-man took it from you, and gave it to the Arapaho
warriors.”
“You guessed right that time. I suppose you had rather George Benning
had taken it from the Blackfeet; but he did not happen to be there, as
I was. Your father’s scalp has saved my scalp, and I am well rewarded
for the freak of stealing the trophy from the Blackfeet--for it was
nothing but a freak, you perceive, as I then knew nothing of the
conditions of your father’s will. As the matter now stands, you have a
much better chance to recover the scalp than either George Benning or
I.”
“How so? What can I do?”
“I am disabled, as you see, and it may be many weeks before I am able
to walk. George Benning is searching for you, no doubt, if he is the
man I take him to be; but we don’t know where he is, and it is very
doubtful whether he is on the right trail. You alone are at liberty and
able to act.”
“What shall I do?”
“Persuade Dove-eye to get the scalp from the Arapahoes. The warriors
have had their dance over it, no doubt, and it is a small matter to
them now. She might ask for it as a curiosity. If they should not
be willing to give it to her, she could soon find it hanging about
somewhere, unnoticed, and there would be no excitement about it if it
should be missed. I think she would gladly consent to get it for you,
and then the trophy will be with you, to whom it rightfully belongs.
When it is in your possession, I see nothing to hinder you from
bestowing it, and the legacy that accompanies it, where you bestow your
hand.”
Dove-eye, who had understood a portion of the conversation, answered
the appealing look of her friend with a smile. When Flora had fully
explained the case to her, and had implored her aid in recovering the
scalp, she at once consented, glad of an opportunity to serve her white
sister.
“But I can do nothing for two or three suns,” she said. “I can not go
to the village now.”
“Why not?” asked Flora, to whom the scalp had become precious, not only
because it was her father’s, but because her own fate was so nearly
affected by it.
“Because I have so much to do here, that I can not get away. I must
conceal both of you in some other place, as my father is going to the
spirit-land, and this lodge will be full of warriors.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wilder. “Is the old medicine-man so near
dead? I had not known that he was sick.”
“He is not sick. He goes to the spirit-land when he wishes to go, and
the warriors come and look at him while he is dead, and go away. Then
he comes back from the spirit-land, and they visit him again, when he
tells them what he has seen and what will happen to them.”
“What an imposture! Do you believe that he dies, Dove-eye?”
“He goes to the spirit-land. The warriors pinch him, and prick him, and
are sure that he is dead.”
“Very well done for a red-skin! When will he take leave of us?”
“To-morrow night he will go to the spirit-land, and the next morning
the warriors will come to look at him. After that day I will do what my
sister has asked me to do.”
“And then, Miss Robinette,” said Wilder, “you will be obliged to marry
yourself, or give up half your fortune.”
“I wish you would not speak of the matter so lightly,” replied Flora.
“Of what use will it be to me, if I am always to remain here? How can I
ever escape?”
“That is a question for the future. For my part, I can do nothing until
I am able to walk. I hope that a way will open for all of us.”
Wilder looked meaningly at the Indian girl, who held down her head, and
turned away.
The old medicine-man and the negro came in, at the request of Dove-eye,
to remove Wilder to another place of concealment. There was another
small cave, a short distance from that in front of which the lodge was
built, to which the wounded man was carried, with the assistance of the
girls. Dove-eye and Flora arranged a comfortable couch for him, and
the medicine-man hung up before the entrance a dressed buffalo-skin,
painted with strange devices, indicating that the place was sacred.
Flora was told that she also must enter that cave when the warriors
came from the village, and must remain there until the ceremonies were
completed, but would be free, until that time, to go about as she had
usually done.
The next morning Flora went early to the spring for water. The promise
of Dove-eye, and the confident tone in which Fred Wilder spoke of the
future, had given her hope, and her heart was light and cheerful for
the first time in many weeks. She was singing as she descended the
hill, so gayly that she did not hear her name pronounced in a low
voice, and she started when the voice assumed a louder tone.
“Who is it?” she asked, as she stopped and looked around, not knowing
whom to expect, unless it might be White Shield.
“A friend,” was the answer, and a young man in hunter’s costume stepped
out into the path before her.
Joy and surprise were mingled in the exclamation which she uttered as
she recognized George Benning. Fearing that she was about to faint, the
young partisan stretched out his arms to keep her from falling; but she
quickly recovered herself, and gave him her hand.
“Where did you come from, Captain Benning?” she asked. “How did you get
here? Is any one with you?”
“You ask more questions than I can answer at a breath. I have been
searching for you ever since you were lost.”
“I did not know who it could be, when you spoke, unless it might be
White Shield.”
“Who is White Shield?”
“An Indian who helped me to escape from the Blackfoot village.”
“I have seen him. He will be here presently. I was waiting for him when
you came singing down the hill. Here he is.”
White Shield rose up, as if from the earth, and presented himself
before the young lady, who welcomed him like an old friend. The
Blackfoot caused his friends to step aside into a sheltered nook, where
mutual explanations were given, Flora declaring that she could only
remain there a few moments, as search would be made for her if she
should not soon return to the lodge.
“Why should you return?” asked Benning. “I have come to save you, to
take you away. There is a large band of friendly Indians with me, and
you have only to mount my horse and ride a short distance, when you
will be in the camp, safe from the Arapahoes.”
“Can you also save Mr. Wilder, and take him with you?”
“You are first to be considered. I can place you in safety, and will
then see what I can do for your _friend_.”
Benning laid such an emphasis on the word “friend,” that Flora noticed
it.
“Mr. Wilder saved me from the Blackfeet,” she said. “He came here to
save me from the Arapahoes, and was badly wounded in the attempt, so
that he is unable to move. Do you think I could desert him? There is
another matter to be considered. My father’s scalp is in the Arapaho
village, and it is of the greatest importance to me that it be
recovered from them. If you wish really to serve me, can you not get
possession of that relic?”
“God knows that I wish to serve you! The Crows are eager to fight, and
will be glad of the opportunity; but there will be a battle, and I
feared that you might be carried away during the struggle.”
“There need be little or no danger. I have a plan, of which I think
both you and White Shield will approve.”
Flora then told her companions of the scene that was to be acted next
morning, at the lodge on the cliff. She accurately described the
situation and surroundings of the lodge, showing that there would be
an excellent opportunity to lay an ambuscade, by which the Arapaho
warriors could be attacked and routed as they left the lodge of the
medicine-man. The victory would be an easy one, she thought, as the
Arapahoes, being surprised and mostly unarmed, would be readily
dispersed. Benning and his friends once in possession of the village,
they might recover the gray scalp, and might at their leisure remove
Wilder and herself, with Dove-eye, if she would accompany them.
Benning had listened with surprise when Flora spoke of her father’s
scalp, and remembered the anxiety which Martin Laurie expressed to
obtain possession of that trophy. He fell in with her views the more
readily, as she had given him some clue to the strange conduct of the
Scotchman. He highly approved of her plan, and thought that there could
be no possible difficulty in carrying it out.
White Shield also pricked up his ears when the gray scalp was
mentioned. He was rejoiced to hear that Silverspur, although badly
wounded, was alive and likely to live; but he was still puzzled
concerning the scalp.
“The Arapahoes told me,” said he, “that they were dancing over the
scalp of Silverspur; but I knew they did not speak the truth.”
Flora was obliged to tell him how her father’s scalp had been brought
from the Blackfoot village, and how it had saved the life of his
friend. White Shield expressed his approval gutturally. If he had been
a Yankee, he would have whistled; as he was an Indian, he grunted most
emphatically.
It was necessary for Flora to hasten back to the lodge, lest she
should be missed. Assuring her friends that she would pray for their
success, she ran away to tell the news to Fred Wilder.
White Shield wished to remain in the vicinity of the village, so that
he could be near Silverspur; but Benning persuaded him to accompany him
to the camp of the Crows, so that he might take part in the expected
attack. It was for the benefit of Silverspur, Benning argued, and White
Shield need trouble himself no further about the Arapahoes.