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Twenty years ago that time, you remember, when Whitewing carried her off on horseback, when the village was attacked we all thought she was on her last legs, but, bless you sir, she can still stump about the camp in a tremblin' sort o' way, an' her peepers are every bit as black as those of my own Brighteyes, an' they twinkle a deal more."
Seated on the floor in a row, with their backs against the wall of the hut, and bound hand and foot were his old enemies Bounding Bull, Little Tim and his big son, and Whitewing, the prairie chief. In a corner lay a man with closed eyes, clasped hands, and a face, the ashy paleness of which indicated the near approach of death, if not its actual presence.
Instantly Whitewing shot from the wood, like the panther rushing on his prey, uttering at the same time the tremendous war-cry of his tribe. Little Tim followed suit with a roar that was all but miraculous in its tone and character, and may be described as a compound of the steam-whistle and the buffalo bull, only with something about it intensely human. It rose high above the din of battle.
"Yes; you came to it at last," repeated Whitewing, "by giving your mind to things that at first you did not understand." "Come, come, my friend," said Little Tim, with a laugh; "I'm no match for you in argiment, but, as I said before, I don't understand Manitou, an' I don't see, or feel, or hear him, so it's of no use tryin'." "What my friend knows not, another may tell him," said Whitewing.
There were plenty of men to guard the camp, even when a few were withdrawn for the trip. As Whitewing was also willing, the order to mount and ride was given at once. The absence of Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit had not at the time been sufficiently prolonged to attract notice. If they had been thought of at all, it is probable they were supposed to be in one or other of the wigwams.
"Ready too, at the same place; but we'll want another good 'un for her, you know," said Tim suggestively. "Let the horses be brought to my wigwam," returned Whitewing, either not understanding or disregarding the last remark.
For the benefit of the former, he had this day chosen the text, "Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus." Whitewing had been much troubled in spirit. His mind, if very inquiring, was also very sceptical. It was not that he would not but that he could not receive anything unless convinced.
The sentinel on the mound also became like a dark statue. He had never heard such tones before. After listening a few minutes in wonder, he walked slowly to the end of the mound nearest to the singers. "Now's our chance, Whitewing," said the trapper, rising from his lair. The Indian made no reply, but descended the slope as carefully as he had ascended it, followed by his friend.
"That is one of the things," returned the preacher, "that you do not quite understand, Big Tim, for it was to such men as he that our Saviour came. Indeed, I have returned to this part of the country for the very purpose of visiting the Blackfoot chief in company with Whitewing." "Both you and Whitewing will be scalped if you do," said the young hunter almost sternly.
Whitewing had been the means of inducing him to accept Christianity, and although he was by no means as "queer" a Christian as Little Tim had described him, he was, at all events, queer enough in the eyes of his enemies and his unbelieving friends to prefer peace or arbitration to war, on the ground that it is written, "If possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men."
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