“Does the Pawnee woman thank the Great Spirit that her child is saved?” began Joe as he came up.

“She does,” answered the woman, looking up at the hunter.  “And her heart is warm to the Pale-faces.”

After a short silence Joe continued,—­

“The Pawnee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces.  Some of them hate them.”

“The Dark Flower knows it,” answered the woman; “she is sorry.  She would help the Pale-faces if she could.”

This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning glance of the eye.

Joe hesitated again—­could he trust her?  Yes; the feelings that filled her breast and prompted her words were not those of the Indian just now—­they were those of a mother, whose gratitude was too full for utterance.

“Will the Dark Flower,” said Joe, catching the name she had given herself, “help the Pale-face if he opens his heart to her?  Will she risk the anger of her nation?”

“She will,” replied the woman; “she will do what she can.”

Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding style of speech, and spoke for some minutes rapidly in an undertone.  It was finally arranged that on a given day, at a certain hour, the woman should take the four horses down the shores of the lake to its lower end, as if she were going for firewood, there cross the creek at the ford, and drive them to the willow bluff, and guard them till the hunters should arrive.

Having settled this, Joe returned to the tent and informed his comrades of his success.

During the next three days Joe kept the Indians in good-humour by giving them one or two trinkets, and speaking in glowing terms of the riches of the white men, and the readiness with which they would part with them to the savages if they would only make peace.

Meanwhile, during the dark hours of each night, Dick managed to abstract small quantities of goods from their pack, in room of which he stuffed in pieces of leather to keep up the size and appearance.  The goods thus taken out he concealed about his person, and went off with a careless swagger to the outskirts of the village, with Crusoe at his heels.  Arrived there, he tied the goods in a small piece of deerskin, and gave the bundle to the dog, with the injunction, “Take it yonder, pup.”

Crusoe took it up at once, darted off at full speed with the bundle in his mouth, down the shore of the lake towards the ford of the river, and was soon lost to view.  In this way, little by little, the goods were conveyed by the faithful dog to the willow bluff and left there, while the stuffed pack still remained in safe keeping in the chiefs tent.

Joe did not at first like the idea of thus sneaking off from the camp, and more than once made strong efforts to induce San-it-sa-rish to let him go; but even that chief’s countenance was not so favourable as it had been.  It was clear that he could not make up his mind to let slip so good a chance of obtaining guns, powder and shot, horses, and goods, without any trouble; so Joe made up his mind to give them the slip at once.