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Updated: April 30, 2025
Ever dreaming of the thunderbolt that was about to be launched, Whitewing, Little Tim, Bounding Bull, and the rest of the party arrived at the little fortress in the gorge. They found Big Tim on the qui vive, and Brighteyes with Whitewing's mother was soon introduced to the wounded preacher.
In truth, his mind seemed to be taken up with other thoughts, and his friend was not much surprised, having come, as we have seen, to the conclusion that the Indian was under a temporary spell for which woman was answerable. "Is my horse at hand?" asked Whitewing. "Ay, down by the creek, all ready." "And my brother's horse?"
While this fight was thus silently going on, hidden from view of the camp by the hillock, Whitewing crept forward to meet Brighteyes and the two girls, and these, with Lightheart, were eagerly awaiting the trapper. "My brother is strong," said Whitewing, allowing the faintest possible smile to play for a moment on his usually grave face.
"Your thoughts are not much different from mine," returned the hunter. "My brothers are not wise," said Whitewing, after another silence. "All that Manitou does to His children is good. I have hope." "I wish my brother could give me some of his hope. What does he rest his hope on?" asked Little Tim.
"Ay, Whitewing," answered the trapper, with a touch of enthusiasm; "Little Tim will stick to you through thick and thin, as long as " An exclamation from the Indian at that moment stopped him, for it was discovered that the horses were not there. The place was so open that concealment was not possible. The steeds of both men had somehow got rid of their hobbles and galloped away.
If he does, he is more reckless than ever, seeing that his enemies the Blackfeet are on the war-path just now; but you never know what a half-mad redskin will do, and Whitewing is a queer customer."
"Leetil Tim," said Whitewing decisively, when he was told of his old friend's unaccountable absence, "must be found." "So say I," returned Big Tim. "I hope the Blackfoot reptiles haven't got him. Mayhap he has cut himself with his hatchet. Anyhow, we must go at once.
The preacher's voice was weak, and his countenance pale, but the wonted look of calm confidence was still there. "Whitewing," he said, raising himself on one elbow, "I will speak as God gives me power, but I am very feeble, and feel that the discussion of our plans must be conducted chiefly by yourself and your friends."
All you want now is to get hold o' her, and be off; an' the sooner the better, for Blackfoot warriors don't take long to get over scares an' find out mistakes. But I'm most troubled about the old woman. She'll niver be able to stand it." To this Whitewing paid little attention.
Whitewing was a Red Indian of the North American prairies.
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