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Updated: April 30, 2025
"I say, Whitewing," he said remonstratively, as he handed up the bundle, which the Indian received tenderly in his left arm, "most of the camp has started. In quarter of an hour or so there'll be none left. Don't 'ee think it's about time to look after her?"
Indeed he had been known to allow more than one enemy to escape from his hand in time of war when he might easily have killed him. Altogether, Whitewing was a monstrous puzzle to his fellows, and much beloved by many of them. The only ornament which he allowed himself was the white wing of a ptarmigan. Hence his name.
Immediately afterwards a little Indian boy ran up with a third and somewhat superior horse, and halted beside him. "Ha! that's it at last. The horse for her," said the trapper to himself with some satisfaction; "I knowed that Whitewing would have everything straight even though he is in a raither stumped condition just now."
Whitewing also thought that his betrothed was fit to hold intellectual converse with him, in which idea he was not far wrong. At the time we introduce him to the reader he was on a visit to the Indian camp of Lightheart's tribe in Clearvale, for the purpose of claiming his bride.
We might here, appropriately enough, close our record of the prairie chief and the preacher, but we feel loath to leave them without a few parting words, for the good work which the preacher had begun was carried on, not only by Whitewing, but, as far as example went and that was a long way by Little and Big Tim and their respective wives, and Bounding Bull, as well as by many of their kindred.
"The white man speaks wisely," returned the chief, accepting the reproof with a humbled look. "We go in His strength." And once again the latter part of the preacher's text seemed to shoot through the Indian's brain like a flash of light "looking unto Jesus." Whitewing was one of those men who are swift to conceive and prompt in action.
"But," he continued sadly, "I do not understand him, he whispers so softly that, though I hear, I cannot comprehend. I wonder why this is so." "Ay, that's just it, Whitewing," said the trapper. "We can't make it out nohow, an' so I just leaves all that sort o' thing to the parsons, and give my mind to the things that I understand."
Coming to a grassy eminence they lay flat down and worked their way slowly and painfully to the top. Well was it for them that a few clouds shrouded the moon at that time, for one of the Blackfoot sentinels had been stationed on that grassy eminence, and if Whitewing and the trapper had been less expert in the arts of savage war, they must certainly have been discovered.
With the characteristic reserve of the red man, Whitewing merely gave the two women a slight look of recognition, which was returned with equal quietness by the young woman, but with a marked rippling of the wrinkles on the part of the old. There still remained a touch of anxiety caused by the recent fight on both countenances.
"They are in the thicket yonder," said the Indian, pointing to the place referred to. "Jist what I was goin' to remark," observed the trapper. "Now, Whitewing, it behoves us to be cautious. Ay, I see your mind an' mine always jumps togither." This latter remark had reference to the fact that the Indian had leaped off his horse and handed the reins to Brighteyes.
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